Posts Tagged ‘Ray Harvey’

  • The Wind, The Water, And The Blood

    October 12th, 2018 | Gap-Toothed Girl | journalpulp | 3 Comments

    A chocolate-brown spider sat with pie-eyes in the center of her web. A silken egg-sac was slung beneath. The web hung like a miniature trampoline under the eaves of the house, the strands of gossamer flickering lilac-to-lavender in the soft breeze and the fading sunlight, a twig snagged like a chicken bone in the web. […]

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  • The Energy of Life, An Innate Impulse to Animation

    October 3rd, 2018 | Gap-Toothed Girl | journalpulp | No Comments

    Purchase, please. The next day broke breathless and raggedy for Dusty May, who on that breathless and raggedy day was initiated into the mysteries and intricacies of the dance and ballet. This was the day Dusty learned among other things that her straight legs and her limbs — which were long for her size — […]

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  • What Will Your Theme Be?

    September 28th, 2018 | Gap-Toothed Girl | journalpulp | No Comments

    Own me. Chapter 47 In the room of toys and dolls, a ponderous panda sat with open arms on the polished wooden floor and stared lifelessly at Dusty with big button eyes the same color as her own. He had a pink tongue poking out a smiling mouth and was flanked on either side by […]

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  • The Path of the Just is as a Shining Light which Shines More and More Unto the Perfect Day

    September 22nd, 2018 | More and More unto the Perfect Day | journalpulp | 6 Comments

    This is a repost from some time ago — the most articulate and thoughtful and heartfelt review of this book that I ever received, from a wonderful person I’ve never met and with whom I barely communicated, and that was a long time ago: I finished reading Ray Harvey’s More and More unto the Perfect […]

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  • Lillian Leitzel, Mara Campos, And Dusty May

    September 9th, 2018 | Gap-Toothed Girl | journalpulp | 4 Comments

    Lillian Leitzel, four-foot-nine-inches tall and weighing in at a whopping ninety-eight pounds, acrobat, strong-woman, circus performer for Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey, was born January 2, 1892, in Breslau, Germany. She died in the hospital February 15, 1931, in Copenhagen, Denmark, two days after falling during a live circus performance. It’s reported that Lillian […]

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  • Gap-Toothed Girl (Part 2)

    July 11th, 2018 | Fiction | journalpulp | No Comments

    [Read Part 1 here]   Part 2   One dark December day, when Dusty May was eleven-years-old, a strong-looking Latin youth, perhaps twenty-seven, muscular and cross-hatched with facial scars, who was part of a roving carnival and who was manning one of the games Dusty was playing, asked her in rapid Spanish, and with a […]

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  • Angry Dirty Water: The Uncompahgre River

    May 23rd, 2018 | Reservation Trash | journalpulp | No Comments

    Along the western edge of Ouray, Colorado, and sourced some 12,000 feet above at a lake called Lake Como, there flows a greenish-yellowish-reddish river named the Uncompahgre River. The word is pronounced un-COME-pah-GRAY. It’s a Ute Indian word that means “dirty water” or “angry water” or “red lake,” because mountain minerals color the water, as […]

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  • Pockets of Pure Utopia in These United States

    May 13th, 2018 | Reservation Trash | journalpulp | No Comments

    Did you know that in present-day America, there exist many, many isolated pockets of Utopia? These are places wherein healthcare is 100 percent free. Where housing is fully provided by money that pours freely in. And food as well is provided. In these Utopias, everyone has access to education, and education, too, is 100 percent […]

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  • We are the 99 Percent

    May 2nd, 2018 | Reservation Trash | journalpulp | 2 Comments

    You’re part of the ninety-nine percent, you say. What of that? Your status isn’t fixed, and you are not stuck there. You’re free to work your way along the spectrum — as, indeed, most people do. You’re free to run clear up to the top percent — as, indeed, many people do. Your motivation and […]

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  • Sacred House of the Human Spirit & the Meaning of Life

    April 24th, 2018 | Reservation Trash | journalpulp | No Comments

    She drove him six hours into a small mining town in eastern Nevada, near the Utah border. During the drive he told her what had happened. She listened intently but did not speak. A green-colored half moon hung low in the sky, the horizon beneath it a band of xanthic light which glowed like something […]

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  • Indian Privilege and the American Dream

    April 23rd, 2018 | Reservation Trash | journalpulp | No Comments

    The American Dream is a dream of aspiration. It is a story of striving. But it is more: It is a dream of breaking away from the pack. The American Dream is the freedom of each person, regardless of race, sex, sexual orientation, color, class or creed, free to pursue her or his own life […]

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  • “You Disparage Wealth Who Have Never Known Poverty”

    April 21st, 2018 | Reservation Trash | journalpulp | No Comments

    You disparage wealth who have never known poverty. You disparage cleanliness and health from a tower of health and cleanliness. Let me tell you something: Poverty which is neither sin nor vice is also neither noble nor good. Poverty is hardship. Poverty is sickness. Poverty is misery. Poverty is death. The words well, weal, and […]

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  • Breaking Away from the Pack: a Philosophical Story about Human Striving

    April 15th, 2018 | Reservation Trash | journalpulp | No Comments

    On a lovely spring day in Southern California,2009, a young man with blue-black hair and dark skin arrived late and winded at the starting area of a much-anticipated track race. A small breeze blew down from the north and a whisper of lilac laced the currents. The young man was of Navajo stock. He had […]

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  • Brain Damage and the Daredevil Too Slippery to Hold

    April 11th, 2018 | Writing | journalpulp | 1 Comment

    ______________   On a lovely spring day in Southern California, 2009, a young man with blue-black hair and dark skin arrived late and winded at the starting area of a much-anticipated track race. A small breeze blew down from the north and a whisper of lilac laced the currents. The young man was of Navajo […]

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  • Autumn

    September 9th, 2017 | Poetry | journalpulp | No Comments

    Summer dies. The long days wane away. The heat in the sky melts like lead to liquid pools. The hills beyond are baked as white as clay. Now creep in the gentle autumn ghouls Trailing their silken shawls of a Lethe- an mist. Shadows warp, gourds enlarge. And now what is always there but not […]

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