We rented a car and stocked up at the supermercado with formaggi and tomatoes and salami and olives and cold and hot salads and sat in the small Euro car traffic. We drove past Carrarra marble fields where Michelangelo handpicked his canvases and the waking slaves were probably his realization that the rocks weren’t what… Continue reading A Post Postmodern Italy
This is another metamodern passage from my forthcoming novel, Hot Love on the Wing. Criticism is appreciated. My words come drifting back to me in empty shades of mediocrity. What was I thinking? I was so young, so unlearned in the ways of the world. If I had just left her alone a… Continue reading What Would Rilke Do?
The blues are wet. Soaked in muddy river, cry and moan, hurrying and loving, wait and cry, ride. Wanna tell somebody, know they’re listening right, take my baby out for cherry sodas on a breezy Saturday night. How long will these nightmares continue? Does guilt consume? What if they find him and trace my prints?… Continue reading Daniel Adler Sings the Blues
Despite protests from his family Grampa Leo was confident that he could raise a family in New York. And so in 1955, when they were disappointed that their boat didn’t land at the Statue of Liberty, and saw that dominant skyline, they shared the same thought you did last time you circled JFK or LaGuardia… Continue reading How My Family Came to New York
It feels good to consolidate. There is a lot to do in the spring because it is the time to sow, so that in the fall I can reap. I am reading new additions to classic literature: Ham On Rye finally and The Savage Detectives, both of which are engaging narratives. I especially appreciate the… Continue reading Classic Literature on Friday Night