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stories & essays


joshua gage
joshua gage is to northeast ohio writing as acid is to vitamin capsules. he says you can trust him about as far as you can throw a wet mattress up an elevator shaft, and even then it's best to shoot him in the knee, just so you know he won't run away on you.


Pastoral nomenclature

I wander the streets of cracks into the utter far below. The water level another type of stolen identity feast, grown on the blood that scars the heavens. I, a tall lanky fiend. He like medieval armour. His hands belong long over gathered dregs and needy. He slides among hope and dreams caught-they don't even touch the street and out of the darkness as though he were above us. Mentor, my Pavlovian bell, the path of Orpheus he is. Gifts in a case of brown amongst the boys' dancing heads. They barely watch with night as a few of us go out before the eventual caging. Call it NEWS, as though we wait for our holy flower cane to supply such a heinous event's demands. Barter goods for commodities forced only in lighters and neon illumination. Come for the odd thrill of Moloch's broken hide, belly of steaming humanity and a corporate world like bacteria lambs, ripe and fuzzy. I lurk and wait, for he wields a long overcoat pocked with ash religious order. Fallen through the cracks, his patients like a red cross tight in capsules, or its filthy coating. Between patients, this is our father. He is the reason why we wait. Leathered, as though the concreted girders knew we exist. Only we're sickened, glued to our mighty explosions or personal wiltings that weren't as old as man or St. Luke, our party withal. He will wallow amongst the souls and perhaps deep in the guts of more than stars. Or, reaping a heavy crop, he'll step boldly over the beasts. Here business worlds live in a dish with parasites under the tracks like no other man. Add a battered fedora and grill spit. He a group of gentlemen, ministering to the sick fallen angels, pardoning balloons. His feet just float in other virtues. As a figure, my Socratic love descends. He will come bearing a harp to play clouds above our half hour on television, enthralled across the cosmos we all face. Still, with his rabbit hat, all the strings and bows that he has cash and trade darkness, where play angels only of hollow men. I'm overcome with bouts along the concrete. On leaving me empty and in the distance of red negotiable affection, our intrepid hero shows to peruse the products in the name of a quick tonight. Perched out luscious beauties, both the world of fishnets their bodies. To slip would be such a paradise, this pair of lovers, stars of our basement world. Above their wares and call of duty trades, each muscle and languid lean against a honed technique. They are sweet succubus enchantresses. One a scrawny red. Across her flesh, dripping promised sins sing music with each ultimate intimacy halo. Tattered above into our in exchange for souls, trading brief escape from this their altar. Despite deep seeded guilt and both sides of me alone, at the bottom light sparkles, though more importantly, a warm up. I amble towards before laying down both fix and a few diseases side the door into obviously fresh miniskirts. Oh, between those thighs this dripping cross invisible. Indeed, they transcend upbringing, taking their realm of supreme art spot of flesh honed on the brick wall. Each are not just ladies, bodies trained with eyes of crystal. The other wields eyes deep as words and turn of tongue. Lounging against their light, I swear they're of midnight only. They are like our darkness in exchange. Myself, I can't help aching nostalgia. I travel where buildings rise to infinity off this architectural cesspool, the sticky night advertising beds. Still waiting for our enticing glow, hoping my money and myself is shared. I am in luck. Illicit lands are two to the street and new to taking them in to ravage and grind against their flesh. A duo of angelic proportions amongst the smoke and neon-the oldest craft rising above and beyond. They are masters, trained to perfection. Each deep inhalation off a cigarette of the night. They are art of anticipation. Once freckles sprinkled layers build, their hips reservoirs. Their lips and eyes swear war beneath the roses slipped from clouds. Tourists selling flesh, like our doctor in reverse collar, for hollow souls sacrificed. But love them. They are one of us. They belong. Having quickly arrived, the green door squeezed, wielded wildly by our having time before himself. Whole ride with both perfect pints-brilliant. Soon we're off faster, the bed with two naked up and down myself-one wrapped around, the other bouncing slightly. While fresh as daisies, they were pussing and chapped, enough to make me the shakes. Before babies started, a forgotten rubber of hips and lips. Could tell lady pale horse as her eyes deep sleep and the father in. I was of course away with the first, my bourbon was winding on top of old righteous time and mutual consensus. Leaving went the way of shakes, I ambled at this honourable tight between a layer of holy ladies around their comes into my life. Drips of skin poured head and thick body. Then a herd of rapid beauties fondling me. After that for a few, my head, squeezed on my mini holiness. The shell were obviously oozing from out their bruised sores. Cringe, but as I was, man late in arrival crawling on ceiling, held my breath as they came crashing. Red was rolling on back, but southern comfort was slick confessional. Hoping they'd both crash, but then my tongue and fire faithful. All in all, we arrived at our green on the dresser. I, the buffalo rolling down the way on that dashing conclusion. I step into the bricks and the flesh passionate garb. So, I decide for into the sheets. In we go then, and turtles. I'm in, rubbing their hands. They climb aboard my ears with thighs. Now, both these girls not new to our land, lips, and legs along their lips, were already headed for needed twirl. So I slipped on against their tides down on top of me-I the back of their moans. Having their time with I do say so myself, and I could switched. Now head was thrusting a mighty required destination. Tipped my hand and a smoke to calm. Look out-five steps and rogue, our man. Himself and myself share salutations free of burden. Together, I know I am this sermon to all, his eyes a glimmer of hollow souls. His grin veins will soon be sated out of the needle corral, various prayers and sermons obtained in each one. My bet's on an old mare of lightening. Exchange for a bolt melts into the very shadows and darkness. It doesn't matter to me, belt wrapped into a series of blue, then up into the glory at once, my body second, then skull spread. I am as gone as vomit, the stench of human understanding but not flesh, clinging like my body is rolling. I took up religion, my drag, in exchange for having dealt with our special. A favourite if you flock, but I can see humanity light-a shine scattered with yellow virgin stallion. He grins wide his prayer before me, extolling all my options. I weigh and stand by a mighty steed. Again he tosses his teeth of collapse inside a balloon behind himself, as though that creates and paints where he's off to. I've around my arm, pulling it rigid. Melting the words tube, I take a deep breath stormed by the chase thin through the stained as possible, lying amongst bodies in pre-rot state. Existence climbing like green most determined moss. My foaming like southern comfort over the streets, I follow our mans mutual pleasantries before this current get will. I realize he preaches suck back in the hollow of the moon in the darkest teeth, and tells me my wild and frothing his way. Look, and displays his various virtues and pleasures. My wallet before placing with the hooves of daydreams. Takes my green in, and, with a wink, he were made of our tiny slice of existence already. Thrown off my tight and slapping skin of the sermon and sucking and plunge then deep. All of an orgasm packed into a glass of my cathedrals-discarded filters and alcohol of decay, lands beyond mushrooms up over my eyes are back like red's. This is exactly why entourage and congregation, why we wander the streets.


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