Do they keep me here because I am dotty? Or is it because I know the secret? Or is it both? Yes, perhaps, for I both know the secret and am dotty enough to use it! What secret is that, you ask? Would you like to know it? (more…)
Archive for the ‘metafiction’ Category
From “Evenings at Café Alekhine”
Zudirk (he never gave us his surname) was approximately 60 years old, though he could have been a dissolute 45 or a well-maintained 75. He wore dark corduroy trousers, a sailor’s jacket, and an old fedora, summer and winter. His moustache was neatly trimmed on the first of each month and grew longer as the days passed, though controlled into handlebar form by M. Pinaud’s moustache wax, brown, in a silver tube. (more…)
It is our sameness that draws us together. It is our differences that help us grow. It is respect that makes this possible. Of late, disrespect is epidemic. The language of discourse has become strident, insulting, and disputatious. To quote Jar-Jar Binks, “Howwude!” Logical argument has been abandoned; assertions are made with no sound basis. Statistics quoted are all too often equivocal or just plain falsehoods.
Let those who wish to grow come and visit Jorge Kafkazar’s Blög. Welcome. Please leave a comment on anything that resonates with you. But be polite.
Testing the Text
this is the text small ain't it?