All of us together, pretending to be happy, are what we appear to be.
Fiction
Short stories by Wayne K. Spear.
Kalashnikov, Silenced
It has come to my attention, as a result of my inquiry, that freedom of speech is under threat. Everyone is talking about it.
Kalashnikov, Resurrected
Everywhere life returns to the Earth; everywhere there is romance and love and intercourse. And so I throw myself into it, with abandon, with all that I have. I have crossed the Lubicon, shouting, “Alea ejecta est!”
Too many Chiefs, not enough Indians
The word “chief” can be used as a slur, but it happens also to be an honorific title.
Sonny Daze Meets the Orange Menace
The two August Leaders, one the President of America and the other the President of that country somewhere in the vicinity of America, clashed in a fierce battle of handshake. The Orange Menace grimaced, jerking the arm of his rival…. Read More ›
Introducing Ken Detective
Ken Detective takes the last of the bourbon. He of broad shoulders, square chin, chaws chaws the glass to tabletop, until a waitress arrives on a circuit that will soon return her bearing another. Ken Detective eyes the courtyard. Birds… Read More ›
The Blue and the Red
They had absorbed WhoMeaning, as it came to be known, much the way a sponge takes water. WhoMeaning, if you are among the uninformed, refers to the now-common habit of assessing a message by noting the messenger. Today it will… Read More ›
Despite the constant negative press covfefe
Despite the constant negative press covfefe, it is true that my name is Kalashnikov. There are some who call me Nik. I say some, and perhaps these some are my friends, but perhaps also not, the ones who call me… Read More ›
The Ones Who Know Jesus
Trumpetsound, a fissure of sky. A midnight darkness visible yields to His glory. The firmament echoes of angelsong. Jesus has come, and the many see and fear. Hallelujah! He has come! For centuries He has tarried. For millennia His people… Read More ›
Yes Mister President Yes
Through the fence between the curling flower spaces the ones who make the words the mean words can see us hitting later they bring me the papers the papers papers papers and I tell them I say Enough of the… Read More ›
Mr Htimsbackwards
Mr Htimsbackwards, my friend, perhaps even my conscience, perhaps my only friend and my only conscience, perhaps my soul, or myself even, perhaps. On a friday, or a monday. In any case, upon a day of the week. Your choice,… Read More ›
The Immaculate Conception of Kalashnikov
Did I not say I have been busy? Yes, I was busy. “Busy doing what?” you say. Busy crawling about the city, my ears stinking of cheese, willing into existence my world-historical conception.
On the Vastness of The President’s Crowd
I have written it all in my book. What you fail to grasp, but what you will grasp, and what I am helping you to grasp, on behalf of the President, is the nature of truth, of reality, of reality in and of itself, unmolested by the media.
The Rage of a President
An alternative reality is required, a reality of forever intoxicating heights.
President Lincoln Has Returned
I came upon him in the night. I was terrified at this apparition—a twenty-eight foot President who had been dead a century when I was born.
