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Man, Videtan Flora, And The Berendora Of Equatorial Videt

“Dangling in his face was a single stem of the graceful foliage of the Eighteenth Species. He saw then that he could not hold back, and yet must risk doing terrible damage to the crowning floral creation of the Universe. He crept forward in an agony of joy and terror.”

Vision In Black

And cope. I was to hear that again and again. It was multi-faceted, that word. It meant endurance, it expressed discipline — a psychological gymnastics involving stretching, reaching, bending, stooping, doing whatever was necessary to maintain the standards.

The Horseman Of Marrakech

I rubbed my eyes to clear my vision. I looked closely once again to make sure. I could barely see the tall shape prancing in and out of the traffic. I squinted through the haze and then knew I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. “Yes,” I said to myself, “he thinks he’s a horse.”

Memoirs Of A Professional Killer

Some Sea Stories From The Big Deuce

Once they gave a war, and everybody came. They called it World War II, and the entire basis of this essay is that one man’s recollections of it — necessarily different from every other man’s — are worth preserving.

Byron And The Owl

Byron was born and raised in the City, but he was very unhappy there. He went to work every day in an office with bright lights and soft furniture, and though the people he worked with always seemed to have fun, he was usually unhappy. “I feel out of place,” he’d say, and he’d dream of the forests, rivers, and skies he had seen on camping trips to the mountains.

Stories

Hitched to the University of the South at Sewannee, Tennessee. School was out and there were few people around — my last visit I stayed at Beta Phi fraternity — so checked it out again — no one around, but back door conveniently open, so I made myself at home.

Research And Other Disasters

Parapsychology, like every other science, is in the business of doing research. At least as important as research, if not moreso, is publishing. . . . These folks are serious. It’s the right thing to do, of course. If they don’t take themselves seriously, who will?  . . . What follows is a parody of the type of article typically found in one of the parapsychological journals, or in any scientific journal.

On The Astral Plane To Puerto Rico

I, Arthur Milstein, have had a shitty life. I have found difficulty finding gainful employment. I most recently had a position carving names on gravestones, but I was dismissed owing to poor spelling. I usually spell well but not under intense pressure.

Not Quite Our Sort

“Anything,” I say. “Anything but that.” They were trying to make me eat chicken. As an intelligence agent I had been through the wringer many times — torture, torture, forever torture. But I hate chicken. I detest chicken. I would tell them anything if I had to eat chicken.

Paul And The Finger And Steely Dan

He was no one you’d pause to stare at; it was what he said that belied his craziness. Ask him any question; he would answer it as perversely as possible, every time. “Paul, what’s it like outside?” “It’s a perfect day for a rape.” “Paul, what’s for dinner?” “Children’s genitalia, in red clam sauce.”