Here is a peony.
Its petals unfold.
No conscious decision was made
to become these shapes.
Here is a peony.
Its petals unfold.
No conscious decision was made
to become these shapes.
With my eyes:
With my ears:
With my heart:
Do not mistake inertia for contemplation: one will light your heart on fire the other will empty it.
With my eyes:
With my ears:
With my heart:
Barn’s burn down
now
I can see the moon
— Mizuta Masahide
My short story “What a Wolf Wants” is up at Three Lobed Burning Eye magazine. It’s a strange little story ( do I write anything else? ) about a wolf who isn’t a wolf and a girl who isn’t a girl. It’s a story about grief that never really leaves us, and how we live anyway. It’s about making the decision to stay on this side of reality even in the worst of storms. And it’s about how friends get us through it. It’s also about moons and hungry cities and wolves. And everybody knows wolves are the best.
With my eyes:
With my ears:
With my heart:
Failure is the gift I give my future self.
At first there was a story that started — “‘Worms got most of ’em,” the man said. The thief dropped the apple and tried to run.” It was going to be a story about the moon and clones. Moonpunk! But … that story turned out not to be a story about the moon and clones. That story turned out to be a story about a plague in Narnia Wonderlandia. The story about the moon and clones starts like this: “Five minutes after the convention goers sat down to a lunch of wilted salads and engmeat a wave of panic swept through the grand hall; somebody was killing Einsteins.” Moon noir!
Maybe I can write it before it changes its mind again.
With my eyes:
With my ears:
With my heart:
With my eyes:
With my ears:
With my heart:
With my eyes:
With my ears:
With my heart:
With my eyes:
With my ears:
With my heart: