Friday, April 23, 2010
This image (which I snapped along Dexter Avenue) makes me think of a hot summer day on the Mediterranean Sea. Maybe I've seen too many art house movies but I imagine glamorous overtanned socialites mingle just out of camera range. There's a half-empty champagne flute with a single floating cigarette butt. Smeared coral lipstick. The air bears the alcoholic tang of hair gel, and oleander, with a pungent edge of canal, because the sea is filthy as well as beautiful and there's no use denying that it can be both.
There's a shadow constantly hovering at my shoulder. For all my gallivanting into the social whirl, nevermind the positive social media...
Ever wondered what it takes to get a piece of fiction published? I'm not talking New Yorker type of prose. That's a rarefied world ...
Check out my new video, a brief reading from a story published this past spring in Opossum.
Welp, after a half-year experiment in social media, BSP has returned to its blogger roots. I hated Faceborkland, tbh. Sure, it was easier t...