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    ‘“It won’t blow up,” I say, but with little confidence. I actually see the glass tower explode into thousands of scattered shards, cutting us both into torn shreds of skin, stabbing out our eyes. Dave, skeptical of the government to the point of obsessive paranoia, is only a little troubled by the possibility that a large vessel of gas conducting electricity might detonate in our house, disfiguring, blinding, or killing us. He flips the on switch and, instead of clear sharp darts piercing my chest and face I feel a current move through me, vibrating each bone and blood vessel as it reaches past my body into the space beyond me. There is a shocking sense of displacement as if the energy, moving in, has pushed something out of me. (Read more...)
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“Defender” - Hawai‘i Review Issue 72, September 2010
“Old Gods at the Armageddon” - The Last Man Anthology, October 2010
   ‘And at once, all the slow and stuck drains in the world were unclogged. Every human hair that had been stuck together with blood, skin, and semen was flushed from the pipes of every household into the sea, collecting upon the dead waves into a mass, growing larger and larger, as big as the seas themselves, a great floating wig that covered the surface of all five oceans. The few survivors of the nuclear blasts looked out to the coasts and saw only a great moving body of dark wet hair. Mountains of it washed onto the shore.’ (Read more...)
  ‘A more distasteful theory, but more probable, was that Susan really liked Grand Funk Railroad and wanted to “turn me on” to them. But what kind of girl likes Grand Funk Railroad? I shuddered when I imagined her at one of their reunion concerts, sweaty, poised on the shoulders of a baldie from the original era, the sleeves of her T-shirt ripped off, the front of which she lifted occasionally, to catch the eye of the guitarist. But what kind of dreams did the Grand Funk Railroad trio inspire? What kind of lost soul would find itself in the bombastic drumming, the over-stimulated production? Unless she received the MP3 from a boyfriend who couldn’t tell Grand Funk Railroad from the Kinks and she was simply re-gifting the MP3 to me, this Grand Funk Railroad disc represented some truth about Susan she couldn’t express in her own words. And like anybody, she relied on music to express her feelings for her. Perhaps she wasn’t even a fan; even if she didn’t like their music, perhaps she believed Grand Funk Railroad gave others a deeper glimpse into her psychological or emotional makeup, those parts not apparent in her eyes or seemingly unconscious gestures. I had sympathy. I felt the same way about Last Year at Marienbad—if anyone wants to know how my mind works, along what rigid lines it moves, they only have to watch that film. But I could never actually sit through Last Year at Marienbad again.’ (Read more...)
“Grand Funk Railroad MP3” - The Write Room, November 2010
    ‘I ran, and though I did not look back I knew they moved along the path of the labyrinth as one body, a beast with multiple heads spitting out the same unanswerable phrase: “How come? How come?” At each sharp turn they were nearly on top of me, pulling at my clothes with fingers that, thank God, I yanked my shirt out of. “How come? How come?” Panic lent me enough energy for a sprint to the exit—with no Theseus at my back to slay the monster, survival was my own responsibility.’ (Read more...)
“Honolulu Labyrinth Society” - Labyrinth Inhabitant # 9, Spring 2010