tales of the hotel st crispian, chapter 80: "i wouldn't mind having it"

by horace p sternwall

illustrated by roy dismas, and rhoda penmarq

editorial consultant: Prof.Dan Leo



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necessity

by maj. abner d sternwall

illustrated by roy dismas

a single star burned through the night with darkened eyes and faces white and hands around their rifles tight they heard the cry at early light - fix bayonets! the day had come to do the deed a world was waiting to be freed the time had long since passed for talk the breaking dawn lit up a rock - fix bayonets! and now the sun lights up the sand of the nameless misbegotten land hardly known in song or story as out they rush to doom - or glory - fix bayonets! o citizen, you soon forget as you turn the page of your gazette the deeds done on that distant day so you could whistle on your way - fix bayonets!

thisat

by nooshin azadi

illustration by rhoda penmarq

. unscrupulous process of peace began a horizontal doubt never behaves straight i've realized this among that .

tales of the hotel st crispian, chapter 79: "How High the Moon"

by Horace P. Sternwall

edited by Dan Leo* 

illustrations by roy dismas and danny delacroix

*Associate Professor of Romance Literature, Assistant Volleyball Coach, Olney Community College; editor of A Bible and a Six-Gun: The “Preacher Jones” Stories of Horace P. Sternwall, Vol.1; Olney Community College Press; available exclusively at Kresge’s 5&10 Stores.

The desperate and drunken young lawyer Michael Chandler (called “Henry” by his wife Carol, because of his innate “Henryness”) and his new acquaintance Harold P. Sternhagen (author of Cast Caution to the Winds, High Yella Gal, Return to Okefenokee, The Angry Privates, and numerous other “paperback originals”) were heading for the bar in the Prince Hal Room of the venerable Hotel St Crispian when they were suddenly accosted by the notorious Lord Wolverington, who was sitting at a table with the equally notorious heiress Miss Caroline Charlton, the world-class bore and remittance man Phineas “Farmer” Brown, and Harold’s colleague in the dismal trade of letters, the science-fiction author Fred Flynn. “I say, Mr. Sternhagen, do you just walk by without saying hello, my boy?” “Oh, hello Lord Wolverington,” said Harold. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” “That’s because he only has eyes for that canary,” said Fred (the author of Starfleet Traitor, A Moon for Möbius, The Stars Are My Bailiwick, Cast-Offs of Betelgeuse, and numerous other books and short stories). “The lovely Shirley De La Salle,” said Farmer Brown. “She’s a peach all right!” “A little trollop you mean,” said Miss Charlton. “I’ve seen a thousand young janes like her come and I’ve seen them all go just as soon as their looks start to fade, straight down to the Bowery or to those low dockside bars frequented by unemployed stevedores and merchant seamen.” “Ignore Miss Charlton,” said Lord Wolverington. “The dear lady quite simply cannot bear to have any other female mentioned in her presence.” “Trollops,” said Miss Charlton. “Seen them come, seen them go. And if it were not for the decayed likes of them I should so much more enjoy my own occasional visits to the Bowery or to the aforementioned low dockside bars.” The band had begun another song, and Shirley was singing again: “Somewhere there's music How faint the tune Somewhere there's heaven How high the moon…”

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othering

by nooshin azadi

illustration by rhoda penmarq

. streets of comprehension are inundated  with control the warrior is attacked  by jejune judgment here your nirvana slowly  others .

fenwick - 5. good souls, fellow creatures and chums

by minette de montfort

illustrated by roy dismas

one day, or so we are told, the sun will disappear. or burn out. or something like that. disappear, burn out, is there a difference? strange to say, such considerations often occupy my mind. often occupy them for quite long stretches of time in fact, quite irrespective of my surroundings or my so-called circumstances. and did even when i was a schoolboy, much to my discomfort at the hands of my schoolmates. i was forcefully reminded of the imminent - or perhaps not so imminent disappearance or burning out of the sun, as the case may be - by the said sun's most forcefully beating down on my head as i stood by the side of the road to b----------, watching the disappearing form of fenwick as he strode forcefully, without so much as a look back or a bye your leave, in good - nay perfect form, one foot in front of the other, first the left, then the right, absolutely the proper to take a walk or for that matter even an evening stroll - though as i previously indicated it was far from evening, with the sun, which showed no sign at all of burning out or disappearing, banging down on my poor head - only nominally protected as it was by my hat - not a bad hat, quite in the latest style inasmuch as i was able to judge of such things , but hardly a pith helmet or up to the task of doing a pith helmet's work if it comes to that, fenwick as i said heading down toward the horizon and over it on his way to b--------------, there to enjoy a glass at the hostage and crawfish - was that really the name of the pub - the hostage and crawfish? - to be sure i had not written it down when he pronounced it, hardly thinking it necessary at the time, even if i had a pen and paper handy, and i am not one of those gentry who find it necessary to burden myself with those appurtenances when i am only going for my morning walk, the hostage and crawfish, yes, a singular name, but perhaps not for the town of b------------, for who knows what sort of name they find proper or useful , and it did to the best of my poor memory seem to be the name fenwick had indicated, and who was i to doubt him?

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she's asleep now

by nooshin azadi

illustration by rhoda penmarq

. she's asleep now tired the golden dome is spinning pilgrims are ignorant i go home the subway is crowded they are always there i didn't buy anything it was not expensive it was cheap very cheap never mind the glitters she's asleep now tired he was playing it beautifully we paused to listen a pumpkin plant in the war front i take its picture i walked all the way home they are everywhere the headers lie we talked and talked the cats ran after us nobody listens keep right  keep right i go straight starry night blue tiles blue tiles the whirling trees never mind the glitters she's asleep now tired i crossed out the misspelled word we laughed they are everywhere nobody listens the dome is spinning pilgrims are ignorant i go straight starry night blue tiles blue tiles she's asleep now .