Bruno Schulz On The Street Of Crocodiles

The pills I take at night to get to sleep leave me feeling dazed all morning. I stare stupidly at the white screen of my laptop while rubbing my head in a forlorn attempt to stimulate the language center of the brain. I think once again of Bruno Schulz. Only the first sentence of the novel he was writing when he was murdered survives: Mother awakened me in the morning, saying, “Joseph, the Messiah is near...” A Gestapo officer shot him down in the street in broad daylight. It was a kind of hobby, to be honest.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of the poetry collections Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing) and Famous Long Ago (Laughing Ronin Press).

Garage Sale Books And Modern Lovers

Barbara poked around the stack of discarded books, hoping this would be their last sale for the day. What joy Joseph derived from driving across the city scouring garages for bargain antiques eluded her. She'd tolerated the pastime for three months now, but a quaint second date now had the hallmarks of a compulsive hobby.

Maybe she would end it with Joseph tonight after dinner.

Barbara picked up a battered copy of The Farewell Waltz, one of the only Kundera novels she had not yet read.

"How much?"

Two dollars seemed like a price well paid for such appropriate symbolism.

No More Grant Wood

Francis stared gawping at the bleak picture of a white house on a twilight prairie for at least a couple of minutes before breathing. Hattie linked arms with him and pressed close.

“Well, what do you think?”

Francis sighed a wordless soliloquy.

“Isn’t it wonderful? Look at the shading, the perspective, the detail.”

“I just finished that wallpapering.”

“Soot from the aromatic candles and sewing chalk.”

Francis frowned.

“All dangerous hobby stuff is locked away. Candles...top shelf.”

Francis confirmed the press was locked and tight against the wall before addressing his two-year old son.

“Grant, you’re one creepy-ass kid.”

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid