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Sunday Story: Lilly

    Lilly was a girl who found her tribe was nature itself. She wasn’t a hippy but she had a way of communicating and thriving on a, shall we say a floral level, more than the most of us. In any big city she would pause extra long passing by a flower shop. She’d say, ‘I’m breathing real air’. She could negotiate this tough new world while slowly it choked her. Damage is the obv
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Sunday Story: No More Vampires

              Exposé! I don’t have to think about vampires ever again. They were never my cuppa. When I learned they were from Serbia, not Transylvania as has been erroneously promoted, I figured I should own them. A real Serb demystified the lore. The myth of the vampire is a technique for parents to control their children. Allegedly Serbs are prone to pranks and naughtiness and pa
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Troubled Boy

Years ago I had some trouble with a boy. I was ten years old and he was fourteen, and he had a crush on me. We were in a co-ed boarding school on the south coast of England, a bleak spot beloved by the locals for its white chalk cliffs and creepy foggy heaths. I hated it. I spent a good deal of time being bad and leading rebellions. On a nightly basis we’d break out and go ransack something. But the boy, he sta
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Audio: LOOK UP

https://youtu.be/H0sFSOqHNLM
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Audio: TWO MONTHS

https://youtu.be/YJ_QQbSCff0 ♥︎
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Look Up

My friend Honey likes to say, ‘Don’t forget to look up’ which means so many things including its literal meaning, because, as she extrapolates, ‘You never know what you’ll see’. So I gave it a whirl, and I looked up. To find a phantasmagorical character was gone. He’s not dead. Thriving in fact. Trucking on down the smoky path of life. He’s doing beautifully. He is beau
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Two Months

Two months, that’s what he got. In retrospect it would become clear she’d sewn herself up safe from the start. He chose to stay in the spread by the sea. He was permitted two more months, legally. He remained in a suspended state of shock and he wanted every second. He knew nothing like this would ever happen again. Nothing even close. He had tasted the best of everything though. He had lived it. She had
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In The Name of The Father

This man, a renegade from the outer-boroughs, would become a famous writer. After he sliced his wife’s neck he was offered a contract from the finest publishing house in Manhattan. He married and divorced and eventually a squabble of half-siblings would meet harboring varying degrees of feelings of superiority. Golden Child, the youngest son from the last wife, liked to sit in the attic and daydream. Of the chi
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