You can be a virgin in horror the same as in sex. How, when I left the Place Clichy, could I have imagined such horror? Who could have suspected, before getting really into the war, all the ingredients that go to make up the rotten, heroic, good. And there I was, caught up in a…
Now It Can Be Told by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. – a Kilgore Trout story… The premise of the book was this: Life was an experiment by the Creator of the Universe, Who wanted to test a new sort of creature He was thinking of introducing into the Universe. It was a creature with the ability…
by Pachydermy Philly… “Billingham Bokstock was born with an elephant’s head. A real, live elephant’s head. Not only was he the first ever trunk-swinging, tusk-bearing, floppy-eared candidate to run for president of the United States, he was twelve feet tall. The first time he walked into a press conference, his head went crashing into the…
The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka – Chapter One… When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin. He was lying on his back as hard as armor plate, and when he lifted his head a little, he saw his vaulted brown belly, sectioned…
Erik McManus of Breakeven Books asks, “What is the most overrated book?” Find out what his followers had to say at Breakeven Books – Click Here
The following is an interview with bestselling author John Irving (The World According to Garp, The Cider House Rules, The Hotel New Hampshire), titled John Irving, The Art of Fiction No. 93, from the Paris Review. John Irving was interviewed in the cramped back room of his otherwise large and luxurious apartment in Manhattan. A…
by Fed-up Philly… I used to be a jackal. That is to say, I once was a reporter. A journalist. A scavenger of the lowest kind. You know, like in the movie Nightcrawler. I’m all better now, thank God. Lucky for me, I woke up just in the nick of time. Read the whole feeding-frenzy…
by Connectedly Philly… I was in the Park when I heard the news about Wags Wagglestein, my attorney. Next thing I knew I was headed downtown. It had been a long time since I had been down to Mulberry Street, and suddenly I was feeling nostalgic. Read the whole spaghetti-eating story… My Time Spent…
by Steven Fischer… Beneath my feet, this world is breaking, dancing along to some beat I can’t fathom. Each note, resolute, as the ice cracks and grows, stretching in the warmth of the dayward side, contracting here in the shadows. An entirely natural phenomenon, they promise, but the strength of the song still makes me…
by Jamaica Kincaid… Wash the white clothes on Monday and put them on the stone heap; wash the color clothes on Tuesday and put them on the clothesline to dry; don’t walk bare-head in the hot sun; cook pumpkin fritters in very hot sweet oil; soak your little cloths right after you take them off.…
