A Sunday in Oberheim

Fiction

Not even a Sunday, just a Sunday morning. Three scenes, a thousand words. And the necessary backdrop of the melancholy Central European provinces. The square by the Danube: the river has risen a bit in the last few days, and the long-hulled boats, either on their own or with the aid of tugboats, struggle against the current but they slide quickly and almost soundlessly in the other direction as the brown water foams.

From Robert Pinget’s Journals

Fiction

“I was still very much under the influence of the surrealists, of attempts to approach the unconscious;

Form 3575

Fiction

There’s a line. It forms down the center. Indicated by a strip of stiff red poly-nylon attached on wither end to two freestanding aluminum posts, the line forms down the center of the room.

Visitations

Fiction

I awoke this morning to find that none of the many irritants in the world irritated me any more.“Great!” I said. “It’s about time”.

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Fiction

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JAN-FEB 2002

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