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Showing posts from May, 2018

Ode to the Oncologist

The oncologist specializes in slow and tedious death. We may not know it but many of us, perhaps most of us will come to know an oncologist or two during maybe even near the end of our lifetimes. Who has more experience with every aspect of death than an oncologist? Death can be an instant, or it can be a grueling soul-sapping process. The oncologist has seen that one play out many times before. The oncologist is keenly aware that genetics has made this an unalterable destiny for untold millions, perhaps even for themselves. Yet, the oncologist is still a professional. For better or worse these specialists and advisers are a profoundly impactful presence in the midst of these crises.  There is a certain symbiosis between death and the oncologist or maybe it’s more of a synergy. One patient to the next one this is always assured there will be more cancer. Day after day they see exhausted people gripping the boney hand of a loved one trapped in the hell of living decay. People attached

The Borderline Angel of Death

I would like to thank  Burning House Press for featuring this piece! At the age of thirty, Daniel Lufto lived alone in a single-bedroom apartment. In his time on Earth, he had made very few lasting connections. At this point, his existence had virtually no perceptible impact on anyone else. He was just another recurring face on the bus ride to work, a vaguely remembered customer in the local liquor store. As a human being, Daniel existed on a strictly interim basis. His home was even on a month-to-month arrangement. On any day, he and his meager belongings could be swept out and with that almost any trace of Daniel's corporeal existence. Daniel wasn't so solitary by choice. He and the world around him could never find the proper way to engage each other. Daniel grew up, but he never developed into a fully fleshed-out human being. He had no particular interests or hobbies. Absolutely nothing could captivate him. It was as if he had been deprived of imagination and was in

Cadaver Number 4

At eleven and fourteen years, respectively, Doctors Joaquim Jerome and Erica Lee were veterans of the medical research labs circuit and, as a matter of professionalism, were never averse to inflicting horrific tortures upon a never-ending pool of rodent and simian subjects. Vivisection, experimental drug trials, and cosmetics, these were all ways the high priests of progress paid the proper blood tributes.  Being as such, the illustrious researchers had no qualms about working with cadavers. "I kill things all the time," Erica shrugged. "Why would I shy away from electrocuting corpses?" Barely ten hours ago, a man named Michael Doland expired and left behind the quickly crumbling biological shell now known as cadaver number 4. While you could count on both hands, all the people who might remember Michael Doland Cadaver number 4 was going to be internationally known before the day was over. Neither Joaquim nor Erica had ever met Michael. For the two aspiring necrom