Dead Love: Octavia E. B...
I think authors make the best revenants. Even the dead ones rise again and take a bow every time someone reads one of their books. My head’s bent today over the last page of Fledgling, a vampire novel by African American science fiction writer Octavia Estelle Butler, who not only...
Dead Love: Post Apocaly...
Sometimes the attraction is purely chemical. Sound, color, raga—here’s my poem for a new year … Post Apocalyptic Raga In this bloody barbecue of a sunset gulls sweep over the salt sea where it has turned incarnadine, like manganese chloride tetrahydrate, not like flamingos,...
11. Blame it on the Fug...
Then I pushed the thought aside. Ryu sighed. His white teeth flashed for an instant, then the smile disappeared. “Ahhh, so we’re in a mood tonight, are we? What’s wrong Ryu? Are you sad?” Ryu did look sad. True, I hadn’t known him long, but I had never seen him that way. “What are you...
Dead Love: Erin’s...
I am frankly envious—color me ghoulish green—of all those Christmas letters. I do think they are horrid things for the people who receive them and wonder: Who is this guy? How come I wasn’t included in the year of glorious fun? I was there; why are all those “famous friends” mentioned...