Krazy Kat, Bert the Kat

To fictive environments blood is the fee. —James Merrill The door’s not closed, not locked anyway— so Bert the Kat crashes— and we can’t call the cops— we don’t anyway— maybe I invited him. One eye sports an eye patch, like he’s a pirate on a skateboard or something. He’s way too skinny; he’s wasted,

This Great Stage

The way he tells it, it sounds like this guy invented the spring’s first breeze, you know? Air to breathe, the wind to fly on, atmosphere incarnate:  his kingdom is like a kite, so callow, incongruous on the ground. Indeed, it’s one enormous piece of steel. It’s bent, held taut by thin steel cords, shaped

Postcards, Unsigned

The First Card An adventurous ‘hello’ from Hollow Head Island! Apologies about the penmanship. It seems the postcards shake these days, not the volcanoes, not the earth. So far we’ve been to the Stalactite Park, the Gotterdammerung Grotto, hid in the Hidden Caves, got lost in the Lost World. We even walked some of the