Category Archives: storiesFromtheEdge

texts that are created on the edge of a precious precipice

a dark secret

after the meal when they sat the three of them tiny people & they emptied their pockets to see what they had brought back from the beach: geenie had a shell that looked like a dinosaur eating his own tail, she said. tommy had a stone which contained a dark secret, he said. lara had

listen

The child sits at the lake shore and everything is happening around him. Not some things, all things, all the time and at the same time. He puts out his tongue in the sun under the clear blue sky. My tongue feels funny against the sky. I touch the sand and the sand touches me

teddy & tart

i would love to take a short trip to london with you where i lived for a number of years. but i cannot even afford a single weekend away from my chores. i feel like sitting on the back of a horse gallumphing through an ice storm, crystals freezing solid on my face which maintains

ghosts on the ice

well, did you know that i am the grandchild of an inuit shaman? we lived in newfoundland then, close to the edge of the ice. there were any number of ghosts there. no, not just stories, the real thing. there were shiny spectres, spiritual bums, ancient heroes, and also some ancestors with unfinished ends hanging

@franki_

.. may still go to #hollywood. the other day, i took a plane from hollywood down to cape town to visit @franki_ a girl who followed me via twitter, the latest and greatest in international memetic travel. we had to settle an underscore, so obstinately positioned after her name, so i took my french foil,