I saw him for the first time in Anzures. He had grey hair. Green eyes. Barely gave me a passing glance. He was coming from Leibnitz Street, crossing Gutenberg Street. I say “street”. It is more wood than street now with all the grass and trees that have grown through the asphalt. He was jogging…
My name is Catrina. Catherine? Kathryn? You can call me Kate. I dance with all. I dance with the old. I dance with the young, Alas. With the rich and the poor The mighty and the humble. I dance with Death. Dance with me. You can call me Kate. Another dancer at the Day of the…
G. had finally found a door to his size. (Montreal, June 3019). And he opened it… An old pick-up & radio was playing a Charleston. Absolutely nothing happened. Ai Weiwei expo. Mexico, 2029. “The wire” wrapped its final season. Then came the eagle, looking for the rabbit. The Chinelo dancer froze. The young girl finished her ice-cream.…
I have many names. Some call me Malaika. Others call me Malak al-mawt. Some call me Red, or the Angel of Death. Others call me Azraela. Who calls me that? Gabriella, Raphaëla, Mikaëla. We are the Angelas. Angelas? Not Angels? Yes. I ‘m afraid some things were lost in translation. Have no fear, dear Reader. We…
I am the High Lord, Red is my colour, Hatred my word, I have no honour. I am the red Lord Sweet is the song of blood Quick is my sword Slaughter, massacre and flood Are my trade. To no end, Mercy you bade. I am the last fiend. Terror is your fate Carnage my…
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…
“Morning Scotty. Morning everyone. Apa kabar?” “Morning Captain. What news ? Not good, I’m afraid. Just got a report on a possible alien hydrant invasion in Asia.” “Bad news indeed. What is the source?” “Our agent in Kuala Lumpur, Captain.” “Stéphanie Lung? She IS our best agent in the region. What evidence did she send?” “A…
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 reloaded: Pete is a white journalist born in Africa. Mary-Sue is a black journalist born in Babylon, Amerika. Pete is telling – us? – the story of why he left Africa, and his encounter with a young Pokot girl, named Malaika. “So, mzungu (white man), will you marry me?” Malaika says. “No…
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…
