dennis scharnberg

“I know you are looking for Yes, Victoria.  But it is No.  Again.  It simply must be.  Sorry.”

Diana Moone, Living Well.

“More modernist paintings?” cried Devon.  “One couldn’t delineate more precisely what we do not need.”

Lawrence Bird,  Make It So.

“Not caring is the thing,” laughed Edgar. “Who is able to care the very least? That’s our game.”

Chadwick Graves, One Damned Thing After Another.

Frances felt increasingly confident about the claim that her earlier sentence—spoken at breakfast—was an arrangement of words that had never been stated before.  In all of history.

Tristan Holyoke, A Tree Full of Monkeys.

“Tell us, Nigel.”  Virginia was teasing again.  “Don’t you ever feel just a tad shallow?”

Leighton Johns,  My Uncle Toby.

He needs arrest.

Andrew Tertullian, Pandora’s Ponderous Puns.

in  sin  you  wait

Andrew Tertullian, Pandora’s Ponderous Puns.

“That’s boring, sir,” stated Jarvis.  “I’m sorry, but it just is.”

Alberta Traywick, Susannah’s Accident.

Reggie assured Christina, and anyone else who would listen, that he had but a single goal for the summer: learning to regard the mirror as an object, just another humdrum object.

Douglas Cristobal, Feel the Logic.

What [Aleister] Crowley never understood: Magic is dreary.

Ellison Malmo,  The Hermeneutics of Leveling.