Super quake, Saint Tremor, King Tremor, Great Earthfreak. Riftmaker. Great splitter, terror of the Cuauhtémoc Earthly indigestion, urban rattle. Thirty years ago, in Eighty-five, From Acapulco to the District We felt your fury, O King of the Quakes. Today along the city streets Between car and tortilla fumes, The rumour spreads in…
The train was late at Gare du Nord. My Lord Buddha was waiting on Platform 36. Patiently. The train led to nowhere, which was fine. Om mane padme… (Artist: WCA) “Unknown traveler” by BToy. (The titles were not given by the Authority. I’m just making them up.) 😉 “I‘ve been waiting for this train for…
An old dilapidated 19th century house at the end of an unkempt garden. The door was open. To an uncanny display. I was expecting yet another series of altars to the dead such as the one above. Or an offering of corn, arranged on volcanic earth, framed by flowers. (Stage right) Or, stage left, a…
Previously on Crows: Pete, the narrator, is a young white journalist born and raised in Kenya. After covering tribal unrest in the North for a Kenyan newspaper he goes back to Nairobi. Needs a break. Maybe he will resign, maybe leave Africa. He goes to Lamu, a small island on the coast of Kenya, by…
Nguyen Van Ty was a peaceful man. He’d arrived at the small village in Tonkin many years ago. Apparently from nowhere. Some of the villagers said he had a Saïgon accent, others assured he came from the Imperial city of Hué. He was dressed as a peasant, but his manners, his education, his delicate hands…
“Doc! Doc”! “What’s the matter, Raphaela? We’ll never finish on time if you keep interrupting!” “Sorry Doc, we have an emergency. The Boss is coming down to the Lab. In five minutes.” “Damn! How do you know?” “Gabby called me. And she says the Boss is in a bad mood. Very. So we’d better…
I needed to get dressed for that party the Philosopher had invited me to. And, of course, I had nothing to wear. Please do not smile my reader friend. That is always a delicate matter. The little black dress (Oh Tiffany! Oh, Givenchy!) is of course, always a possibility. But no. Too easy. I wondered…
The seagulls glide and glide over the waters. Hundreds of them. Gliding and flying effortlessly. Catch the wind. Glide a while. Then a swift stroke of a wing and glide again. Stewart is probably up there. I can’t make him out. Too many seagulls in the air. And too many ships in the waters! Reminds me…
Equinoxio 