You’ve heard of hotels where every room offers a different theme, right? Down the coast in Newport, they have one dedicated to great writers. So, with The Grand Budapest Hotel opening, it made me wonder: If Wes Anderson were a hotel, and his movies were rooms, which room would you book?
The Secret Society of Rain: A Review of Walking In Rain by Matt Love
Imagine a secret society devoted to rain, rooted in the rich, sodden soil of the Pacific Northwest. Members recognize one another by the soaked state of their outerwear, hair plastered to glistening foreheads, eyes wild with the prophetic water that they invite to run down their faces. They exchange secret handshakes with slick hands and wrinkled fingertips. They gather in cabins moldering beside rivers, where rain infiltrates through a fallen roof and slides down walls padded with moss. [Read More]
Emerald City DEA (short fiction)
She stood on the lower deck of the ferry. The wind beat her face and the salt stung her eyes. But she didn’t care: ahead was Seattle. Downtown’s glittering spires rose from brackish water like the tip of a submerged fantasy kingdom. Gulls screeched escort overhead, defying currents, until knifing down and whipping back out of view.
Art Show
Pick a medium, any medium.
Shuffle it with streamlined themes
and magic random thoughts.
Cut it, quick, whoever you are.
Now hide it from the pros
who’ve done every dream.
The Eagle’s Epitaph – The Multiple Lives of the Screaming Eagle
Although it is as difficult to project as well as portray the cumulative history of a nation or a people through a single individual, it might be rational to attempt a history of media through a particular newspaper. In the case of the North Coast Times Eagle, the history it projected was a local and out at the edge projection of journalism that might seem paradoxical if not antithetical to mainstream media, which claims its history the center stage of American journalism. [Read More]
Jetties of Consciousness
Jetties fascinate me. They teach me poetry and physics, life and death. They represent solidity and evanescence, ambition and ignorance. They are black and jagged, gray and serrated. They whip up a kind of slippery, spraying, salty ocean margarita I love imbibing. If anything can be said to be rock and roll in nature, an oxymoron of course, jetties are it.
Cancer and Climate Change
Recently, a friend of mine sent along a link to a post on the blog Nature Bats Last (what a great name for a blog!), asking me to forward this post to my son (which I did). A couple of days later, my son sent me an email asking if I’d read the piece, and how depressing it was. Well, it took some time, but I finally sat down last night (after finishing filling out financial aid forms for my college-bound son this week) to finish reading this very long and heavily referenced post. [Read More]
Salmon Are My Heroes
With battered grace they thrashed upstream, bashing themselves against the current, rocks, other obstacles, and their own mortality to reach their natal waters. Their ordeal had flayed away their steely overcoats to reveal the muscle that powered their thrust toward the new life for which they would sacrifice their own. [Read More]
It’s a lot of work
It’s a lot of work
coming Home
retreading
previous paths
turning
at some fateful moment
back
to the by ways of our
Birth [Read More]
A Guardian Spirit (Short Fiction)
“Daisy, come quick. He’s back.” The small, shaggy-bearded man danced a few steps in excitement.
A woman moved her girth sideways, through the screen door, letting it slap shut. Frizzy dark-rooted blond hair framed her splotchy sagging face. She snatched the binoculars and trained them on a distant stand of trees growing across Cape Falcon. [Read More]
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