December 14, 2012

Well this is a week of taking risks and honoring milestones…religion, birth…

Stomach Full of Bricks – No. 11 from Little (flash) Fiction, by Braydon Beaullieu

Read by Xe Sands

Xe  writes…

http://fadedpaper.posterous.com/
http://littlefiction.com/beta/Flash.html

Continuing with the excellent, completely surreal Little (flash) Fiction collection, with a piece from Braydon Beaulieu.

Oh people, saddle up because I got a little crazy with this one and I have NO IDEA what you are going to think. You might just rip out your earbuds and run away screaming…

As I told the author last night, just when I think I have survived the most (personally) challenging piece, there’s another that simple dares me to, well, screw up.

And here I was with this one, thinking, “Well now…what the hell ARE you? And why do I find myself pulling on my hair and scratching an imaginary itch on my shoulder like one of the many impassioned, unbalanced people I tried not to engage with in San Francisco a lifetime ago?”

Why indeed. Because that’s the key …impassioned…unbalanced…infused…adoration…delusional…present…absent…

…FAITH.

How we get it. Where it goes. Who we give it to.

Do they betray us?

Do they love us back?

Do they place honey in our mouths and call the bees once we are lost in ecstasy?

…and what about when we lose it? We open our eyes and see that the vibrancy has drained from the world and we have settled back into two dimensions.

Flat.

Sane.

Then we know our Father…he’s just painting on a chapel wall.

…there are days when I’d sacrifice sanity to feel that ecstatic, when I’d suffer the bees.

For my son, sixteen, by Diane Havens

Read by Diane Havens


Diane writes…

Written upon the occasion of my son’s 16th birthday.

Tom Jones – Book 2, Chapter 8, by Henry Fielding

Read by Mark Turetsky

Mark  writes…

Book 2 Chapter 8 of Tom Jones.

This is part of an ongoing project in which I will record and post one chapter per week of Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones over the course of four years.

This short chapter provides Fielding’s surefire recipe (he calls it a “receipt” as they were at the time one and the same word) for ending all marital strife, and that is for one of the parties to die. Captain Blifil, we hardly knew ye! Also, good riddance! What a jerkface he was!

A note on the Latin phrase used in this chapter. It translates into something more akin to, “You set aside marble to build your houses, without mind to your sepulchre.

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