Previous Posts

Old Man Rex 01/17/2012

"Hey! You two get out of my yard! And stay out!!

Darn kids."

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T Leonello Calvetti

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Founding Father 01/16/2012

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Stream Julian Liu

Colleagues 01/15/2012

"Holy Toner! You mean Jerry's been passed out since the office party?!!
His family must be worried sick! Have the police been looking for him?!
Is he alright?!! We'd better try and bring him around!!!! Geeeeezzz!!!!!!"

"Nah, he's fine. We'll wake him up in February when he has to start working on the Poughkeepsie report."

"Oh. Ok."

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Home For The Holidays Julia Pivovarova

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A-List 01/12/2012

I knew she was perfect for the part in my next picture. I also knew it was going to be a tough sell; I was right.

I went through the regular channels but in addition, I tried sending a direct message telling her it was a risky role but could be glorious.

I received a message back.

"I might be interested. Talk to my agent," it said.

I pitched her reps and I think the strength of the story and my own track record, perhaps, persuaded them. I left them the script, which turned out to be only a few spot rewrites away from finished. I couldn't have asked for much more.

I took the liberty of again using my source to send a direct message.

"This could be great," I said.

She replied. "I read the script. I liked it. Talk to my agent."

I could feel the deal coming together. We started going through the usual processes.

I thought I might as well take a little chance, since my messages didn't seem to be upsetting her. I sent another.

"So, just between you and me—what's your bottom line on the final figure? I can match what you got for your last picture, including the percentage. Do we have a deal?"

I breathed a sigh of relief when she replied, "I won't write LOL but I do like your brass! I think things will work out. Talk to my agent."

I knew I was in.

We did the picture and it turned out great. I had wanted to tell this story for a long time and people liked it—felt something worthwhile from it. It was what you would call a triumph all around.

During the year after the movie was done, I came to feel something, too. I realized it was something more than just being dazzled by an amazing presence.

I thought it might not be a bad tack to let her know that I was going to try and talk her into marrying me. I said we'd defy the norm and stay together forever.

"Should I talk to your agent?" I asked her as lightheartedly as I could—even though I think I was only halfway kidding.

She smiled that beautiful, warm, famous smile.

"You should," she said, "Tell him I'm going to be needing some time off."

Any triumphs I had before—paled in comparison.

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Knockout In Black And Red Marin Conic

And A One And A Two And A... 01/10/2012

Ok, the Immortal Spirit thing.

Is there this essence of personality, as some metaphysicists describe it, that is the core of our being? An energy, not physical, that is without end?

These spirits animate eternity, are experiencing eternity, are part of the weave of the creation of eternity.

Individual yet infinitely blended—all ultimately part of the same thing, after all.

Pulsing in and out as physical beings. When not physical—what? Non-being, non-living or maybe more so—meditating backstage, waiting for the tap on the shoulder?

How many are there, really? A gazillion, a trillion, 20 or 30? At the very core of the mystery—1?

Is non-being then just the Essence resting peacefully, couched in Forever—amid the clouds, or in a garden, or whatever sublime surroundings—taking in the beauty and the serenity?

That sounds nice. Here's hoping that's it.

Sure could, well, not live with that.

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Bubbles In Sky Maxborovkov

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Secret Agent, Man 01/06/2012

Vanessa Kane hit the floor hard, stunned by the uppercut that the mysterious, evil figure known as Kryigula had managed to deliver from an off balance position. Their furious battle had raged for almost a full minute and Vanessa felt she was gaining a slight advantage when the murderous madman had managed to lash out right on the mark.

Still, she did not acknowledge the pain, did not hesitate for a moment. She landed near her pistol that had been knocked out of her hand several moments before--

Kryigula had scored the first move when Kane entered the dark, empty club that had been sealed off by the police as a crime scene. Two nights earlier, Benny the Mouse had been knifed to death as he made his way through the crowd in a desperate bid to escape someone out to intercept the delivery of The Cobalt Medallion. But not before he may have found a clever hiding place to stash the coveted object, assuming he had it with him right then. It had remained undiscovered and was an item that Vanessa's gruff director had made clear was to be retrieved—no matter what the cost.

The secret agent's instincts told her The Medallion was somewhere in that club and Kryigula would go there to try and find it. Or perhaps he already knew where it was; had Benny contacted him before meeting The Reaper? The agency had scanned the regular call logs and found nothing significant. But it was entirely possible the high-priced mule was using an über-hybrid DSST device. No cell of any kind was found on the body—unusual. Had it been lifted by the assassin? Who was willing to go against Kryigula? Had this determined third party already found and taken the lethal prize?

All unknowns.

The plan was to wait and see if the egomaniacal Kryigula would risk making a move. The agency would give it three days—then, reluctantly but out of necessity, override the local law and tear the building apart piece by piece.

It happened on the third night. Vanessa had surreptitiously watched the evildoer all evening at his favorite theatre, then stealthily followed him as he made his way in the late hour to the fateful arena; but the seasoned master criminal had detected her presence. He waited in the shadows, clipped her wrist with the forward handle of his tactical machine pistol, kicked her behind the knee and swung the weapon around to riddle her with bullets. Only a savage kick to the groin had saved her—and his weapon too had went flying. The battle was on.

He staggered back but simultaneously lobbed a stun grenade at her with the skill of a soldier. Vanessa's speed was astounding. She flung herself behind some tables, hands clamped over her ears. The exothermic reaction set some plastic decorative curtains, which contained only a modicum of flame retardant additives, on fire. The blaze instantly raced into full bloom.

Vanessa mused for a second about what the police were going to make of their crime scene being burnt to the ground.

She jumped up and rushed the highly skilled madman.The deadly hand-to-hand continued until she had been knocked down--

There, her gun. She rolled, grabbed and came up in a crouch with one leg stretched out—in the time it would take a bolt of lightning to strike.

Kryigula had already grabbed his machine pistol off the floor, bringing it up to bear. It was at that moment that Kane saw clearly hanging around her opponent's neck what she thought she had glimpsed during the fistfight—The Medallion, flashing a gold light—a threat that could cost a million lives.

Vanessa's marksmanship was legendary at the agency—an agency so secret it didn't even have an acronym. She would have time for one shot.

The next night her still gruff director, although mightily pleased with the recovery of The Cobalt Medallion, told the secret agent that a week off in the Riviera was out of the question; She could have three days.

Vanessa Kane smiled to herself. The old softie, she thought.

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Agent Robert Byron

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Indivisible 01/03/2012

Talk of the end coming

Won't be the first time

Will it be the last?

Is it the end of everything?

or the end of things as we know them?

Childhood ending—as Clarke put it

Whatever it is—or isn't

we face it

together

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Looking To The Future Maxim Samasiuk

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I Now Pronounce You... 12/31/2011

Ok, Ted, my meditation room is all prepared. Come in. C'mon, honey, don't be shy.

Wow, Lace, this looks nice! I haven't been in here since I don't know when.

You should start coming in everyday and meditate with me.

Yeah, I know, hon. Well, anyway, so how do we do this talk-to-the-Goddess thing?

Well, that's just it. You calm your mind, think about the great, all-encompassing Feminine Being and say something—something nice, by the way, Ted.

What? I'm a gentleman.

Yeah, I know. Ok, honey. Now, relax, breathe, and talk to the Goddess.

Uh, hi. How are you? Thanks for the trees and stuff.

I want you to know—I want you to know how beautiful I think you are.

When I look at my Lace, I'm reminded every time, of how beautiful you are. You ok, Lace?

Yeah, I'm ok, go ahead.

Well, anyway, that's about it. Say hello to the Mister for me.

Ted!

What?!

This is the Goddess!—the all-encompassing Feminine!

What about the guys?

The Goddess is a She, Ted.

What about He?

She.

He.

She.

He.

It's She, I tell you, Ted!

Well, It's gotta be both, Lace, right?—or neither one. It's, It's—something more.

Yeah, I guess that's right, Teddy.

Uh, listen, hon, the game's coming on...

I know, go ahead.

This was good. Maybe I could start trying out that meditation thing.

Really, Ted?! That would be great!

Ok, you teach me, Lace. We'll start tomorrow. Uh, the kick-off...

Go ahead, sweetheart. Thanks for doing this.

No, hon, thank you—for Everything.

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Arborescence Roxana Gonzalez

GLITZ

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Fantaisie Noir 12/27/2011

That misty-eyed time of year had come around again.

My partner Jake and I had just finished putting the kibosh on some local chiselers and the case was closed. Jake was on his way to Sin City for what he called a "real holiday."

Our right hand, Millie, had headed out to the breadbasket to see her parents; first time in too long, she had said. She was right.

Me, well, I got to thinking about this new place in the heart of the city I had heard about—Chez Kamal.

I decided I'd park myself there for the duration. Some fancy red and green drinks, take in a show or two, have a few laughs, cry a few tears and back to the office by Monday.

The way I understood it, you bought your ticket to get in and you were maybe good for right around 70 or 80 years. After—they carry you out the door, feet first. No one ever walks out.

I was almost there. The highway waved like a dream. I rolled down the window, took a few drags and felt the cool air on my face.

This was going to be my kind of New Year.

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Downtown Dzianis Kazlouski