A Congressman of Equal Weight

“Those who make antithesis by forcing words are like those who make false windows for symmetry. Their rule is not to speak accurately, but to make apt figures of speech.” – Blaise Pascal The rotund legislator from Imaliyah County, Michigan was in line at a grocery store in Kunt County, Michigan one winter day when…

#38 The Confessor of Littlefield: Farewell

Author’s note: this is the concluding installment of the serial novel, The Confessor of Littlefield. The story will be reset to chapter one and I will begin reposting as I work on illustrations and paintings to fill out the story. I will also complete the index page with individual chapter links for the 38 chapters….

#34 The Confessor of Littlefield: Mellow

Mellow Bill’s horse was aging. Mellow was a chestnut quarter horse mare with a grumpy but affectionate disposition. Bill loved horses and through them found an outlet for his need to show tenderness. Mellow was about 5 years old when Dev first got her, a little more than a year after Bill went back to…

#33 The Confessor of Littlefield: Thought Made to Order

For twelve years Bill settled into routine. He watched television and read the newspaper, which he had delivered to him every day, and collected books from the local library sales. He often drew his own superheroes over the stories in the paper; an avenging angel causing a murderer to steer his car into a tree;…

#32 The Confessor of Littlefield: In the Footsteps of Our Fathers

Bill was called to the scene of an auto accident late one unseasonably warm December afternoon in 1968, and when he returned after dark around 6:30 PM the big garage door was still open. He knew that John had stayed up the night before with a couple of fellow veterans playing poker, drinking and smoking…

#31 The Confessor of Littlefield: Dark Spots in the All Seeing Eye

After coming home from the war, John continued to strip cars despite the colostomy bag he now tucked in a pouch on his waist. Race car drivers from the county race track flocked to the salvage yard when they heard John was back home. They would’ve kept John busy rebuilding gears, suspensions, engines and drive…

#30 The Confessor of Littlefield: Formative Associations

While John left for military service, Bill continued working for Hiram into the Fall of 1960. Hiram was voting for Kennedy, Rita was voting for Nixon. Bill didn’t like either, but would eagerly listen to Hiram refer to Rita as the woman with the “Republican cloth coat.” The future in “For the Future,” said Hiram,…

#29 The Confessor of Littlefield: In the Service of Little Men

John advanced in the army corps through three years and became a second lieutenant in an army guerrilla training unit in VietNam, until he was discharged in September of 1963. When John came back from the fighting he wasn’t quite right, his mother confided to her friends. He rarely talked, answering only when spoken to….

#28 The Confessor of Littlefield: The Communist and the Evangelical

A year after Bill quit school to work as a farm hand full time Hiram asked him to help John out in the salvage yard on Sundays. John expostulated on world affairs and the opinions of pundits on the evening news, while Bill’s mind wandered on rhyming phonemes. Occasionally, Bill would listen enough to point…

Number Two

“Ready to go?” Bork barks as he opens the back door. I am finishing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before hanging out at the music store. Bork’s mom’s boyfriend, Chad is taking us. I have never met Chad, but Bork’s mom’s boyfriends are pretty much all the same. They smell like beer and their…

#10 The Confessor of Littlefield

Most humans learn to speak before they learn to wipe. Speaking proceeds from the need caused by the itch. Because you have an itch you have a self that concludes, “you need to wipe your ass.” It’s a nugget of knowledge that you stow away in your back pocket until you are older and you…

Scavengers

Seven swallows pecking seeds chasing chickadees and bickering A surly sparrow not necessarily the strongest but the meanest strikes back at the circle of others encroaching not him but whatever he is A mourning dove appears and with its zig zagged peck begins striking seeds and wallowing with the seven swallows then another dove arrives…

#9 The Confessor of Littlefield: The Node

This is another short story from the novel The Confessor of Littlefield. The narrator, Adam is exploring his own identity within the framework of his environment, the associations and disassociations between the self and the mirror of selves that comprise the network of I. The Node I had to have a new respiratory system installed….

#8 Confessor of Littlefield: Baked Potato Cop with Runny Eggs Eyes

Confessor of Littlefield #8 This is a story within the novel The Confessor of Littlefield. Within the narrative of the novel, this story is written by the narrator, Adam. It reveals my appreciation for Kafka. Baked Potato Cop with Runny Eggs Eyes I am sucked into a tunnel and spit into an interrogation room, hanging…

Bakers and Butchers

Bakers and Butchers Two voices loosely strung together, symbiotic each with unknown origins prying forward with the least resistance through the conundrum The faces of old historians are cupcakes, marshmallows cotton candy and meat chewing, spitting, clamoring figuring, weaving, blurring what is the denomination of higher concerns that compels us to incite the bakers and…

#7 The Confessor of Littlefield: The Wiper and the Blade

kkikMy own persona is building itself into the greater circle of John Hapflik, Bill Dinklpfuss, and this small Great Lakes town. My voice has enacted an auxiliary existence at the special service of itself. I am a dreamer; something that isn’t appreciated in pragmatic America, much to my chagrin and consternation. This is my narrative…

The One Who Taught You Everything

The One Who Taught You Everything by RJ Hoffman I’m the One who taught you everything that birds can fly with lonesome notes crowds can flow for those commanding all the woes not withstanding I was taught by fear to hate those who would break away from group murderous cross rebuke those who might dare…

Back Row Hooligan

A blog fiction writer, by the time he is middle aged, comes to find the importance of community. Writers are satellites when they are young. Some are angry and use that energy to fuel their creativity, or their lack of it. The one to himself, postulating, summarizing, mistaking his vitriol for identity laughs at the…

#6 The Confessor of Littlefield: The Homunculus Knows Its Place

The story advances. The Homunculus Knows Its Place Along the back of the condemned lot on the corner of Old Main St. and Barnett Rd. there is a cornucopia of foliage comprised of winding vines, blooming twigs, rotting tree stumps, scrub oak brush and a few tires left over from the salvage yard that used…