by admin | May 10, 2022 | Umbrographic Archive
Today, I am nervous. I have probably contracted a form of superleprosy that makes everything decay until there is nothing left of me. I pull the blinds aside with my weak fingers, staring into the empty street outside my house. I wonder who wiggled a diseased, remote...
by admin | May 10, 2022 | Umbrographic Archive
It is Friday. Friday is beer day. I get a bunch of beers and I tell myself that I will only drink one. Then I drink six. All beers are gone by the end of Friday. That is why I don’t buy beers often. When I open up my pantry, I see bread. It has many forms. Bread...
by admin | May 10, 2022 | Umbrographic Archive
I wake up without one eye. It is not just the absence of an eye, though. There is also just nothing there. It is a perfectly round hole. I look in the mirror and, with the eye that’s still there, I can see some gray gelatin wiggling around inside the hole. It is dark...
by admin | May 10, 2022 | Umbrographic Archive
I’ve got a theory. I think that, maybe, in the middle of the night, a small, nearly undetectable earthquake shook the acoustic guitar off the stand. That’s when the guitar must have fallen face-first onto the beige tiled floor, the tensile explosion blasting the...
by admin | May 10, 2022 | Umbrographic Archive
I’m only floating in the pastel pastiche of 90s neon pink and teal telephones with chords still attached. Graham takes a long, loud breath, oxygen-thieving, and lays down next to me. He was just dancing to something I didn’t recognize, probably one of his weird...