Literature/Poetry

This short fiction explores the conflict between happiness and intelligence and how the latter may not be the most beneficial goal for our future. happy Part One (of 5) “What is my purpose,…


(Stream-of-consciousness psychography from the edge of the eschaton, originally posted at equanimousrex.com) We’ve got an infestation folks. They’re crawling around the walls. Can you see them, smell them? They’re silent, you’ve got…


“The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” – Anonymous Despite popular attribution, this was NOT an utterance of Mark Twain. But, it is definitely feeling like “summer”…




When we last checked in on our driver, Alex had just dropped off a recovering junkie tranny named Candy – and her androgynous Chihuahua, Pepper, at their homeless shelter out in the…


Citizen’s Cab #1015 – San Francisco 8:00am: Morning rush hour is picking up. I’m headed east up Market, fresh from shuttling a suit down to The Financial. But who’s butt will fill…



Thursday It’s been a ho-hum morning rush hour, full of the same old beautiful and perfect California sun. I’m rollin’ easy, and business is like-wise temperate and smooth. The financial frost of…


Passengers, I have a confession to make… Until a few weeks ago, I’d been living a double life here in San Francisco. A secret life that I have kept from you, and…


Friday Last night was a hot night, literally. I slept with all the windows open in my flat. (Though, you shouldn’t take the word “slept” too literally.) I’m still grappling with the…



Friday – 10:30am, Citizen’s Cab #1015 CHIME! Steve Jobs wants my attention. It’s a rarity. I’ve always presented myself as a moving target socially, and in particular, with cellular demands for an…


Well, what to say? It’s been a smoky week hacking these San Francisco streets. Real fire and brimstone stuff. Having avidly watched all of the news prior, the relentless reports on the…


Okay, passengers. This week your driver’s back with an old-timey San Francisco ride-along in his trusty ‘ol Prius, Citizen’s Cab #1015. No more detours through rape, suicide or Buddha complexes. No more…


Hell goes round and round. In shape it is circular, and by nature it is interminable, repetitive, and nearly unbearable. The Third Policeman is a novel by Irish writer Brian O’Nolan, writing under the…


It’s quiet on San Francisco streets at five in the morning. Except, here in The Loin. Where large black transsexual prostitutes are out sashaying for tricks, as illegal Mexicans hang on street…