Brother Likeness [Flash Fiction]

I'm halfway through reading Big Sur. Can't say anything but Love it, Began it on a journey to Land's End, the south side of the south fork all the way at the tip, the Point, again, The End, Long Island, New York. Brother Ti Jean. I've been to Lowell, Massachusetts. Walked by the Merrimack River seeing … Continue reading Brother Likeness [Flash Fiction]

It is I [Flash Fiction]

It is I or it is me--it's me is okay. What is this It is I shit. The French say, c'est moi; they do not say c'est je. Understand? C'est moi; It's me.  I am a staff of one. I am everyone and everything herein. I am the whole review, all of it, all of what goes into it, every … Continue reading It is I [Flash Fiction]

Historicity and Hysteria [Flash Fiction]

Is it true that philosophy is not a tradition of theories, but a tradition of the literary, and do we call them fictions, otherly formed fictions? Is that what I imply by calling this a fictional essay? If it is a fictional essay, then the essay form is being employed in the service of fiction, … Continue reading Historicity and Hysteria [Flash Fiction]

Who Does Not Prefer Snow to Rain? Or, How Black and White Photography Helped Me Form a Renewed Idea about Truth

Black and White Film [Fiction] Who wouldn't prefer snow to rain? I ask rhetorically, secure in the notion that snow must be universally preferable to rain. I know it is for me in December. I prefer 28 degrees Fahrenheit with snow to 38 degrees Fahrenheit with rain. Yes, I would prefer 30F with snow to … Continue reading Who Does Not Prefer Snow to Rain? Or, How Black and White Photography Helped Me Form a Renewed Idea about Truth

Look at Me, I Can Spell My Name [short fiction]

To be literate or to be alphabetic is a question that should be posed by any society that sees itself in conflict over just what the society is or should be or where it is going or where it has been, has come from. Being alphabetic, what is sometimes referred to by me as having … Continue reading Look at Me, I Can Spell My Name [short fiction]

C’est Moi, The Review; or, A Blogger Blogs about His Literary Blog [Flash Fiction]

This critical journal, this literary review, with its pages of Essays and its blog, where some of the essays are initially worked out, expresses the views of its author, Thomas Sarebbononnato, who is also the Publishing Editor, sometimes referred to as the Editor-in-Chief. The essays are all of them literary in form, and many are … Continue reading C’est Moi, The Review; or, A Blogger Blogs about His Literary Blog [Flash Fiction]

Prime, Primitive, Motive; an Anonymous Author Writes of an Anonymous Man Having Spoken to Another Unnamed Man [Flash Fiction]

Our early human ancestors completed cave paintings because they did not have mirrors? A man asks another man, then pausing to wonder what he might have added or how he might have phrased the question differently . . . wondering perhaps if his question makes any sense at all, then waiting for a response that does … Continue reading Prime, Primitive, Motive; an Anonymous Author Writes of an Anonymous Man Having Spoken to Another Unnamed Man [Flash Fiction]

How Under-Education is Contingent and Reciprocal in the Loss of Liberty

THE LESSENING OF DEMOCRACY To read or not to read is a question I might ask, yet do not; but to write or not to write is the question, something without question what I need to do, must do in order to be, to live. My to be or not is combined with this to … Continue reading How Under-Education is Contingent and Reciprocal in the Loss of Liberty

When Horse Shit Passes Itself Off as Bull Shit; or, The Essay Writer and You

[A Short Story] An essay writer publishing an essay in his literary review revealing what it reveals about both his being and his existence, perhaps. What this then would say about us saying about him is as old as the form of the essay which all writers of the form cannot escape, and that is … Continue reading When Horse Shit Passes Itself Off as Bull Shit; or, The Essay Writer and You

Montauk Shore with Great Dinosaur Looking Birds, and How We Imagine that the Most Recent Paleontology Determining that Dinosaurs Evolved Into Our Present Populations of Birds is Incorrect is Beyond Me [Flash Fiction]

What can I say? I have no words? Is that true? What then are these? There is always something to say? I'm not sure if I agree that there is always something to say . . . always? Never always, right? Suiting action to word and word to action is Hamlet's advice to the players, … Continue reading Montauk Shore with Great Dinosaur Looking Birds, and How We Imagine that the Most Recent Paleontology Determining that Dinosaurs Evolved Into Our Present Populations of Birds is Incorrect is Beyond Me [Flash Fiction]

Media, Messages, Criminals and Business

The media are the messages? What medium do we consider first? There is no medium more effective in being the messages it disseminates than another. This review is a part of print media as well as social media. How could any medium not critique itself if it is to be serious about things other than … Continue reading Media, Messages, Criminals and Business

How Going on about What You Write Might be Interesting

Et Cetera I like asking questions, have always liked asking questions, had never had much fear about asking questions, had also had a sensitive understanding of the inappropriateness of some questions, of what to avoid asking, when and where and with whom, to whom. At least what I had assumed was a sensitive understanding. I … Continue reading How Going on about What You Write Might be Interesting

From the Editor

I do at times skirt the borders of redundancy. How to repeat without the repetition becoming redundant is a skill. I avoid redundancy by transforming repetition into motif. Motif is only motif if not redundant; redundancy subtracts from motif, as there is a way to repeat things without them becoming motif and without them becoming … Continue reading From the Editor

Up [Flash Fiction]

I would never shove up my ass any of things that girls have shoved up their cunts only possibly to let in the air, as we hear the female protagonist say in Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants," they let in the air.