D. J. Reddall
Bio
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Stories (330/0)
Cold Vigil
My father, the mountain, speaks to me. His voice makes my own sound like the excited pica’s. Thunder will talk with him, but never argue. Many come to talk with my father, to look at him and think. Some come to my father looking for gold or other shining children of the earth. Their flesh is sour and makes me feel tired and confused.
By D. J. Reddall6 months ago in Fiction
A Spirit That Fears Nothing. Top Story - January 2024.
There are many sound reasons to repudiate professional sport in general and NHL hockey in particular. After all, the game has been as utterly defiled by cynical, avaricious late-stage capitalism as every other aspect of contemporary existence. The ordinary fan is incessantly encouraged by marketers and advertisers to gamble, guzzle alcoholic beverages and devour kilograms of fast food, which is a bald oxymoron if you contemplate it for a moment. Salaries are stratospherically inflated, as are ticket prices, and what passes for discourse generated by the participants in, and commentators upon, the game is so full of cliches and verbal false limbs that Orwell’s ghost will never stop screaming.
By D. J. Reddall6 months ago in Unbalanced
Cafe Confrontation
serve (v.) late 12c., serven, "to render habitual obedience to, owe allegiance to," also "minister, give aid, give help," from Old French servir "to do duty toward, show devotion to; set table, serve at table; offer, provide with," from Latin servire "be a servant, be in service, be enslaved;" figuratively "be devoted; be governed by; comply with; conform; flatter," originally "be a slave," related to servus "slave," which is of uncertain origin.
By D. J. Reddall6 months ago in Poets
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