Category Archives: 100 Fictions

025: On Roundness

An interesting thing of late is the roundness of human perception–as a geography at the outermost surface of the eye. How things stare back at us. This deep space is filled with language–the language of things, sounds, colors, and other phenomena admitted into the mind. Clouds, for example, which are always troublesome. I write them […]

024: What Would You Do?

In John Timmon’s short film the search for meaning (part 1), a man initiates conflict in the narrative by responding to a woman’s expression of boredom. She claims that she wants to do “something new and exciting.” He responds by saying “like driving around naked.” This is a film about revealing character. Conflict in the […]

023: I Was Hoping

When she left, sure the sun was shining, sure the boxman in his truck had forgotten to brake at that dangerous intersection, sure the clouds had cleared two months ago over my mother’s house which made her think there was an explosion and the astronauts’ urine tank had cracked. Yes, I’d heard rumors, rumors that […]

022: Phone Call

(Scene I) He bought his wife a computer (Scene II) and took her to dinner, an expensive dinner that smelled of butter, wine, and capers. She ate slowly. He poured the wine. Outside, the moon burned like an eyeball observing winter’s January. A wasp or a bee circled among the ceiling lights. Two waiters got […]

021: A Strange, Alternative Universe

The road ahead does indeed look like more than a bowl of morning cereal or something dead and furry you saw the other day on the shoulder or a red kite jerking against a cool blue sky. It isn’t the curves, the crazy angles of the cable wires, those few drops that run up the […]

020: On Forever (a prose poem)

This morning I saw yellow in the bushes at the skirt of the house, an elimination of reds and blues, a distortion of green. It was a shallow color, speedy, and hours later I determined that it had been a coyote digging for mice or ground hogs or moles. In the desert, I remember greens, […]

019: On Simultaneity

The cinematic form is a wonder. With this form an artist can make several events or activities appear to be happening at the same time. Let’s examine this notion. Simultaneity is a perceived fact of every day life. We can prove this by considering single events in space and time, such as the action of […]

018: On Pretty Things

At a particular conference–there were so many for the Professor–he asked this question of two men, one young, the other older, standing at the bar. He asked them: “Where are your thoughts?” The older man attributed the question to too much drink. But as he observed the Professor closely, he noticed the contents of his […]

017: On Dendrological Scansion

“I really liked the movie,” the man said. “I liked that it was about trees,” the woman said. “But it wasn’t about trees,” he said. “It was about the end of the world.” “It was about trees,” she said. “It wasn’t about trees. That’s like saying the day is about sun when everyone knows that […]

016: Gravity

When I was a child I imagined the distance between the roof of my house to the very place where the world curved out of view, which had to be imagined because the neighborhood houses squared out forever. I don’t remember the first time I climbed the roof. It was a means of rising above […]

015: I’ll Talk to You

The woman with the red hat checked her phone. A text message read: “I got your message.” She walked into the shadows. She reached high for color. She drew a branch down, plucked an orange then another orange and then another orange and put them into her purse, one by one. I got your message. […]

014: What the Filmmaker Saw

One day, a filmmaker read about how a particular Somali had become a captain and how, somewhere in the world, a group of soldiers took ownership of land they knew only from magazines. He shook the paper. He thought for a moment: is anything in here real? The sun streamed into the room, like snow, […]

013: On Silence

When I watch a green dot and am asked to listen for 45 seconds, I have 45 seconds of silence. In that silence I imagine traveling forward or away. And in that silence come a deck of characters: Wally, Geronimo, someone named Jean, who had just leapt out of a plane. I also think of […]

012: On Quantification

Two by two remains an equation you could never solve “How much of life is quantifiable?” he asked, as a superstore sign (it must have been several tons in weight) bent at the neck and fell on him, like a great flyswatter. “Now this’s something,” said the unit commander. “This morning over coffee I never […]

011: On the Poetry of Lines

The line “this point in space” in John Timmon’s short film titled Perspective #2 reminds me of another by Robert Frost. It goes: “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall” (1). I don’t know why, but let’s trace the logic anyway. This is the first line of Frost’s famous poem, Mending Wall. What’s interesting […]