Sing In Me, Holy One, and Through Me
As far as Bethany Smith was concerned, the Oregon Trail could go and fuck itself. Probably it'd go to Oregon to do that. That was where it seemed to be determined to get to, God knows why, but she wasn't particular: the trail could fuck itself anywhere...
A Poetic Definition.
There are schools of thought where thinking must needs work like thin magnetics, Aligning every glittering gear with every last ball-bearing, So that the world is dissected by 'if and only' statements To categories perfect, and to crystal clear...
Extra - We Can Be Like They Are
"Well, I guess I feel kinda complicated bout it all." Todd's sigh had all the world-weariness of a tribulated martyr. "I don't guess, at least not no more, it's no Satan worship or nothin, and it aint as if I aint done more'n enough to drive a wedge'r...
The Lepanto Institute
Thin thoughts thrashing in the think tank's fears (Don John of Austria's been dead hundreds of years.) You type your twitter messages of heresy and hate, But Notes of the Community shall set the record straight. The pope is not a president. His...
Part XV - Of All of the Boys Who Were Schoolmates Then There are Only You and I
Someone witnessing events, invisible but ever present, from the outside, might have been forgiven for thinking that being fully and officially Will's hadn't changed Leo's life all that much. Like a newlywed after the honeymoon, the return to ordinary...
Part XIII - His Curse on the Fairest Joys
Kane's taillights vanished slowly down the long gravel road. More slowly than they needed to. Possible, Will supposed, that he'd been a little more emphatic than needed explaining about the steepness of the way up here. Also possible that Dunbar was...
Part XIV - Pity's Long-Broken Urn
The desert smelled so familiar. He didn't remember much of El Salvador. A few images of the rooms of a house, but even those he couldn't be sure if they were memories of real things, or memories of imagining what memories of real things might have...
Part XII - The Marks of Wanton Hunger
"What about Thursday?" "Won't he have," Sam didn't bother getting up from the couch, "work in the morning?" "He oughta have enough PTO to take one day off, though," Will yelled up the basement stairs. "It's at least worth asking!" \> Thurs? "You...
Part XI - That You and He Might Touch Each Other
The thing about profound, transformative experiences--an evening spent on your knees in the upper bathroom of the Stag, for example--is they transform only you. The rest of the world, and your daily life in it, cares very little. It carries on much the...
Part X - And Thus They Welcomed Me, One Among Their Band
The Stag was much as it had been last time. A little less crowded, though maybe not. A little less noisy, though only possibly. The same lights over the dance floor. The same pornographic encouragement on the screens. The same alcohol and cologne,...
Epigram
There is no need to balance every joy with every sorrow. If paradise is waiting it can wait until tomorrow.
Part IX - As I Would Save a Stranger in the Street
All the ride home, Leo had been idly running his thumb, in small circles, over the tiny padlock on his chest. Will and Sam had laid in eachother's arms, apparently very satisfied with an afternoon's work. Leo sat on the floor, cross-legged, since he'd...