The horns in the background were throwing him off his game. He could almost understand what they were saying. It was salacious, he thought. Those horns shouldn't be spreading that.

Why wry rye, why?

Everybody writes under the influence of something. A muse is a common option. Hemingway liked the rye. Kerouac, speed.

Back in that state and bound to the laws of that state. Minutes are longer although still worth 3600 seconds on the buffet line. Share them with your fiends. We don't mind. Really,

Purloined laments borrowed from a stiffness I met in a dry well. That is all that I had left from this adventure. I couldn't claim I lost my virginity because there it was, intact.

a coma (which I did whenever I lost emotional control). I normally awoke within an hour or two, but, after my last coma—which lasted 3 days—I knew I was closer to a deeper sleep.

to get real baklava (the wife has an aversion: she can only eat baklava prepared in Greece by a Greek man named Achilles). I wrote Inside the Mouth of Her Truth on the Greece trip.

Growing up I can remember watching Gomer Pyle but I can't really remember much about it. A stray hair got me itching for some Pyle. I watched an episode. It was very well written.

My second novel will be Cobblestone's Lament. It will be about a small pebble that starts off chipped off from its Stone Consensus due to its metallurgical makeup. It can't imagine

This cobbler is barely cobbled together. I surely hasn't been cuddled. Lets not let that point get muddled. It wasn't a notion that needed to be battled like a drake after a loon.

I saw the red tree in the bowl. Walsh must be in worse shape than he was letting on. Still, it didn't seem enough of an issue to confront him prematurely. The cards had to be in pl

Some thought to call my throne my pedestal. Those same found their answers in the deserts around Las Vegas. I hope their answers were to their liking. More than the rest of us get.

EJ Camacho of Space Patrol didn't like floating in deep space like this. Hopefully, that last retrorocket burst will get her into this moon's gravity well. Reentry was going to be

I learned to hate/love noodles by repetition; by rote.No noodle could be brought against me ever again. I was learning the chef ninja Way. I braised ribs with a mustard gas dry rub

I'd been spacefaring maybe 13 years by then. I was part of the original Spacers. I barely got onto the list. There was a miracle & there I was pulling midwatch on a spacefreighter.

Thrak had been ridiculed ever since he'd failed at knocking out his date when he asked her out. Then he let her tell him how to tie her hair to drag her with better. The other cave

Thrak was sure the one that was called Lt. Gayson was a female. Like the others, she was ugly. But Thrak couldn't help but notice how her hips were in the right place for zug zug.

Thrak was the caveman they brought with them from the past. They exposed him to their modern technology without a road map. If it didn't involve hunting he was at a loss as to what

I think I used to like drinking tomato juice. I don't know but they are piling up in the bunker. It is because nobody is drinking it because they remember what happened to Thrak.

What a morning. I've already committed my first murder of the day & before breakfast. Speaking of breakfast, I better heave ho. Mrs. Judson keeps a punctual table. I'm guessing Mex