deformity – Crumbling Asphalt

The Source of My Anxiety

My wife Susan had a dark streak. She carried herself like the pampered aristocrat she was but insisted she was a Surrealist. She actually told people that. “What do you do?” they’d ask. “I’m a Surrealist,” she’d say. She made Duchampian readymades. I, myself felt like a writer. Susan made things. I made things up.Continue reading “The Source of My Anxiety”

Inspiration

I’m in a different city, sitting in a hotel room. There are six women in the room. They are talking and laughing and drinking wine. The TV is on and music fills the space around us. I sit at a small table, staring at blank pages. The women are purposely ignoring me. They respect my privacy.Continue reading “Inspiration”