Another brief sojourn into the twisted mind of some techie-tainted writer. I finally was able to spend but a few minutes playing—no, interacting—with Anchorhead. Once more I am reminded of my smallness as I scurry like a rat around a maze. My piece of cheese a bottle or a lantern. I find my way with difficulty once more to lose my way once more at the very-self-same spot I was before. But now I get there faster, and there is some small sense of pride in that. Ah but tomorrow is another day, and yardwork is now mostly in the past, with other chores about caught up and Christmas shopping way ahead; perhaps I’ll play again tonight.
Flash Fiction Fridays
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- A Death in The Family
- At Swim Two Birds
- Barthes
- BASS
- Black Swan Green
- Blindness
- BLOGGING
- Borges
- Calvino
- Clockwork Orange
- Confrontation
- Consolation of Philosophy
- Cormac McCarthy
- DeLillo
- EDUCATION
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- Henderson The Rain King
- if on a winter's night a traveler
- Ishiguro
- Jamestown
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- Life of Pi
- LITERATURE
- Margaret Atwood
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- Master and Margarita
- Munro
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- POETRY
- provinces of night
- REALITY
- St. Augustine
- Steinbeck
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- The Unbearable Lightness of Being
- Tropic of Cancer
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- William Gay
- WRITING
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"I will breakfast from the cupboard where uneaten dreams are kept"
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"I foresee the successful future of a very mediocre society."
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