tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-201114972012-03-11T16:50:03.469-05:00Mark Mandelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613898879253420249noreply@blogger.comBlogger81100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20111497.post-46461698171283429782012-02-12T11:43:00.002-06:002012-02-15T17:16:06.404-06:00

Lemuel repeated the phrase of lesson 43 again, as he had dozens of times already this morning. But, as far as he could tell, everything remained totally fucked up. He was trying to work it, trying to see God as the source—whatever the Hell that meant—in everything he saw or thought. But everything he encountered seemed to be fucked up, everything was a piece of suffering shit added onto the

Mark Mandelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613898879253420249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20111497.post-2666789090721162252011-10-23T15:10:00.001-05:002011-10-23T15:17:40.857-05:00

Patterson sat in his wheelchair watching the patch of light his visitor was calling a sunspot progress across the old, red couch. His visitor looked vaguely familiar to Patterson in the same way that Patterson's own name sometimes felt like it was indeed who he must be. Patterson knew that his aging body was called Mr. Patterson by others, and he dimly had an almost recollection of being

Mark Mandelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613898879253420249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20111497.post-80404311669126606812011-10-20T13:45:00.003-05:002011-10-20T13:45:19.382-05:00

mortal by no means always and never in the midst of loss in the midst of plenty a buzz of bliss undreaming forever terrible in its completeness devastating in its fullness we have but this for now one mind remembers one who outshines more real than any separation and still my belly purrs does yours?

Mark Mandelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613898879253420249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20111497.post-4671679595340213082011-10-16T08:42:00.002-05:002011-10-16T08:42:22.148-05:00

to be pulled by wants and needs down the streets to the drink and to the meat like living death only desire blood and fire cannot wait through earth and peat pulled down the streets to you a dying life on hold played out fate no longer bold pulled down the streets my strife a different age a close embrace a living wage my wife within this space no time to be no sacred place we’re getting

Mark Mandelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613898879253420249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20111497.post-29677139228701278902011-10-09T12:30:00.002-05:002011-10-09T12:30:18.121-05:00

in her apartment the soup was where she’d left it in a old, grey pot on the stove its scent, of tomatoes and spices potatoes and fat, a steady reminder of what had been what has been what might (perhaps) continue to be all of its familiar ingredients— work. family, struggle, relationships, concerns— called “jump back in,” affirming beliefs, somehow a comfort in the midst of her own clench but

Mark Mandelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613898879253420249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20111497.post-92164147365421699262011-10-04T13:51:00.001-05:002011-10-04T14:29:14.982-05:00

They tried to tell us we existed. The wheels, the televisions, the smells of cooking foods, the bustling what have you. But even from the very beginning, from the moment the possibility of separation reared its tiny, mad head, it never had the correct feel to it. Like it was only half-heartedly trying to reach to truth, and not trying very hard or very well. It somehow felt artificial, like an

Mark Mandelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613898879253420249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20111497.post-54712207787911372572011-09-25T06:40:00.001-05:002011-09-25T07:31:14.620-05:00

me and the misses drove the winnebago through arkansas and texas to new mexico where in a flat mesa empty for as far as our eyes could see except for junipers and pinions cactus and crows we stopped off at a roadside curio down the road from a blue sign proclaiming: World’s Largest Ball of HORMONES kay said: “it’s funny that’s how i feel sometimes these days” so i pulled over

Mark Mandelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613898879253420249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20111497.post-55022439424757738422009-07-03T08:28:00.000-05:002009-07-03T08:29:06.066-05:00

The Crossing Over of Master Lu*she told me about itas we drove along the bywayup the steep, gravelly switchbackslooking out over a vast landscapefeeling the sky press down upon usshe told me about giving up the ghostand that there's a choice in rememberingthe picnic at the lake,the howling of the wolf,the room with the view,feeling shy on the mattress,the grinning man in his pleasureto remember

Mark Mandelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01613898879253420249noreply@blogger.com2