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Albino (part one)

I began writing Albino two million years ago. I had an editor then, who lived a few blocks away. We would meet for breakfast on Avenue A, quietly forking into home fries as we discussed the structure of the story - the economy of objects. A dollar bill was not just a dollar bill in this story, it was connected to thought and action, to music and transformation. This was the story that told me there was a whole book to dig into, mining for diamonds in the backwaters of America, turning over the ugliest rocks to better understand relationships between fathers and sons.

Last week, I stumbled across a call for submissions - not for a journal, but for a podcast where the work of new writers was read aloud. I thought back to a reading I had done of just the first few pages of Albino - a messy hero's journey,  a young man and a guitar, a man with loss and regret, a man that still had something to lose. That reading went well, enough that I felt a strange elation stepping off the stage i…

oh banjola (goodnight 2017)

girlfriend experience

no words

the daughters of time

this must go

on refrigerators

every other man

Heaven is a place (where nothing ever happens)

trespasses

where are the lovely strawberries

Not me, her

no one wears white

this is Monday

a peaceful protest

the immigrant and the exile

an anniversary

the man on the ladder

a scream, a howl

no answer (the melon seller)

Breathing the right air

the forbidden zone

underfoot (rare air)

on vacation (see you next week)

approaching the unknown

coming clean

babel

small change (exceptions)

cold nostalgia

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