Thursday, November 25, 2010

Give And Take

Harry B. Sanderford

Having found himself incapable of affecting the necessary reparations, Malkovich resolved to dismantle his alley prize. His intention was to harvest the laser and some of the many small motors from inside and reassemble them as a kind of mutant kinetic laserium. He envisioned a robotic configuration that when placed beaming and whirling beneath a mottled glass bowl would transform his ceiling and walls into an extragalactic extravaganza. This new idea excited him even more than the original prospect of once again listening to his small CD collection had when he first discovered the old Sony. Sadly just as he commenced calculating counter cohesion coeficients, (hammer selection) Bradley "the brain" Buzzkill dropped by and informed him that the lasers he sought were not to be found, "in the belly of no ordinary alley audio." Deflated, Malkovich wondered at the conspiring forces of the universe while Bradley, not usually known for his glass-half-full disposition, passed a joint saying,"Good place to hide your weed though Dude."

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Friday, November 19, 2010

The Future: Heartbreak Is Epidemic

Harry B. Sanderford

Death by broken heart has become so commonplace that the accumulating corpses of the unrequited are now nearly as ordinary and invisible as the homeless. Busy bluetoothed brigades of moving, shaking, go-getters kick ass, take names and absently text URGENT missives while merely stepping over and around the weak of heart. Recreational shoppers deftly steer overfull baskets in the direction of much, much, more with only a peripheral perception of the heaped up hopeless for whom the motto "shop till you drop" was just never enough. In the know hipsters have figured a clever loophole that allows them to hate the game and the players by only having sex with people they can't stand while listening to separate IPods. Survival of the fittest focuses a blind eye on a guarded heart and this too is evolution. Cobalt splashes on aftershave and cranks up Roxy Music's Love Is The Drug on his antique stereo, knowing full well the risk but unable to staunch the flow of cartoon hearts that stream embarrassingly from his head in Gina 3.7's presence.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Rebel Ravel

Harry B. Sanderford

Jericho eyed the tiny cockroach marching boldly down the tiles behind the filthy urinal he pissed waveringly over. No attendant to brush imaginary lint from his shoulders fishing for tips in this joint. It was Bike Week in Daytona Beach and he was a rebel running free. Screw the corporate stiffs! Not the first second thoughts regarding hastily made and perhaps poorly reasoned decisions chewed the edges of what remained of Eliott Bernard Gerard's better judgement. He knew real rebels rarely kept up payments on fourty thousand dollar motorcycles or riverside condos, and he knew he'd be passing out apologies and excuses to superiors in the morning, but for the moment, deadline and duty were only pestering gnats the Cuervo spared his swatting. Tonight Jericho was calling the shots and right now he had a pool game to lose, another round to buy and his eye on a skinny little tatooed lady with a foul mouth, fake tits and dirty feet. He zipped up, spat in the direction of the bug missing by tiles and kicked the flush handle with a Ferragamo heel.

Friday, November 5, 2010


Harry B. Sanderford

An untended Ferris wheel turns slowly against a smoke streaked sunset. The tattered sails of beached sailing ships wave cheerless gray and brown party flags over soldiers of every stripe. Ragged throngs too weary to separate by uniforms sit on their helmets rolling tobacco or passing unlabeled bottles; the bitter local spoils of a global contest no longer possible to score. Some drink greedily thankful for another day, others drink just as fiercely regretting the very same thing. One soldier considers a childhood memory of snow falling on a boardwalk that no longer exists. The snow he knows will still fall. But this cannot be my life, he thinks, to melt into a puddle, swirling in the gutter like so much dirty snow.