Michael Simms: Civilization and Her Discontents
On the morning of the important day, Civilization woke up on the wrong side of bed again, rolled over and fell on the floor.
David Huddle: What is Unknown
When I tell her I’ve fallen for What Is Unknown, my mother’s face brightens. “She’ll be a good girlfriend for you,” my mother says. “Not stuck up like that trashy Well Known.
Michael Simms: André Breton and the Birth of Surrealism
The Poem was worried. He’d heard rumors of Rondels in other lands being infested with illogic, and there was no known cure.
John Lawson: Climax of a Story Never Told
It’s true: he and his blanket have grown old together here in the corner of the Episcopal church parking lot.
Meg Pokrass: The Interruption
I’ll do the liberating for both of us, doll, he says.
Ariel Dorfman: Sending Trump to Hell
For some time now, I’ve wanted to send Donald Trump to Hell. I mean this literally, not as a figure of speech. I want him to inhabit the palpable, sensory Hell that religions have long conjured up with scenes of sulfur, damnation, and screams of perpetual pain from those who once caused grievous harm to their fellow humans.
Sean Connolly: Sacrifice
You can’t educate a secret. Many defy time and live in the throats of birds chortling about the discovery of the universe, once and always hidden beyond sight.
Meg Pokrass: The Original Life of Bob
Bob’s ego sometimes got stuck and its nobody’s business where.
Susanna Lee: Jim Thompson is the perfect novelist for our crazed times
“The Killer Inside Me” is a testament to moral accountability exultantly shredded, and its resonance today is uncanny.
Meg Pokrass: Trophy Wife
It was the sound of our lawn, the hiss of sprinklers, that chilled me. That year Jack erected a barbed wire fence to keep the scum out, keep the Mansons away.
Video: My Expanded View
A Yoga tutorial. A collapsed body. An expanded view. Peace of mind gone horribly wrong.
Old Story: Auditing Grandpa
The IRS decided to audit Grandpa, and summoned him to the IRS office. The IRS auditor was not surprised when Grandpa showed up with his attorney.
Alexis Rhone Fancher: Post Mortem
It’s the last time, I swear, except this time I mean it. The last time I mourn Kate so hard I don’t eat, unless you consider alcohol a meal. The last time I drive drunk the five miles to Chuck’s house, at midnight, despondent, disheveled, swigging Stoli…
Michael Simms: A brief note to Vox Populi subscribers
Dear Friends, Just want to let you know that we’ve added two new categories to our menu of posts: Fiction and Literary Criticism and Reviews. The menu can be found … Continue reading
