Breaking News

Kids! Choose-My-Adventure!

Neal @ March 7, 2010 # No Comment Yet

FOR THE FIRST TIME ANYWHERE, we at Metaphorager.Net are offering the opportunity to influence the next Prosatio Silban Story (Gosh!) titled “Final Kindness,” potentially altering the course of the entire chapter (Golly!), if not the novel of which it’s a part (Wow!). Here’s how to play: Simply opine upon one of the follwing ledes (and [...]

More on page 804

Who is this Prosatio Silban, and What Does He Want?

Neal @ February 24, 2010 # No Comment Yet

THESE FABLES CONNECT A NEED to tell a particular story with a near-lifelong habit of worldbuilding. They are self-contained excerpts from a picaresque novel-in-progress titled Around the Rimless Sea: Mystic Fables for Religious Misfits, and though set as fantasies, the Prosatio Silban fables are intended for anyone seeking the Divine in a day job, so [...]

More on page 779

ORL History, or Where’s Mine?

Neal @ January 31, 2010 # 2 Comments

LONGTIME READERS WILL PRICK THEIR pointed ears at the mention of “Obscure Research Labs.” If you’re not one of them, but especially if you are, please read on:
Back around 1989 or so, I became involved with a group billing itself as “the world’s only TRUE research organization … devoted to finding out Just What’s Going [...]

More on page 736

Talmidei Torah Considered As The Great Motorcycle Dialectic

Neal @ January 11, 2010 # No Comment Yet

(sans apology to and/or connection with Messrs. Jarry et Ballard.)
THERE ARE THE HARLEY RIDERS. They would not dream of owning any transportation they couldn’t twiddle with or hack. Every knob, every switch, every gear is known and its connection to the whole machine is understood, monitored, adjusted. Their dreams are the smooth metal touch and [...]

More on page 703

For Franz Kafka

Neal @ September 10, 2009 # No Comment Yet

The old woman sat, softly singing, on a blue wooden chair in the middle of the vast cobbled square, rippling a carpet of birds with each cast of her hand.
Tall jagged buildings loomed on all four sides around her — blocky and black-windowed, granite-yellow in the light of the dying sun, their shadows not quite [...]

More on page 590