The (New & Improved) HYENA KITCHEN

 Thought it might be about time to drop a bit of post-Halloween micro fiction on you,  just because. . .Enjoy! “Room at the End of the Hall” by James Patrick Lockett               I walk to the end of the hallway each morning to feed the man that is my charge. I set the tray down, in order to unlock the seven bolts that secure the door. Careful not to cross or disturb the ring of salt that encircles the room.   Upon my entrance, he moves to the back of the circle, as he’s been instructed, so that I may place the tray inside the circle. Gently.             Each morning I bring him a stone cup of fresh goat’s milk, a variety of fruit and sweetmeats, and bread. A fresh candle and a small silver tray of brimstone.   Then I step back, a safe distance, and sit in the open doorway to observe him, or simply keep him company.     ...

          It’s been said that “you are what you eat.”  You are also, what you drink. What you read. You are all of what you let into yourself. Take a look at your self-nourishment sometime.  If you live off of corporate junk, you become a . . .that’s right, a corporate junkie. In debt to the machine that doesn’t give a righteous fuck about you. Damn the pusher man . Now I don’t want to come across like a born again/reformed smoker/shitbag, I admit to stumbling into a McDonalds on occasion, because I might want to feed some nostalgic craving and in one bite, remember oh yeah, it’s not that good.             It makes my principles hurt. I feel compromised. There’s something morally wrong about being that consumer cog in the evil machine.   And by evil machine I mean the McDonalds, Starbucks, Amazon’s out there (unfortunately, one of my books is available only through Amazon, sigh ). It a...

 

 

 So, I see that it's been a month since I posted here - SOOORRY!! Life has been upside down for the past month. You know when they  make those "most stressful event" lists and moving, death and divorce lead the pack? Well two out of three ain't bad - throw moving and a passing in the mix together and you get a bit of an upheaval - but my success rat of surviving shit in my life remains at 100% - and I've emerged the other side of it and am back to regular posting. Stay tuned. . . Day One.                                                                                                   Now!       

  I love a challenge.  Give me a topic and a word limit and my mind start reeling.  To write within the confines of 250 words – as in this case – and to hit the mark dead on fills me with schpilcus, man . What doesn’t thrill me is responding to the submission challenge (an April 4 th deadline) and seeing the listing repeated, each time with a new deadline (and of course more reading fees) until this morning when they (and no, I’m not naming the magazine) passed on the story – with a note encouraging me to submit more – no, I think I’m good thanks.  But the good news is, now, I get to post it here – so find a spare 250 seconds and take a gander at a few words. Enjoy.                                                           “In the Quiet of Morning”           ...

This goes out to all the amazing women in my orbit, you all deserve the world these words promise.