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This first story, which serves as a prelude of a sort, follows immediately after vox serpentis, the last story in Azza-Jono issue 7, “Memory’s Tricky.” The Leaving Room [Title by Mason Van Santana] Nikki reached the top of the hill, pale green and gray with loose stones. She approached
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I have, for the first time in my life, decided to return a book to the store. It’s not that it’s badly written. Clearly it’s well-written. It’s not that it’s plotless. I don’t care about that, not even a little. It’s not that
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FKA "1001 True Fans—Part 2: Do I Even Know 1001 People?"
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There’s an energy to Her Womb, which is why that’s where I gotta be. Outside of the confines or convention, deepening a different kind of binding, an internal and interpersonal one, with those who share a mind when together and separate, those differences enriching the whole and opening
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If someone tells a lie often enough and for long enough, people just … accept it. I nearly said they believe it. I don’t know if they believe it—actually believe it—or not. But they accept it. They accept it the way they accept other things they’re not
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The man called Clade arrived in a one sentence story about five years ago. It went like this: Clade was a glitchslinger, and that meant trouble. Here’s what happened next … Praxis O’Riley Clade walked the street of my childhood, during that time when I gave way to adolescence,
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You can meet Nikki here, then carry on to here. All the Azza-Jono posts are here. Or you can just jump in … Panik’s Tomb Jessica kissed Nikki behind the ear, pulled close to her, put her scent all around her. “This place is sooo beautiful, Nik.” Nikki shrugged. “It’
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Permission. You have permission. You have my permission to read what I am writing. You may read it aloud boldly or quietly to yourself or mumbling self-consciously or entirely silently, just mentally. It’s all right. You have permission. You have permission to feel whatever you feel, think whatever you
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Routine. Not necessarily tedious, but it can be. There are sounds familiar and comforting, intrusive and annoying. Same sounds. The mundane is worldliness, being in and of the world. Worldly from surfeit, worldly from suffering. Worldward vision, worldward blockage. It’s out there. Even our interior is focused out there.
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Newsletter
Not all narrators are known. Many are known to Praxis, but not to you. Yet you follow along with this one, impelled by curiosity, lust, and an empty space both subtle and enticing. Per Diem You hurry down West 44th Street, rush through the revolving door. Your mind wanders as
