Audio Files

Soooo… I use Dropbox to share the audio files of me reading select stories… and Dropbox changed so all the audio files stopped working (thanks Dropbox).
I think I’ve fixed them but, unfortunately they are just links to Dropbox, rather than being embedded in the page. If anyone knows of a way to embed mp3s in WordPress without paying for premium or hosting it yourself, please let me know!

I’ve also deleted a few posts that were just lists of other posts where there were audio files. Fixing the original posts themselves was enough work, and I didn’t really see the point in fixing those too.

Please contact me if you come across one that doesn’t work, thanks!


As far as new stuff goes, I’ve added an audio file for

Norbert Faustino’s Disappearance:

and The Last Sunset:




The Last Sunset

The old man had never seen the waves crashing on the beach seem so melancholy. He and the boy had sat at this very spot and watched the waves many times. Often the waves pounded the shore in anger or sometimes in desperate anguish that nobody but itself could ever understand. Many days it was playful and flirty, only to transition without warning to insecure, mocking, or downright nasty. It had never, though, reflected melancholy so well as it did at that particular moment.

“The ocean is a teenage girl,” the old man thought to himself scratching his chin.
The boy seemed to notice the obvious emotions of the waves, but, true to the form of young men and young women, he seemed to understand the subtleties of her feelings only as much as she did his – which was very little, being as she was an inanimate object. The boy was no longer really a boy, but a young man. He, however, would always be “the boy” to the old man.

The sun was sinking towards the waves and it promised to be a spectacular, if not heart-achingly forlorn, sunset. Just as it was plain to the old man that the sea was melancholy, it was plain to him that the boy’s mind was running like a greyhound on its final sprint.
The old man caught himself, shaking his head silently, “final sprint,” was too on the nose; it didn’t feel right hanging there in his mind. He tried other phrases, “charging rhino,” “fleeing gazelle,” “wolf running down its prey.” None seemed to fit, so he left it, noting that it didn’t matter. Nobody but he would ever hear the way he worded it; it’s not like he intended to commit it to paper. He didn’t do that anymore.

The major difference between the mood of the boy and the mood of the ocean was that the mood of the ocean, the old man knew, was mostly a projection of the parts of his own feelings that he didn’t want to acknowledge. The boy’s very much belonged to the young man himself, and he had them for very good reason, the old man thought.

“There’s got to be something we can do,” said the boy, fidgeting.

“We can enjoy the sunset,” said the old man.

“How?” replied the boy. The old man could feel that the boy was staring at him, but didn’t drag his eyes away from the waves. He wanted to observe and appreciate every detail.

“How can we sit here and enjoy the sunset when-”

The old man cut him off with a dismissive wave.

“Do you agree that we’ve already done everything we can to prepare for the end?” the old man asked quietly.

Among the light breeze and the sounds of the crashing waves, the boy had to lean closer to hear his voice. He pondered the old man’s question for a few long moments, then nodded his head slowly in resignation. They had done all they could; the only thing left to do was wait.

The old man still hadn’t taken his eyes from the waves, but in the way he had, he somehow knew when the boy started nodding and continued. “Then, we can either dwell on our unavoidable demise or we can enjoy the sunset.”

“How though?” asked the young man, “How can you sit there and enjoy the sunset, knowing what’s coming?”

The old man forgave the boy instantly for the disdain in his voice. His sin was only not having been beaten down by so many years as to understand. The fact that the boy wasn’t to be given the chance to become an old, broken man himself made the old man sad, but the heartache rolled off his heart like water off pants that had been worn too many days in a row.

“Knowing it’s the last makes it more beautiful, don’t you think?”

The boy sighed and pushed sand around with his feet. “I guess.”

The boy didn’t get it, but the sky was fading to magenta and the sun was about to kiss the sea, so he waited quietly, contemplated what it would feel like when the end came, and allowed the smiling old man to enjoy the last sunset in peace.

Listen to me read it here:


enorHappy Halloween, everyone!
What follows is my Halloween story. There is also an audio file at the bottom, if you’d prefer I read it to you.


I tried desperately not to let Elaine catch me glancing at her as the car wound up the road into the forest. Her dark hair fluttered on the pine-laced breeze that came in through the two inch gap in her window. It was a warm, autumn day and she was wearing a black tank top that accentuated some of her more obvious attributes and those cutoff shorts that did the same thing when she was standing.

As some Iron Maiden song ended on my mp3 player, a heavy guitar riff introduced Van Halen’s “Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love” and I had to snap my eyes back to the road because Elaine turned to me grinning.

“This playlist rocks so fucking hard,” she said, nodding her head in time with Mr. Van Halen’s guitar as she reached for the stereo and turned it up just a little.

“Oh, yeah? It’s just on shuffle,” I lied.

I had spent an entire day carefully crafting the perfect playlist from songs by bands that I had either heard her talk about, or that she had ever mentioned on social media in the twelve years and two months that she had had a Facebook or the six years, two months that she had been on Twitter. I even went through every picture she had ever uploaded and analyzed each of her shirts to determine if it was a band shirt or not, to make sure that I didn’t miss one. I had almost missed Van Halen. She had seemed to be enjoying it, but until then she hadn’t said anything.

“Great collection, then. All over the place,” she said. I glanced away from the road and we made eye contact for a brief moment. She smiled. My heart palpitated and for an instant I was worried that I’d have a heart attack and kill us both – We’d never get to go on the date that I had worked so hard to plan.

Looking back to the road, I lied again, “Just a few of my favorites.”

I was enjoying the playlist, but I had never heard of half the bands before putting the list together. For example, what the fuck is a Thin Lizzy? Is it like an anorexic gecko? Whatever the name meant, she really liked that one, it was in the playlist a lot.

“So, Paul, how much further is this place? I need to make a tree into the ladies room.”

Knowing that she was into horror movies and ghost stories I had done some research and found a local ghost story that worked. Back in the ’50s, some professor at the university, Dr. Emery Benedikt, had a cabin way out in the woods where he, supposedly, did experiments with animals. Apparently he created what he called the perfect monster. The monster was called an enor. Legend stated that they could walk through walls and would sneak up right behind you before letting out a long, low, rumbling roar, just so you knew it was there before it killed and ate you. According to the story, a few got out and the professor moved to another state to get away from them. There were a few accounts of people having close calls, but nobody had ever seen one.

When I found the story of the enors, I knew it was my chance with Elaine. The plan was to go out to the abandoned cabin that had once, allegedly, belonged to old Dr. Benedikt. We would spend some time looking around the old cabin, freak ourselves out a bit while drinking a beer or two, then… who knew. I hoped that I knew. I hoped that it would be the perfect date, then she’d be in a frisky, playful mood and one thing would lead to another. Then we would date forever because she was the perfect woman, even if her interests were a little creepy.

“Not too far,” I said, looking at the GPS, “like, another 2 miles. Think you can make it?”

It had been an hour since we had left the apartment complex that we both lived in. That’s where we had met. One day that summer I had been using the communal barbecue with my buddy, Dave, when Elaine and her roommate Clair had come down to the pool. I never would have had the nerve to go talk to them, but Dave has never met a girl that he didn’t feel comfortable hitting on and offered them two of our beers. If it hadn’t been for Dave’s ridiculous spectacle of trying to get Clair to give him her number, I never would have had anything to talk to Elaine about. We had both agreed that he was an idiot.

We had seen each other a few times since then. She was always friendly and we became acquaintances. Then, one day, while I was reading through a bunch of her old tweets, I came across one that said, “I’d marry a guy that takes me monster hunting. #CuteDateIdeas.” So, that is precisely what I decided to do. How could she have possibly said no?

I pulled the car off the road into the pullout that I had marked on my GPS and we parked just after Rush’s “What You’re Doing” had replaced Van Halen not talking about love (though, to this day, I’m still not sure what they ARE talk’n ’bout). From there it was supposed to be a short hike down to the cabin.

As soon as the car was stopped, she hopped out, saying, “Don’t leave without me!”

I watched her jog into the bushes, her cute little cut-offs doing… well, what cute little cut-offs do. I got out of the car and pulled my day-pack out of the trunk. Then I stood there, awkwardly waiting for her to come back. I needed to urinate too, but I wasn’t about to go wander around in the bushes and chance it looking like I was watching her pee. If the other side of the road wasn’t a nearly vertical granite face, then perhaps I could have gone over there, but there was nowhere I could go. So I stood next to my car in the pullout, dancing back and forth slightly, that “Jailbreak” song from earlier ringing in my ears.

Just before she came back I realized the flaw in my plan. What was I going to do? Leave her standing bored in the pullout while I peed? I’d have to explain why I hadn’t just gone while she was going – it would seem so awkward. I didn’t want to be awkward.

I turned toward the car looking desperately for something that I could pretend I had been doing instead.

“Much better!” I heard her say behind me.

Making sure the cringe had left my face, I turned around, “Oh good.”


We made pretty good time on the trail, eventually coming out into a clearing with a small, decrepit cabin standing in the middle. It was perfect; straight out of a horror movie. While we had been walking, my need to pee had been manageable, but now that we had stopped, it felt like – if I were to hold it much longer – it would start squirting out of my eyes.

“Be right back,” I said shuffling back up the trail.

“Where are you-” she started to ask, following me, but I cut her off.

“Just gimme a sec!” I yelled over my shoulder, rushing into the bushes, already struggling with the fly on my pants.

I made it just fine and came back only moments later, feeling like a million bucks.

She had wandered to the front of the cabin and was peering into the dark through the open doorway.

“Sorry about that I had to-” I started.

“Yeah, whatever,” she interrupted, grinning and pointing at the door, “check this out.”

Someone had painted “Bewar the enormouse beest!” in crooked, angular letters across the door’s warped surface.

We both laughed for a moment, but then fell deathly silent when we heard it for the first time.

The roar seemed to come from everywhere at once. For all I knew it had. I hadn’t expected the stories to be real and, by the look of terror on Elaine’s face, she hadn’t either. We both stood in shocked silence for a long time, our eyes flicking around the clearing in front of the small cabin. I listened through the ringing silence for any hint as to where the beast might be. I analyzed the smell of the pine-laced air as I breathed, was it different from before? The trees that had been so beautiful and welcoming just moments before now looked like sinister, looming beasts.

“What the fuck was that?” she finally asked, her voice just above a raspy whisper.

“I think it was an enor,” I responded, turning to look behind me.

“Shut the fuck up. You put speakers out here or something, right?” Her tone was accusatory and amused, but when I turned back and looked her in the eye, the look I saw there was one of pleading. “That’s where you went just now, to turn them on?”

“I swear to god, Elaine,” I said, reaching out to take her hand; she gave it willingly. I wished that I had put speakers in the trees to scare her, that would have been brilliant. “I think we should go inside.”

It appeared the enor might actually exist and I – like some sort of dumb-ass horror movie cliché – had figured it was an urban legend and brought a girl out here on a date, so I, true to form, then made another classic mistake and decided to go into the creepy cabin.

“Aren’t they supposed to be able to walk through walls?” she asked. She was right, of course, but that didn’t slow either of us in our pace to get inside the cabin.

“Do you have a better idea?” I asked as we passed the threshold.

Somehow, even knowing that they could walk through walls, the musty, decaying cabin felt more comfortable than being out there, with all those trees peering down at us.

Fishing the flashlight out of my pack, she turned it on and slipped her hand out of mine then replaced it with the flashlight.

“Maybe we should just get out of here,” I said, “you know, make a run for the car?”

“Paul,” she said, “it’s like a mile, they’d get us before we made it twenty ste-” she was cut off by another roar. It was abrupt, sharp, near, but it was definitely outside.

She threw herself on the heavy, wooden door. The old hinges screeched in protest, but it closed with a solid thud, shaking the entire thin wall.

“Light!” she cried, “I need to see the lock!” It was still broad daylight outside, but all the windows were boarded over and, with the door closed, there was only a small amount of light streaming in through holes in the rotted wood and around the edges of the window boards.

I shot the flashlight up to the back of the door. There was a deadbolt there, which her hand had already found by the time I made it visible. It was rusted into place.

Another roar came from somewhere off to the right, immediately followed by one from the left. Again, they were both still definitely outside, but now there were two of them.

“If I find out that you,” she started pounding the palm of her hand on the lock, trying to make it move, “are fucking with me, Paul. I’m going to stab you, you understand that, right?”

Another shriek pierced the air from right outside the door, and she stopped pounding to look at me, “I’ll be impressed, but I’ll fucking stab you. I swear to god.”

“Got it,” I said, “here, let me try.” I placed my hand on the door, and she stepped back. The lock really wouldn’t move.

“Maybe if I,” I started, lifting the heavy flashlight and slamming it on the post for the deadbolt.

The light flickered off, and I heard her grumble, “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

A series of roars picked up just then from outside, one after another. I wasn’t counting, but there were quite a few of them, and they had the cabin surrounded.

I smacked the flashlight on my palm, and the light flickered to life for a brief moment, before turning off again.

“Leave the lock, Paul, they can walk through walls.”

“Right,” I said. It still felt wrong to not be barricading the door, or something, so I stood with one foot against its bottom edge.

“There’s got to be something in here we can use as a weapon,” she said. I could hear her moving around in the dark, but couldn’t imagine that her search would be very fruitful unless I got the flashlight up and running again.

My mind flashed back to that morning when I had been standing in my bedroom with an extra flashlight in my hand, debating if I should bring it. I had decided that if we only had one, she’d have to stand closer to me while we used it. Dumb-ass.

I unscrewed the battery cap, not sure what I expected to be able to do in there, and another series of roars rose up again, all around us, this time it was hard to tell if there were inside or out, it came from everywhere. I screwed the cap back on and smacked it again. The light flickered, then died just as quickly.

“Paul! Help me with this.”

I moved towards her voice. Her hand came up to rest on my shoulder to stop me from plowing into her. “There’s a table here maybe we can pull off a leg and use it as a-” she stopped when a single roar rose up from just behind me.

My heart freezing, mid beat, I spun on my heel and smacked the flashlight again on my palm. It flickered to life, but nothing was there. Then the flashlight died again.

“What the-” I panted.

“Paul, where are they?” she asked. I could feel her hand on my arms from behind.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but-”

Another roar shook the cabin, and I ducked, this one seemed to come from right near my head.

“Fuck this,” Elaine said, pushing past me. I could hear her feeling around on the door for the handle and moved to join her. A series of roars thundered through the darkness, from every corner at once, and I couldn’t breathe. I bound the two steps back to the door and clawed at it, the rational part of my brain gone: replaced by a puddle of useless terror. I was no longer looking for the handle, I was scratching at the door and screaming, needing so badly to be outside that I couldn’t focus long enough to make it happen. Elaine shoved me out of the way, then the hinges screamed as she tugged the door open. Bright light poured into the cabin and she tumbled outside. I scrambled after her. My eyes stung and I couldn’t breathe, but when we were outside, we ran a few steps then stopped to look back at the cabin.

What I saw there, took a long moment to process. There was a mouse standing in the doorway, which then stood up on its hind legs and let out a blood-curdling roar.

“Wait, what?” I asked.

Elaine started laughing. A relieved chuckle at first, which then cascaded into a deep fit. “Enor-Mouse Beest!” she managed with a gasp, then slumped to a seated position, clutching her stomach in hysterics.

It finally sunk in as another mouse joined the first in the doorway and they both roared together. Of course they could walk through walls, they were mice. Dr. Benedikt had created the perfect monster alright: it could walk through walls, sneak up right behind you, scare your pants right off, but you’d never see it, leaving your mind to fill in the worst details it could come up with.

I started to chuckle too, and sat down next to Elaine, my knees feeling weak.

When she finally got her laughter under control, she turned to me and let out a long sigh. “I thought we were just going to come out here and fool around a bit, this was way better.”

Another roar came up from the cabin, this one, much less sinister, now that I knew what it was.

My heart leapt into my throat, she had known those were my intentions and came anyway? Maybe I still had a chance. My eyes darted back and forth between hers, searching. Was this an invitation to kiss her? I started to lean in, and she pulled away a bit.

“No way in hell, Paul,” she said, standing up, “not after I just watched you scream like a little bitch.”

She dusted herself off, laughing again. I stood as well, not saying a word and looking back at the cabin.

“Let’s get outta here,” she said, walking back towards the trail.

I lingered for a moment, watching the cabin, then I noticed that five or six of the mice had made their ways out the door and were coming towards me.

“Wait up,” I yelled after Elaine, running to catch her.

Listen to me read it here:


You can buy enor swag on RedBubble:

Norbert Faustino’s Disappearance

Most people that knew him agree that it probably wasn’t suicide. In fact, many don’t even think he’s dead.

He took a week off from his job here at the bank, and on the last day before he was to return, a letter appeared on my desk. It was written in a careful, delicate scrawl on thick, soft paper, and just said “I’m going on a trip. I might be back eventually. Probably not, though,” and was signed with his usual flourish, “Norbert Faustino.”

Before that day, nobody disliked him here at the bank, but nobody really knew him. He came to work on time, he gave his service with a smile, he absorbed small-talk without offering anything of himself, and he spent his lunch breaks reading alone. When I asked around a bit about him among the other tellers, nobody could tell me his hobbies – aside from reading, of course – or even what part of town he lived in. I had his address, and phone number on file, but I found it strange that nobody even knew that about him.

The phone number had been disconnected. The address was to an apartment complex just around the corner. Later, when I went in to their rental office, the heavy-set blonde woman behind the counter had said they couldn’t tell me anything, but then proceeded to tell me that he had paid his rent on time for three years, then, the day before had broken his lease and thrown a lot of his stuff in the dumpster in the parking lot. When I turned to go, she called out, “Wait, there’s more,” then proceeded to tell me about an interaction that she had with him two weeks before.

“He put a for sale sign on his little Mazda in the parking lot, and I told him it had to be moved out onto the street-”

When I furrowed my brow, she clarified that it was management policy that nobody can sell things on the property.

“Anyway, when I told him, Norbert just smiled and nodded, which wasn’t strange for him.”

Norbert ended every conversation with a smile and a nod. It was something that I noticed about him during the interview, and was part of the reason that I hired him.

“But then, I ask,” she continued, “buying a new car, Mr. Faustino?”

She looked at me, nodding until I was starting to wonder if I was supposed to respond, then continued, “It was the darnedest thing, he just smiled and said ‘Nope.’ Then he got in his car and moved it to the street.”

That did seem odd, but not out of character for Norbert to offer no further information.

“I don’t know if he sold it, or what, but I noticed that it was gone 2 days later.”

That was all much later, though. My first reaction to getting his letter was to ask his coworkers if anyone had heard from him (and, of course, nobody had), then I sat for a long time, staring at the phone, wondering if there was someone I should call about this. It all seemed very odd, and I had learned over my years at the bank to take all red flags seriously when it came to dealing with people. The bank had been robbed on my watch once, ten years before, and it was just after a man had come in to talk with me in general about a mortgage, and something about the way he shifted around in his seat, glancing around all the time, then excused himself had made me uncomfortable. It was later confirmed that this man was casing the bank for the hold up two days later. I don’t know what I could have done about it if I had put two and two together at the time, but my point is that we humans are good at gauging if our social interactions have reason to be worrisome, and something about Norbert’s letter worried me. Was he contemplating self-harm? That didn’t seem likely from the wording of the letter. If that wasn’t the case, was it any of my business what he was doing? If he wanted to throw his job away by skipping town, why was it my responsibility?

Still, something didn’t sit right. The guy didn’t seem to have any family. Whose responsibility was it to report him missing if he disappeared?

There was a girl, Katherine, who used to work for me. She was a dispatcher over at city PD now. I guess she wasn’t really a girl anymore, she had been 18-19 when she worked for me – just a little kid – but that’d been almost 8 years ago, now. Anyway, I decided to call her and just ask her opinion.

She said she’d ask around and call me back.

While waiting for her call back, I grabbed a copy of the schedule for the last several weeks and pulled up the security footage for the same period. I then jumped around to Norbert’s shifts. First, I noticed that during the last week before he went on vacation, he walked to work, which would make sense later when I talked to the lady over at Peaceful Willow Apartments. The next thing I saw was not new news; as I already said, during lunches, Norbert read. I saw Travels with Charlie, Don Quixote, Moby Dick, and The Old Man and the Sea. There were lots of books, but those were the only ones I could make out. He really seemed to like The Old Man and the Sea; he read it a few times.

There was only one day that was different: the day before he started walking to work. Instead of burying his nose in a book, he opened up a newspaper. It wasn’t quite a newspaper. It was one of those newspaper inserts that are entirely adds. This one appeared to be full of boats. He stopped several times, setting the paper down and staring at the desk, deep in thought, then he would open the paper again and continue looking. When his lunch was over, he folded the paper up, stuck it in his bag and went back to work.

As I pushed forward, collecting what information I could, the image of the man sitting in the back room, staring at the desk, deep in thought after looking at boats for sale, would slip back into my mind several times.

I had a thought and pulled up his account information. Six days before, he had withdrawn most of his savings. There was still just over $1000 in there, but he had pulled out $9,999. This number struck me as strange, because it was just under the limit that would generate a Currency Transaction Report. Was he into something illegal? Or was he just trying to not ruffle any feathers? Or, did he just actually need $9,999?

Katherine called me back. I mentioned the withdrawal, still staring at it on my computer screen, and she sighed. “I’m not sure what to tell you Mr. G,” she said, “Sending you a letter that says he’s not coming to work anymore, isn’t really cause for reporting him missing, at least he let you know. And we both know that 10 grand is his money. Maybe he bought a car.”

Thoroughly unsatisfied, I hung up after thanking her.

“She’s probably right, it’s none of my business,” I said to myself as I put on my coat and left the bank to go see if I could find him at home.

I’ve already told you what happened at the apartment complex. On my way back, I was left with more questions. Getting out of my car in the bank parking lot, I found my eyes resting on the small marina across the street. The image of Norbert pouring over the boats for sale came back into my mind. If he sold his car and pulled out his life’s savings to buy a boat, he would have to be keeping it there, right? He didn’t have a car anymore and it was the only place within walking distance. Sure, he could take the bus, but I decided to follow the hunch and check it out.

I turned out to be right.

The marina, creatively called, “The Marina,” had a small office, where I found an incredibly bored-looking man in his forties shuffling around papers on his desk in a way that many years as a manager had taught me accompanied the phrase “look busy” in one’s head.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

I asked him if he had ever heard of a Norbert Faustino, to which he smiled.

“Odd little guy,” he said, “You just missed him, he took off maybe an hour and a half ago.”

When I asked if he could tell me which slip belonged to Norbert, he shook his head and said, “No, you don’t understand. As of an hour and a half ago, he no longer has a slip here. What’s this about?” he asked, looking me up and down, “he owe you money or something?”

Shaking my head, I told him an abridged version of the truth. He nodded and told me what he knew. “My buddy Robert had this 34 footer for sale, and this Norbert guy bought it last week. Asked if he could keep it on the slip for only a week, that he wouldn’t need it after that. Over the past few days I watched him load it up with enough food and fishing equipment for a trip much outside the recommended range for a ship that size. Asked him where he was headed and he had just smiled at me and said, ‘Home.’”

The man and I stared at each other for a long moment, obviously both pondering the same questions. Then he continued, “I just assumed he was from somewhere else, and had come down to get the boat, and was maybe making a few stops along the way.”

“I’m going on a trip. I might be back eventually. Probably not, though,” I repeated.

“Still might be what he’s doing… going on a trip,” the man offered.

“Yeah,” I said, “It very well might be.”

Norbert never came back. That doesn’t mean he didn’t end up somewhere else. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did and didn’t feel the need to tell anyone here at the bank where; like I said, he wasn’t very close with any of us. Some assume he went out and died, either by his own hand, or as a result of inexperienced hands on the high seas. I don’t think either of those are what happened, though. I think he was overcome by wanderlust and took off onto the open ocean just to see how far he could get – just to see how long he could last. I don’t assume this based on any of the evidence I collected, nor some insight into his character. I assume it because ever since that day – the day that the idea occurred to me that one could just get in a boat and go – I’ve felt the urge myself. Now, years later, still chained to this desk, when I think of the look on Norbert’s face in the break-room as he stared over the boats for sale, I get the sense that I know exactly what he’s thinking.

I could do it. Why not just go?


You can listen to me read it here:

Prayers to Therese


I’ve decided to share another poem and folk song that I wrote to exist in the world of the science fiction novel I’ve been working on entitled Lyssa Jordan Robot Hunter (the other poem/ song combo can be found here). These aren’t about the story or characters for the novel, but exist in the background because even when we’ve push into the solar system and many of our daily lives are spent confined to tiny cans hurtling through space, hoping that the ship doesn’t break down, humans will still be writing music and poetry.

I’m not a musician and lack the musical ability to write down or recreate the melody in my head that goes with the following song. It’s folksy guitar. Feel free to just pretend it’s a poem, as I did in the attached audio file.

Prayers to Therese (the song):

Well she’s not very fast
and she doesn’t look nice
but she’s plenty reliable
you know, for the price
She doesn’t break down
and get’s me where I’m going
except for that once,
but I shouldn’t ‘ve been towing

So I thank my ship Therese for taking care of me
She’s a bucket of bolts, but allows me to be free
Just a few million more miles back to the earth
please hold on, baby, give it all that you’re worth
I’ll sweet-talk you, honey, all while you fly
’cause if you break down, I’ll probably die.

Life support’s decent
great for the money
as long as you don’t mind
that the air smells funny
From the time I docked drunk
The hull’s got a big dent
but it still blocks radiation
and the atmosphere doesn’t vent

So I thank my ship Therese for taking care of me
She’s a bucket of bolts, but allows me to be free
Just over a million more miles back to the earth
please hold on, baby, give it all that you’re worth
I’ll sweet-talk you, honey, all while you fly
’cause if you break down, I’ll probably die.

I lost a heat shield back there
The thing just fell off
and the engine started sounding
like a cougar with a cough
I’m starting to get worried
but I’m not dead yet
When I fly it’s a gamble
and it’s one hell of a bet

So I thank my ship Therese for taking care of me
She’s a bucket of bolts, but allows me to be free
Just a thousand more miles back to the earth
please hold on, baby, give it all that you’re worth
I swear I’ll fix you, honey, if we make it there alive
just, please hold together until after we arrive

The ship’s getting hot now
the coolant line’s got a block
The whole ship almost blew
but I fixed it with a knock
On our final approached
the drive coil starts to shake
Fixed it too, but I’m not sure
how much more the ship can take

So I thank my ship Therese for getting me home
She’s a bucket of bolts, but allows me to roam
It was a close call, Therese, but we made it back to earth
Thanks for holding on, baby, and giving it all that you’re worth
I sweet-talked you, honey, all while you flew
’cause if you broke down, I would have been through

Now with my ship Therese
all safe on the ground
The engine cools off
and she stops making that sound
she coughed and she wheezed
on the previous trip as well
but I think it’s gotten worse
I don’t know, it’s kind of hard to tell

So I thank my ship Therese for being ready to go
She’s a bucket of bolts, but she’s all that I know
It was close last time but we made it back fine
Because of you, baby, even if you did whine
I know I should be smart and these repairs I should do
but they can probably wait until this next trip is through

So I thank my ship Therese for being ready to go
She’s a bucket of bolts, but she’s all that I know
It was close last time but we made it back fine
Because of you, baby, even if you did whine
I know I should be smart and these repairs I should do
but they can probably wait until this next trip is through

Listen to me read Prayers to Therese here:

Flowers (the poem):

When I’m away from earth
I dream that I’m in flowers
Onto my back I’ve fallen
And I stare into the sky

But when I am back home
After only a few hours
I’m attacked by pollen
And I feel like I might die

I go quickly to my ship
My view of home now sour
Into that can I’m crawling
And away from there I fly

But once away I forget
I swear the earth has powers
cuz I hear the flowers calling
And I let out a sigh

Listen to me read Flowers here:

You can buy crap decorated with the ship Therese as seen in the GIF at the top of this post. As usual, it can be found on RedBubble:

When Pigs Fly


“When pigs fly,” my father said, “that’s the only time you’ll make any money if you study Art in college.”

These were words I carried with me all through school while I got my degree in Art. They echoed in my head when I opened my own company, and they inspired me to design the pig-shaped kites that made me my fortune.

Thank you, father, for your wise words of encouragement.

Listen to me read it here:

Bench at the End of Civilization


From my bench by the bike path I couldn’t see any sign of human life.

Sure, if I turned my head I could see the bike path itself, but at the moment the pavement stretching off in both directions was empty. If I looked straight ahead all I could see was a little bit of sand, and the huge expanse of the ocean and sky. The only sounds or smells on the air were those of the water. For the briefest of moments I could pretend that no other humans existed.

I was the last person on earth and it was finally peaceful.

Society created torment. Society gave me reasons to stress and people to worry about. Without society I had nothing – nothing but peace.

Expectations, longings, disappointments, goals didn’t so much disappear as cease to mean anything at all without anybody to support them.

I smiled.

My phone shattered the delusion with a short vibrate. I sighed as I looked down at the screen to see that it was a text from Sarah, a long time friend that lived on the street at my back. It was through her kitchen window that I had first discovered the bench on which I currently sat. The bench on which I often came to sit and, not clear my mind, but clear away humanity.

“You look lonely out there,” the text said, “want some company?”

Taking one slow breath of the ocean air and letting my eyes linger on the horizon for another brief moment, I stood, dusted off my pants, and shuffled back towards the company of my friend.

Listen to me read it here: