BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 14. Through These Eyes

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In preparation for his on-site investigation, Wayne Roberts hadn’t shaved for three days, nor had he bathed, and Taylor Manning was now driving him to South Parkway, where he’d spend the next few weeks living on the street.
    Taylor rolled down his window. “Damn, Wayne,” he said, “roll your window down! You’re as ripe as a dead chicken lying in the sun.”
    “You don’t think I’ve overdone it, do you?”

All Over the Place: A Season One September

By Michael H. Brownstein

[Originally published in the now-defunct “zine” Message in a Bottle.]








The Egyptian Coptics who wore the tunics were angels
until the decade of warning, grave building,
a gravity of no consequence. The waters buried themselves
into the earth and the voices of the living dead
flowed beneath the ground until sands covered everything.
I too believe in one Deity, but I am unsure if I can
die for it. Study the pattern of lines in this poem. Do you see
blank space or do you see a belly full of living?

Acting Citizen: Kinky Rights

By James Knudsen

The Moristotle & Co. blog has a well-earned reputation for being family friendly, Rated ‘G’, adhering to the Hays Code, and Safe For Work. Nonetheless, in order for this month’s column to work, I must introduce the topic of sex.
    A dear friend who passed away several years ago, summed up the varieties and complexity of the human sexual universe thus: “Everybody’s got their trip.” For all our genetic similarity as a species, when it comes to sexual congress, regress, redress, and ultimately, undress, the scope is 360 degrees of all extremes, from the completely ordinary to the…well, I’m afraid I occupy one of the more ordinary solar systems of the universe, so I can’t speak to how extraordinary the x^th extreme may be.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 13. Next Day

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The next morning, Blake awoke to the smell of frying bacon and brewing coffee. The clock showed 7 a.m. He pulled on a pair of jeans and walked toward the front of the motorhome. He expected to see Shelley cooking away at the stove, but it was Bobby, happily breaking eggs in a bowl. “Where’s Shelley?”
    Bobby threw the eggshells into the garbage pail and faced Blake. “She went up the hill, to the tree where the preacher was killed.”
    Blake started to look out the door, but from behind him Bobby said, “You need to put a shirt on, boss. It looks like you went a few rounds with a wildcat last night.”

11 Thanksgivings Ago Today: Thanksgiving what-if

I didn’t take this photo;
we didn’t have any
green beans or tomatoes

By Moristotle

[Originally published on Nov. 27, 2009.]

All day yesterday, even as I was enjoying our company for Thanksgiving, enjoying the bright afternoon (after a foggy morning), enjoying the turkey, the candied sweet potatoes, the Brussels sprouts and carrots, the fruit salad, the stuffing, the cranberry sauce, the Vouvray, and the whipped-cream-topped pumpkin pie, I was bothered by something just not quite right about Thanksgiving.

Highways and Byways: Char #5

By Maik Strosahl

A friend of mine recently took some pictures of the aftermath of wildfires in Colorado. His simple title to the series, “Char,” seemed to be a perfect metaphor for the destruction that some who went beyond peaceful protest felt they needed to inflict upon this country to make people see their viewpoint. Thanks to David Hartley for inspiration.


In the land where
Roosevelt meets the Arapaho,
Cameron Peak is ablaze—
the spark still a mystery,
but the understory,
the down and dead,
the beetle-killed lodgepole
have raged for three months
until 200,000 acres
are nothing but char.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 12. BBQ

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The three of them drove up the driveway to Betty’s house at 6:00 sharp. Blake parked among the seven or eight other cars out front. As they disembarked the Jeep, they heard the sound of country music and loud voices coming from behind the house. “I don’t believe this 6-pack of beer is going to go very far,” Bobby said as he pulled the beer from the back seat.
    Blake nodded in agreement. “She never said it was a party, but then again she never said it wasn’t. Shelley, will you get those camera pens out of the glovebox? We might as well start getting pictures now. They walked around the corner, each with a ballpoint pen equipped with a small camera tucked in a chest pocket. Two clicks and it was on; one click and it was a writing pen.

Correspondence: We didn’t even get a road....

Prisoners working on
R504 Kolyma Highway

Edited by Moristotle

[Items of correspondence are not attributed; they remain anonymous. They have been chosen for their inherent interest as journalism, story, or provocative opinion, which may or may not be shared by the editor or other members of the staff of Moristotle & Co.]

Between 1932 and 1953, more than 250,000 Gulag inmate labourers died while building the R504 Kolyma Highway through the Russian Far East. Historians often cite the loss of these lives as a horrific example of Joseph Stalin's brutal leadership of the former Soviet Union – but at least the country wound up with a usable road that functioned through impossibly inhospitable weather and across unbelievably rugged terrain.

All Over the Place: Thumbprints

By Michael H. Brownstein

[Originally published in the now-defunct “zine” Message in a Bottle.]

currants of color
as in spices and herbs,
as in safety and ginger—
currents of water
have a way with words, too,
paddlefish, large mouth bass,
tiny vertebrae, bottom feeders

Goines On: Todd’s power

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As Goines pushed a shopping cart past Costco’s exit door to join Mrs. Goines at the entrance, Goines overheard Todd sending another shopper on her way after checking her items: “Have a won-der-ful day!”
    Todd’s only duty ever seemed to be to check carts on their way out, and Goines couldn’t say how many times he had heard Todd say “Have a won-der-ful day!” It had to have been dozens.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 11. Situations

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Two days later, when Taylor arrived at his office, he noticed Wayne moving around in the – what everybody was calling his – “situation room.” Taylor could see much of the room through his own door and the room’s glass paneling along the walkway.
    Taylor headed around the walkway, and as he approached the “situation room,” he could see that Wayne had a cot against the wall. He opened the door. “What’s going on, Wayne?”

No Country for Young Children

Not for My Son, Anyway

By Paul Clark (aka motomynd)

Living where we do in Virginia, we are surrounded by Trumpists. Trump won about 85% of the land area of Virginia. Biden won three counties west of Richmond: ours wasn’t one of them. Across Virginia and the country the lines seem more firmly drawn than ever: overall, Democrats win with higher income, more educated voters; Republicans win with less-educated, lower-income voters, the main exceptions being elite rich white people and disadvantaged urban black voters. [See the Newsweek article, “Trump Counties Make Up Just 29 Percent of U.S. Economic Output, 2020 Election Study Shows.”]

Highways and Byways: Broken Bow

By Maik Strosahl

This poem was inspired on the road. I like to look up information on the places I deliver. When I got to Broken Bow, Nebraska, I was disappointed that I could not find a backstory for the town name, so I created my own. I tried it several times and finally got it to work in this prose poem.


He wore three feathers – an eagle’s for strength, a falcon’s for speed, a hawk’s for keeping alert and the ability to see how today carries tomorrow in the balance. His hickory bow strained to the pull of sun-bronzed arms ready to war, string taut in his hand, twisted turtle’s neck held the nock of an arrow set for launch and piercing death for the proud white man staring through his looking glass, high in the saddle unaware of the enemy under cover of brush.

West Coast Observer: Will Trump Be Indicted for Anything after January 20?

And how do you feel about it?

By William Silveira

The question atop today’s observation is on many people’s minds. How likely do I think it is that Trump will be indicted for alleged crimes or misdemeanors after he leaves office? My opinion has nothing to do with the fact-finding that I did as a judge when I had a dispute before me. But I do have an opinion, based on news published in credible newspapers, such as the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, and the Wall Street Journal.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 10. Road Trip

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When Blake pulled the 35-foot Fleetwood into the A.P.S. parking lot at 6:00 the day of their departure for Reelfoot, Bobby and Shelley were waiting for him, their luggage sitting on the ground. He opened the front door and they climbed aboard. As he watched them store their stuff, Blake felt as though it were a family outing and he was the grandfather.
    October had been cold, but November had turned into Indian Summer with the temps in the mid-70s. Shelley was dressed in shorts and a cut-off T-shirt and sandals. Blake had to admit she had a body that made it all look good. Bobby, on the other hand, was dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, and a T-shirt with the name of some heavy-metal band on the front and their concert dates on the back.