Saturday, Dedicated to the God of Cycles of Violence and Revenge who Devours His Children, but Also of Harvest and the Lost Golden Age
I return, once again. I'll run again. It doesn't matter. Where is there to go? Guilty I am, and guilty I have been. Though in that town of secrets, who's to know? But no road leads me out from your shadow, My wolf, my lonely wolf, my...
Afterword by Ted V.
Some say it was all folklore, of the sort civilizations Will sprout like fungus from the leaking seams as they grow senile. That those who live like wolves among the ruins may find comfort In tales that make the wolves out in the wastelands to seem...
Part XVIII - And With That, I Close the Door
There was no particular celebration, that night at the cabin. No fanfare. No triumphal parade. Nik asked Will a few polite questions about how the shoot had gone and from there the conversation meandered into methods of constructing climate-resistant...
Part XVII - They Can’t Sell That House So Empty It Stays
Sam dropped them both off at the rest stop closest to where route 93 turned off the interstate. According to Chase this 'shoot' came with a van better equipped to handle potholes and washout, they'd ride out in that. "Which," Sam grumbled, "is fine by...
Part XVI - Still as the Silence Round About His Lair
It wasn't usually the director of photography's job, on these shoots, to do this kind of groundwork. Finding sources for local legends, or the locals who could tell them, was something the writers/hosts/directors/producers had always handled. And yes,...
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.