http://lycanthropia.com Fiction and Essays from the Whistle & Fish Wed, 03 Jun 2009 03:55:59 +0000 http://backend.userland.com/rss092 en Kate lay waiting for Gabriel atop a blue blanket on a narrow strip of sand between two patches of beach grass on one of the last wild beaches on earth. When she last saw him, nearly an hour past, he was loping into the ocean with his odd gait and ... http://lycanthropia.com/2009/06/02/moonteller/ Sit down for a minute. I need to tell you five things in ascending order, each dependent on the next, each more difficult than the last. Once you grasp these things, you’ll have as clear an understanding of my love for her as I have. It won’t mean much, because ... http://lycanthropia.com/2009/01/31/five/ On the morning of the day Norman “Twigs” Morton was killed by a vampire, he awakened thinking of his upstairs neighbor’s legs — more precisely, wishing his ceiling were made of two-way glass, so he might answer the jangle of his alarm clock by staring up at her long limbs. ... http://lycanthropia.com/2007/06/20/gothic/ Not far from where I live is an old train depot, a decaying hulk of building that was once the community’s showpiece. A century ago it sparkled, a hub of activity, the nexus of all transportation, surrounded by vigorous manufacturing concerns and bright commercial ventures. But as railroads dwindled in ... http://lycanthropia.com/2007/06/20/lizardland/ 1 Vincent van Gogh started reading the Gospel with comprehension around 1876. He asked the local religious Corporation to give him a flock. They took one look at his unruly red hair and his unruly hazel eyes and they shipped him off to Wasmes, in the Borinage, the poor mining district ... http://lycanthropia.com/2007/06/20/green/ The twin demons of insomnia and depression are inextricably linked, it seems, and my most recent bout of depression manifests itself in sleep patterns that defy logic: Two hours here, thirty minutes there, no rhyme or reason. My shadow is unhappy with the arrangement, and this morning he simply refused to ... http://lycanthropia.com/2007/06/20/what-evil-lurks/ After the flood, the sky turns a robin’s egg blue unfamiliar during east-Tennessee summers, and it takes a few days of unrelenting sun before the more normal late-August haze reappears. A week of it and humidity rises. Walking from the air-conditioned cool of the office to the car is like ... http://lycanthropia.com/2007/06/20/grave/ Some years ago, when my family lived in Asia, I had the opportunity to observe over the course of several months — granted, for the most part at a distance — the activities of a young Buddhist monk. In particular, as his monastery was across the street from where I ... http://lycanthropia.com/2007/06/13/the-discipline-of-peace/ As the waters fail from the sea, and the flood decayeth and drieth up: so man lieth down, and riseth not: till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake, nor be raised out of their sleep. — Job 14:11-12 Two nights ago in a dream I followed the sound of music, a somber, otherworldly meditation ... http://lycanthropia.com/2007/06/13/the-passing-ape/ Molly is an upright shadow with golden eyes. I have to be careful, walking through the house, that I don’t step into a dark spot on the floor and crush her underfoot or shuffle past a corner and kick her where she sleeps. She curls to nap in the blackest ... http://lycanthropia.com/2007/06/11/molly/