“There was something natural to me about this concept of a disembodied presence haunting the streets of NYC.”
Tag: Fiction
Substack: Solipsis: sink into myself, diminish into a ball of hatred
“‘So Bladerunner,’ I say to nobody in particular.”
Substack: Fiction (supernatural, amorphous): A lingering presence who watches and wanders
“I felt especially at home in this supernatural, amorphous character, which unmoored me a bit from the need to accurately describe or convey things that had already happened to me.”
Fiction: “Hammer Blue”
“I didn’t see or realize anything. I felt alien, alone and paranoid – and dull, like the dark moments of a song on the radio that I was indifferent to.”
Fiction: “DEPT. WITHIN”
“Watching, I imagined her mind as an electrical, muscular diamond – both consummately and consumingly luminous, equally ultra-absorbent and ultra-resistant to surrounding energies.”
Fiction: “Rotting Porch”
“I was captivated by her relaxed expression as she drew the exhaled smoke into her nostrils and back out through her mouth.”
Hanna Liden and Nate Lowman: “Umbrellas and Dropcloths”
“Pedestrians’ sneakers would leave impressions on the slick wet streets, and the sidewalk silt – a mutant peat soil host to cigarette butts, boredom, annoyance, and other nuisances – would build up and finally disappear down the drains, to be stretched and hung on a wall, or hardened in a block of civic concrete.”
Fiction: “Streak of Lightning”
“A raw but dry attraction that makes me think the words: ‘blunt and scalding colors.'”
Feral Kid: “Muddy Banks”
“Under the dimming overcast sky, my clothes already damp from the chronic regional mist, I’d walk over to catch the commuter train, which traveled above ground, passing through layers of suburban development, residences growing increasingly dismal and forgotten-seeming, until I arrived at his stop, which had the same name as his street, one of the local proper names, the name of a judge or sheriff or gambler from the previous century, which was used commonly in the place where I grew up and which evokes such a stew of memories, mostly bad, that to pronounce it for me is analogous to a certain queasiness.”
Hanna Liden: “Ghost Town”
“Yeah, I’ve seen you around. But when you’ve been here as long as I have, it’s not just you, it’s years of yous, or very-much-like-yous. This city breeds yous: hey yous, me and yous, sick of yous, fuck yous. As I’m sure you can understand, I gave up on names a long time ago.”