Philip Gabbard returns to Fictional Cafe with a new creative fiction project: a film treatment based upon a very popular song from the 1990s. Phil is a create-preneur of many talents and interests and we’re always interested in his work. He’s written creative nonfiction, THISday: Words for the Venerable and the Vulnerable, and Thrivation: The Everlasting Philosophy of Providence + Privilege. He penned (on his MacBook Pro) Every Saint, Every Sinner, a novel about his spiritual experiences. He produced and directed an extraordinary video based on the life and death of an archetypal Hispanic woman called La Llorona. Phil is beholden to Freddy Mercury and Queen for the inspiration to write about radio. More specifically, the rise and nowadays the fall of radio broadcasting. With the rise of television, its demise was probably inevitable. TV…
Rachel Gonzalez’s New Story
Rachel is our Fiction Writer in Residence, and she has written an outstanding new story for us, “Scrappy Metal.” It takes a very contemporary – and ironic – perspective concerning technology and its ever-encroaching desire (read between the lines: AI) to take over our human lives. It’s not only current but it’s also very funny. One of the most enjoyable stories we’ve published. Please let us know what you think of it in the Comments section at the end. Scrappy Metal Photo credit: IRobot.com I crushed another Cheez-It in my hand and sprinkled it on the floor. “God. Would you stop that?” My roommate’s shrill girlfriend, Molly, screeched at me. Although she was always here she didn’t actually pay any bills, so I didn’t have to listen to her. “Hey, I’m just feeding the little…
Two Poems by Joe Bisicchia
*Featured Image courtesy of Eric Ward on Unsplash* This week, we have some lovely poems by Joe Bisicchia. They may be short, but they pack an emotional punch. Enjoy! Venus de Milo Hold me. Don’t be a stone heart. Be real. That simple. That plain. Hold me. Even if just with your eyes. Canvas My father’s hands were calloused from his plastering tool, his hold on his trowel, his carrying of mortar board before he would be lost in a cloud, lost in a Renoir brush, as weather patterns are wont to do. He always said see art in all the blank space. My father, an immigrant, had labored so many facades, long halls and tall vestibules with plaster of Paris, smoothing over surface of every wall to get me through school. Illiterate, yet, the…
3 Poems by Sarah Daly
*Featured image courtesy of Andreas Rasmussen on Unsplash* This week we have some wonderful poems by Sarah Daly. Don’t let their size fool you. They may be short, but these poems are full of emotion. Enjoy! At Day’s End Leaf after leaf drops on the autumn path. They piece a rich quilt of crimsons and golds and corals which cover the dirt; my feet crush them, obliterate them, grind them into the soft earth. But the landscape does nothing to penetrate November’s loneliness. Stars Incandescent circles weave through the night sky, their shadows traversing our tangled limbs and signifying joy, joy, joy. In the Now Don’t say it, whatever you think, don’t say the words, we are trapped in this reality TV lifestyle (go along go along) don’t open your mouth, there is no more…
Winner’s Curse: A New Novel by L.A. Starks
Editor’s Note: A Weekend Arts article in The New York Times caught my attention with its title, “Blending Poetry, Ritual and Data on Oil Drilling.” It’s about an installation created by Imami Jacqueline Brown she calls “research art” and in which says she wants to “demystify oil and gas production.” It was the last thing I ever thought I’d see pursued in art, but then again reading Winner’s Curse was a revelation of its own: a novel set in that same business, which its practitioners used to refer to in the Texas drawl, as “th’ awl an’ gaas bidness.” The notion of a “winner’s curse” is explained on the first page of L.A. Starks’ engaging new novel, the fourth Lynn Dayton thriller. It stems from the fact that drilling for oil was (and may still…