Scenes Without A Home Theatre (#61);
Marty Birenbaum was not a name you'd expect a dragon to have, but there you go.

( I did read books in April. )

I still cannot dislodge myself from your embrace, internet. I am a bit tired of stories, and so have spent today writing poems and songs. I have not yet reached 1,000 words, my daily minimum, and so I remain awake until I do. In the meanwhile, my courtship of you continues, internet. One day you will fall into my bed and be divested of your sweet ( Read more... )

1.INT: The study of a writer. He hunches at his computer, nude, typing. He does not look healthy. He has just taken a drag of a nearly-finished cigarette ( Read more... )

You ( Read more... )

Gorgeous and feather-capped, voluptuous as a painting by a dead Renaissance painter with a chubby chasing fetish, her lips red like her hair peaking through the head-cover, rancid rotting cherry overripe, her shoulders were held high like entry gates, like barred castle walls which you would need several dozen companies of horsemen and spear- ( Read more... )

She is distraught, tempered, feverishly feminine. Her hand rises against him, to clean the expression from his face and build a new one. Her hand strikes; With one wiry hand, he holds it in its place.

"Relax, bitch." He says. "You're beautiful."