dennis scharnberg

The sun is up.  My eyes are open.  Let the madness begin.

Victoria Salt,  A Compendium of Opening Lines.

Picasso was a runt.  And not just in physical stature.

Amanda Willcoxen, ed., The Literary and Philosophical Fragments of Gregory James Sallust.

The pessimist will say that we are just going in circles.  But no, he is wrong.  It is ellipses.  We go in ellipses.

Travis Hilliard,  The Private Language.

I’ll spell out the word “redemption,” followed by a colon.  Then, I will write a definition of the word—one suggesting that we are able to redeem ourselves.  That should take care of it.

Titus Musgrave, The Mystery of Sleep.

It is all humiliating.  Everything is.  Those who feel that they have escaped humiliation are just obtuse.

Dennis W. Sylvester,  Confessions of a Moon Man.

“Is that supposed to be music?”  Brian asked.  And he immediately regretted it.

Priscilla Onkers, All About Edward.

The Lady in Cement.  What is this movie about?  Well, Tony Rome goes here, then Tony Rome goes over there.  Tony sees these guys, and then he meets up with those guys.  Tony sees Jill St. John bend over.  What more could you want?

Jeremy Breedlove,  A Sardonic View of the Movies.

Does the neighbor’s boredom make him deserving of my sympathy?

Tanner Faust,  A Scrapbook of Impertinent Interrogatives.

Italian Opera:  codpieces and creases.

W. Karl Bavinger,  The Misanthrope’s Way With Words.

One man’s daydream is another man’s nightmare (e.g., “revolution”).

Oswald Delling,  Where Are the Vikings?