Saturday, June 30, 2012

the adventures of pandora paddington - 1. a walk in the rain

by laurene de lampeduse

illustrated by roy dismas and rhoda penmarq







there once lived, in a remote area of the kingdom of ireland, a gentleman named john paddington, who, having inherited the most modest estate imaginable to support a gentleman in a condition just above that of total poverty, and being wholly devoid of energy or ambition, resolved to live out his days sitting in his front parlor and gazing out at the weather, which in that particular place was generally very dreary indeed.

besides looking out the window, his chief amusements were reading old plays, particularly those of massinger, and of beaumont and fletcher, and taking an occasional sip of very weak claret (weak to begin with, and made even weaker by the depredations - and infusions of water to cover up the depredations - made by his rascally manservant ).



all this was well enough - who are you or i, dear reader, to condemn or even comment on the worthy gentleman's mode of existence? except for a pair of curious events which transpired as mr paddington was approaching his forty-fourth year.

perhaps i should say trio of curious events, for the first noteworthy event only occurred because of a circumstance which may seem unremarkable in itself, but was quite exceptional in the particular situation - namely, that mr paddington suddenly decided to go for a walk.

exactly why mr paddington decided to go for a walk - though no doubt "not beyond all conjecture" - might not easily be determined, mr paddington himself being of a decidedly unreflective nature and not given to analyzing his actions or disclosing his thoughts, even had he someone to disclose them to. in any case, it was an exceptionally overcast day and a sudden wind had come up, bending the bare trees outside the window, an indication of a possibly violent storm. he rang for his manservant, and that personage appeared forthwith.








for complete episode, click here

Friday, June 29, 2012

Thursday, June 28, 2012

“A Town Called Disdain”, Episode 134: whacked


Let us rejoin our heroes, anti-heroes, and assorted featured players on a day in September, 1969, at the hospitable Johnstone Ranch (“Reasonable Rates For Folks Who Hanker For a Taste of the Real Old West”), not very far from a town called Disdain...


(Go here for our previous chapter, or here for the first chapter of this Pepto Bismol Award©-winning yarn from the legendary Larry Winchester. “...like Cormac McCarthy but without the big words.” -- Harold Bloom.)


That morning a great dust storm blew up through the area but then it passed and the day opened up bright and clear and warm and everything seemed like you could reach out and touch it.

Everyone had a good long sleep and after people finally started waking up that bright afternoon they all sat around the parlor drinking tea and eating little burritos made with the leftover barbecue meat.

Jake was nice enough to give Brad one of his old western suits to replace his bloodstained one, and Dick gave Mr. MacNamara a nice grey serge number from Hawkes of Savile Row that was a tad too small but still better than the bullet-ridden and gory jacket and trousers he had been wearing.

Buddy wound up in some old ranching clothes of Ed Harris the foreman’s.

Harvey drove Cleb and Attie home in the green Corvair, and he stayed for dinner out at the Parsons spread.

Buddy spent part of the afternoon working on Paco’s station wagon and sure enough he got it running again. Paco bade a fond farewell to one and all and drove back to the reservation.

Jake sent Tip Bullock out to Enid’s truck with four spare tires. The Doc and Enid drove out with him, and after they had changed the tires Enid and the Doc drove back on in to Disdain together.

Mr. MacNamara and Brad and Buddy spent some little time palavering together out on the porch and when they came in Mr. MacNamara took Big Jake aside and they had a little talk. Then Mr. MacNamara sat down next to Dick and Daphne and they talked quietly for a while. And then Mr. MacNamara and Brad and Buddy said so long to everyone and drove off in a nondescript old Packard that Jake had lying around. Jake said later that he had offered them the car free gratis and for nothing, but that old Mac had insisted on paying cash for it, in the form of five crisp new hundred-dollar bills.

Dick and Daphne had a talk with Jake over cocktails, and Jake said he thought it’d be a damn swell idea for Hope to take a trip to Europe with them. That Albuquerque head-shrinker had advised that she hold off college at least till next January. Well, Jake was no head-shrinker but maybe a trip like this was just what she needed. Get her out in the world a mite, do her a world of good; then if she wanted she could start college in January or even the following fall. Truth to tell he was thinking it’d be nice to be able to bring a señorita or two home now and then and not have to worry about corrupting Hope. Not to mention let someone else take care of her whenever she had one of her little nervous breakdowns.

****

That night Dick and Harvey had a little chat on the front porch, sitting side by side on a couple of wicker rocking chairs with a stand-up ashtray between them. Dick asked Harvey if he would like to come along with him and Daphne and Hope. Their plan was to drive the Thunderbird back to Frisco and drop it off for Dick’s friend Huey, then take a plane to Philadelphia, have a brief visit with Daphne’s grandmother in Cape May, and then on to New York and finally to Europe. Harvey said thanks but he reckoned he’d hang around here for a little while, maybe work on the ranch if Mr. Johnstone would give him a job.

“Don’t want to leave Attie, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Not just yet anyway.”

“She seems like a really nice girl.”

“That she is.”

“Why don’t you -- you know --”

“Take her with me?”

“Yeah. I mean, not necessarily with us.”

“She won’t leave. She wants to stay with her old man and her brother.”

“Oh.”

“They all got radiation poisoning. Each other’s all they got. I’ll hang around a month or so, then I guess I’ll be movin’ on.”

“Oh. Well -- we’ll write then, Harvey, keep in touch --”

“Sure,” said Harvey.

Dick sort of wanted to reach over and put his hand on Harvey’s shoulder, but, well, no, better not. Instead he took out his last joint. He’d been thinking of saving it for the road, but, what the hell, no time like the present. He handed it over to Harvey and lit him up with the trusty old Ronson. Harvey toked deeply several times and then passed the joint to Dick.

“You wanta hear my theory, Mr. Smith, I mean Ridpath?”

He still hadn’t let out the smoke. These kids today were pros.

“Dick,” said Dick, between two tokes.

“Dick?”

“What’s your theory?”

Harvey let out the smoke, a great redolent cloud in the crisp cool desert air.

“I think we invented them outer space guys.”

“We did?”

“Yeah. The human race did. I think we invented ‘em. I mean, not on purpose. But, like, our dreams invented ‘em. We had to invent ‘em, ‘cause we ain’t never satisfied with what we got. I mean, the life we got ain’t enough, the universe we got ain’t enough, and, like, we know we’re all alone but we can’t stand to be alone. So we invented this whole other universe out of our dreams. And the people in this other universe don’t even know we invented ‘em. They don’t even know they’re a dream.”

Dick toked deeply, held it in, and exhaled slowly.

“You mean -- they don’t really exist?”

Harvey took the joint.

“Nah, of course they exist. It’s just, we created ‘em. Don’t know how, but we did.”

He toked.

“Wow,” said Dick. “That’s pretty --”

What was the word --

“Heavy,” said Harvey, still holding it in.

Actually Dick was thinking more along the lines of preposterous.

Harvey passed him back the joint, exhaling another great cumulus cloud of smoke.

“Harvey?”

“Yeah?”

Dick took a couple of little tokes.

“Don’t -- try to make too much sense of life. Don’t -- fall into that trap.”

He gave the joint back to Harvey.

Harvey stared at the joint.

“I am whacked,” he said.

****


(Continued here. Recently shortlisted for the Kilgore Trout Memorial Award for Vaguely Scientific Fiction.)

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

2 poems

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

illustrated by rhoda penmarq





chair




i wish i had a comfortable chair
i'd get in it and just sit there
my brain would be clear and my back wouldn't be sore
and i'd never feel bad any more










life


life is nice

you wake up
in the morning

and it's still there
and you are still in it

the sky is outside
the window

and the sun
or maybe the rain

and nothing to do
or maybe something to do

either way
or no way

life is nice
sometimes






Sunday, June 24, 2012

caw + sometimes sapphire



caw
 (scan)

they can't all be 
gems  but emerald s
can  and  the call
of one raven, ticking off
the day's heat
                like a cricket


2012.


                 or sometimes sapphire


            thank you for helping
            to make/ this building
            a safe and easy place
            to maintain. The
            militarized  robots
       in the sub-basement  will
           guide you away
       from certain spaces,. Should
       you open a door or ,
       descend   a staircase and
       catch the bright emerald
       glimmer of their twin
       slim rectangles , turn
       away , quickly.


2012.

tales of the hotel st crispian, chapter 62: "excitement is where you find it"

by manfred skyline

illustrated by rhoda penmarq and roy dismas

























for complete episode, click here

Thursday, June 21, 2012

“A Town Called Disdain”, Episode 133: sunrise


And the long night has finally come to an end here at the Johnstone Ranch, that oasis of civility not very far from a town called Disdain...


(Go here to read our previous chapter, or click here for the first chapter of this Pep Boys Award-shortlisted masrerpiece from the battered and bruised Olivetti manual typewriter of the legendary Larry Winchester: “...the Homer of our wretched age.” -- Harold Bloom, on The Mike Douglas Show.)


It was past seven by the time Dick and Daphne finally made it back to their room.

Dick stood in the bleary light and emptied out his pockets.

The Browning.

His cigarette case and lighter.

The transistor radio with the bullet hole through it (he had forgotten that he still had it).

The two small revolvers -- his own trusty Airweight, and the Colt .38 he had taken off of Brad, which he was pretty sure belonged to Mac; he’d return it tomorrow.

They took off their blood-stiffened clothes, threw them across the floor and got naked into the cool unmade bed. It would have been nice to take a bath or a shower but they were just too fagged out. They sat up against the pillows and they each had one more cigarette.

“God, what a night,” said Daphne. “I feel --”

She paused.

Dick turned and looked at her. Daphne often gave one pause but she herself so rarely paused.

“Yes?” said Dick.

“I feel as if I know what it is to be insane.”

Now Dick paused.

“Yeah,” he said.

And it was true, so fucking true, it was all insane.

They smoked.

And Dick thought, well, tomorrow’s another day, as Scarlett O’Hara once said. Even if it is already tomorrow. But just to sleep now. A good long sleep. And then what. What new chaos awaited them?

“Dick, you don’t think those space people will bother us any more, do you?”

“I hope not. After last night I should think they’d prefer never to see us again.”

“Good. That Frank person was a dodgy character. Do you think Papa will stay on earth now?”

“He probably has to.”

“Mama will have a cow.”

“I dare say. Oh, by the way, when you were making those delicious pancakes your father told me he’s giving us some money. A belated wedding present.”

“Oh really? How much?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“From that famous briefcase of his?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it real?”

“Well, he said it’s indistinguishable from the real thing, but then he also said we should be careful how we spend it. You know, ration it out, or --

“Right, that’ll be the day. Say, Dick?”

“Yes?”

“Do you mind that I’m half space-person?”

“No.”

“You hesitated.”

“Only a half-second.”

“You really don’t mind.”

“Why should I?”

They sat there against the pillows, their cigarette smoke trailing upward in the soft light, and Dick discreetly admired Daphne’s breasts for the ten thousandth time.

“Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“What about Hope?”

“Oh. Right.”

“I know it’s not your fault but if what Frank said was true she’s having your baby.”

“Yeah. I -- I really haven’t quite had time to think about that.”

“What should we do?”

Dick was thinking about this when their door opened and Hope peeked in.

“Speak of the devil,” said Daphne, and she chastely pulled the sheet up over her breasts.

Hope came in and softly closed the door behind her. She was wearing the same nightdress that Dick had seen her in yesterday, the same one Daphne had seen her in the night before yesterday.

“May I come in?”

Daphne told her she was already in, then tapped the bed next to her and told Hope to come over.

Daphne scrunched over closer to Dick, and Hope came over and sat crosslegged on the bed, her nightdress tucked under her knees. She smelled like maple syrup and butter. Daphne gave her a cigarette and then filled her in on the whole business of her and Dick having sex in a flying saucer and how she was now presumably pregnant with Dick’s child.

“Well,” said Hope, finally, “I’m too young to bring up a kid. I want to live life, and travel. I think I’ll just give it up for adoption. I’ll tell Papa it was some guy from the air force base. He’ll have such a fit.”

“I’ve got an idea,” said Daphne, after only a moment. “Come with us for a trip.”

“A trip? Where?”

“It doesn’t matter. Europe.”

“Europe would be nice.”

“Come with us on a trip to Europe and you can have the child there and your father will never know. And then Dick and I will adopt it.”

“Really?”

“Well, I don’t see why not. I mean it’s half Dick’s anyway.”

“That would be great. And then I could visit it sometimes.”

“Sure. Do you think your father will let you go?”

“I’ll handle him.”

“Well, it’s settled then. Is this okay with you, Dick?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” said Dick, as if the matter hadn’t already been settled.


(Continued here. Soon to be a major motion picture produced and directed by Larry Winchester and starring Dane Clark and Martha Vickers, coming to a drive-in near you on a double bill with Larry’s Count Dracula’s Niece, starring Barbara Steele and Vincent Price.)


tales of the hotel st crispian, chapter 61: "speed is your best thing"

by manfred skyline

illustrated by rhoda penmarq and roy dismas























for complete episode, click here

Monday, June 18, 2012

what a strange house i live in!

by nooshin azadi

illustration by rhoda penmarq





.

what a strange house i live in!

i hear knocks at the door
but no one shows up
when i open it

the telephone rings
but nobody is on the line
when i answer it

i find my mailbox crammed with letters
but all are signed anonymous

my neighbors wave at me
but never talk to me
and when i wave back
they rush into their houses
and lock the door

no vehicles or pedestrians travel
along the road in front on my house
but all through the night
i hear cars honking
bicycles ringing
and people shouting

one of these days i will pack
and leave this strange house
to live in another place
even i may choose
to reside in a lonely cave
all by myself

loneliness is better than living with ghosts
silence better than senseless noise

.







Thursday, June 14, 2012

“A Town Called Disdain”, Episode 132: Evergreen


It’s September, 1969, and as usual wars and chaos rage around the planet, but on this particular night, on the Johnstone ranch -- not very far from a depressed little town called Disdain -- young love has blossomed once again as it always will...


(Go here for our preceding chapter, or click here for the first chapter of this epic from the battered Olivetti portable of the legendary Larry Winchester: “...perhaps the only contemporary novelist worthy of assuming the mantle of the great Sidney Sheldon.” -- Harold Bloom.)


When they came up for a little air Attie said, “You got me all excited in that car, Harvey.”

“You got me pretty excited, too, Attie.”

“I think you’re pretty excited now.”

“Don’t I know it.”

They clinched some more.

Then:

“Harve, I’m a virgin.”

“Good.”

“You wanta make me not a virgin?”

“Sure do.”

“You’re not afraid of the radiation sickness?”

“Hell, no,” said Harvey. But then on second thought: “Should I be?”

“The doctors say it’s not catching. It was only people that was too near the A-bomb test.”

“That’s cool. I mean, uh, not cool, but --”

“Where can we go, Harvey?”

“Go?”

“Where can we go right now?”

“Oh," said Harvey. "Well, I got a little bungalow Mr. Johnstone give me.”

“Let’s go then.”

They took the stairway that led down to the parlor instead of the one that led to the dining room, and they slipped out the back way and walked across the yard. The sun was finally starting to shimmer up over that blue smear of mountains out over the desert. They went into Harvey’s little bungalow and he didn’t turn on the light, first of all because it was unromantic, and second of all because the place was already a complete mess even though he’d only moved in the night before last.

They immediately went into another clinch standing up, and in between kisses they started to get each other’s clothes off. Then there was that awkward moment where Attie was completely naked and beautiful and, yes, glowing slightly green in the soft half-light, and Harvey was naked except for his blood-splattered Bill Blass trousers down around his ankles and his silk socks and Oleg Cassinis smooth-calf loafers. Attie pushed him back onto the little bed and pulled off his shoes and stockings and pants and his Johnny Carson Collection boxer shorts and then she said, “Okay, teach me, soldier boy.”

Harvey said that first thing was they ought to get a condom out of his wallet.

“We don’t need one, Harvey.” She got on the bed next to him and put her hand on his chest. “I can’t have babies because I don’t produce eggs because of my radiation.”

“Well, okay, then, I guess,” said Harvey.

They kissed a bit more, sitting side by side on the bed.

Then:

“Harvey, I probably won’t live more than a few years more.”

“Shit. That’s harsh, Attie.”

“Yeah. But here’s the thing. I wanta really experience life before I go.”

There was a pause, and then Harvey gently pushed her over on her back.

There was just enough dim light to see her in all her beauty, there was more than enough light.

A minute or two later Attie said, “What’s that you’re doin’ there, Harve?”

“Somethin’ I read about in the Evergreen Review. Just lie back and enjoy it, Attie.”

“Okay.”


(Continued here. “Not only a great book, but a great doorstop.” -- Clifton Fadiman, Collier’s Magazine.)

Thursday, June 7, 2012

“A Town Called Disdain”, Episode 131: breakfast

It’s been a very long day and an even longer night, and finally our bloody but unbowed heroes and assorted lords and ladies are heading in to breakfast in the vast but homely dining room at Jake Johnstone’s ranch, just a long hoot and a short holler beyond the outskirts of a town called Disdain... (Go here to read the preceding chapter, or here for the first chapter of this Boys' Life Award©-winning masterwork from the legendary Larry Winchester, the man Cormac McCarthy has called “the only other contemporary novelist I can bear to read”.)
They moved into the dining room and sat down and Esmeralda and Chang dished out scrambled eggs and grits and sausages and hot biscuits with homemade rutabaga preserves, and by each plate was a cold beaded can of Tree Frog beer for the grown-ups or a bottle of Dr Pepper for the kids, with a bottle of Jose Cuervo tequila in the middle of the table. And after everybody had their plates full Big Jake did an unheard-of thing. He told Esmeralda and Chang to grab a couple of plates and sit down and join in. Esmeralda and Chang both looked at each other and shrugged, then got plates and silverware and sat down.

Just about everybody was pretty damned hungry. Dick and Daphne and Harvey had respectively had Beef Wellington and Lobster Fra Diavolo and Surf ‘n’ Turf in the Samba Room, but none of it had been very good and they had only picked at the food out of politeness; and besides, all that seemed ages ago. They were ravenous now.

Paco and Derek were all doped up, so they didn’t eat too much, and pretty soon Derek just crawled under the table and fell asleep while Paco concentrated on the beer and tequila.

The Doc ate a bit of egg and potato and then sat back smoking, sipping a glass of the yellow tequila.

Enid was fucking starving. She’d thrown up all her barbecue at Paco’s place and it had been one long night; she dug in.

Hope usually ate like a bird, but seeing her idols Dick and Daphne and Enid eating like ranch hands made her want to emulate them, so she dug in too, as well as she could.

Attie and Cleb were poor kids, you didn’t have to ask them twice to clean up their plates.

As for Mr. MacNamara, Buddy and Brad, well, it had been a long time since they had had real Earthling food, and they were in something close to ecstasy.

Brad got a little drunk.

“All things said and done, I gotta say I love this fucking planet,” he said. “Fucking love it.”

“Hey, watch your language, mister,” said Cleb.

Brad raised both his hands.

“Whoa, sorry, kid!” He looked around the table, smiling, his mouth full of sausage. “I don’t watch myself with this guy I’m liable to get a shiv in my neck!”

“Just remember there’s ladies present is all,” said Cleb, coldly.

“I will, slugger! I will! Ladies! Real human ladies! And food! Real food! And real booze!” He paused, sighed, muttered, “Not like the shit they gave us in that fuckin’ casino, man.”

Cleb was about to correct Brad’s language again, but he let it go, this time.

“Okay,” said Enid. “Daphne. Speaking of this so-called casino -- tell me, what exactly transpired there?”

And Daphne resumed her tale, in her fashion.

The Rat Pack, the Samba Room...

Jake, wise to the joke, kept chuckling and saying, “Aw, Miss Daphne!”

But the Doc realized that it was probably all true. And stubbing out his cigarette he remembered Omaha Beach, he remembered rising up out of his body and looking down, and that vague awareness he had had of others somewhere up there, also looking down. It all made sense. For the first time in his life things made sense. And he felt himself on the threshold of that mental displacement he had first felt as he staggered up the beach that morning after getting hit. He didn’t fight it now. He let it happen and it happened. He was there in his head and everything else in the world was out there. And it was okay.


“Hey, Doc,” said Big Jake. “You gonna eat them eggs or memorize ‘em?”

And now he was back.

There was Big Jake’s fat chewing smiling face.

There was everyone else, and the Doc was with them. And it was okay.

“Stuffed, Jake,” said the Doc. “Delicious though.”

And he shook out another cigarette and lit it up and went back to listening to Daphne’s story.


When Daphne found herself on the verge of the part about Frank’s saying that the spacemen had previously abducted Dick and Hope and hypnotized them so that they would have sex -- well, she found herself hesitating for just a fraction. She glanced over at Dick, and the poor man was just frozen, staring at her in what could only be called great apprehension. She decided it was best to keep this part a secret, at least for the time being, and quickly improvised a different version,
mutatis mutandis, of how and why she had got up from that table in the casino, “in an absolute huff”.

So on and so forth, and finally she got to, “So, it looks like curtains for us, with this horrible motorcycle madman just about to mow us all down with his machine gun, when -- thwoomp -- little -- Jed is it?”

“Cleb, ma’am,” said Cleb. “Cleb Parsons.”

Mister Parsons here saves the day, throws this knife right into the madman’s neck.”

“It were Bull Thorndyke’s knife,” said Cleb.

“Pardon me?” said Daphne.

“It were the knife what Bull Thorndyke pulled on Harvey t’other day. The one the sheriff made him drop on the barroom floor. I picked it up and took it when no one weren’t lookin’.”

“How foresightful of you, Jed,” said Daphne.

“Name’s Cleb, ma’am.”

“Cleb. You were wonderful, Cleb.”

“Just did what needed doin’.”

“Yes you did.” Daphne addressed the table at large. “Oh, the look on that motorcycle fellow’s face when he saw who had thrown the knife. It was priceless.”

Everyone stopped eating for a moment, looking at Daphne.

“Well, it was,” she said. “Wasn’t it, Dick?”

“Well,” said Dick, and he put his forearms on the table. “Let me put it this way. I think I’ve had enough excitement tonight to last me a lifetime.”

“Amen,” said Daphne.


They ate up all the food and then Daphne looked around and said, “God, I’m still hungry. I’m a pig.”

Before you knew it Enid was offering to make pancakes but Esmeralda wouldn’t let her and then Daphne said she knew how to make pancakes, her specialty was blueberry pancakes. There weren’t any blueberries but there were plenty of Esmeralda’s rutabaga preserves so pretty soon Enid and Daphne and Esmeralda were all working together in the kitchen making rutabaga pancakes while Hope hovered about trying to be helpful.

Meanwhile Cleb had fallen asleep in his chair, so Attie went in and asked Esmeralda where she and Cleb were to sleep. Esmeralda left the pancake brigade, Harvey picked up Cleb, and Esmeralda led him and Attie up to a room on the second floor and then she left them alone.

Harvey helped Attie get Cleb undressed down to his worn old jockey shorts, and Attie tucked him in under the cool covers.

He’d been half awake as they were undressing him and now he said, “You comin’ to bed, too, Attie?”

Attie told him she was going to stay up for a little while.

“G’night, Harvey,” said Cleb, and Harvey said goodnight too.


Outside in the dim hall Harvey and Attie immediately went into a clinch.

(Continued here. “A beach book you can read even when you’re not at the beach.” -- Mrs. Emily Grunger, Books Editor, The Olney Times.)

fenwick - 3. reconsideration and despair

by minette de montfort

illustrated by roy dismas







"faster!" cried costermayne, "faster! did i teach you nothing in our long ago happy school days?" and he roared with laughter. "when the challenges come , you must rise to meet them!" and he strode ahead of me, unheeding.

i stopped.

costermayne grew smaller in the distance.

fenwick vanished from my sight.

the enormity of what had transpired suddenly overwhelmed me.

but i was no stranger to enormity.



or to suddenness.

above all, i was no stranger to being overwhelmed.

enormity - had not my whole life been one enormity after another? from the enormity of my so-called birth (which i had no memory of and always taken on faith) to the hideous enormities of mute and bewildered childhood (which i remembered only too well and had no need to take on faith) to the blizzard of petty indignities (i concede i can hardly call them enormities) of my schooldays and finally to the dribbling dregs of desperation, which, laid end to end, made up my "life" - had not enormity been my mother, brother and guardian angel?

or suddenness? could i ever forget the terrible day when i realized that i existed?








for complete episode, click here

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

behind walls...

by nooshin azadi

illustration by rhoda penmarq






.

walls have two sides
and two souls
they fall down only when
the two of them believe they can fly

i am trapped between numerous walls
behind each of them someone lives
with a fear
or a doubt
in silence
or pride

i cannot demolish these tall walls
as i cannot see them

.



may 17, 2012







Monday, June 4, 2012

tales of the hotel st crispian, chapter 60: "splendid indeed"

by Horace P. Sternwall

edited by Dan Leo*

illustrated by konrad kraus and roy dismas

artistic supervisor: rhoda penmarq

*Associate Professor of Classical Philology, Assistant Badminton Coach, Olney Community College; editor of Six Bullets to Reno: 41 Tales of the Old West by Horace P. Sternwall; Olney Community College Press; Volume 31 of “The Sternwall Project”.





















for complete episode, click here