Showing results for "dean" in Literature & Fiction

It was just supposed to be a quick trip to the pet store for some cat food, but the universe had other plans for Florence Valentine. Good for nothing kids and some annoying store employees were giving her a hard time, and then things got worse when she was killed by a delivery truck. Instead of angels, pearly gates, and eternal rewards, a voice in her head keeps telling her that she’s become a dungeon core, whatever that is.

He's the type of guy who hears the word "no" only when it's followed by "don't stop". Working for Dean Harper would be like selling my soul to the devil...and before you say anything, I don't care if the devil has punch-you-in-the-gut brown eyes and an ass to match. My soul isn't for sale.

This is stream of consciousness writing. This is that search for something within that we all must go through one day to find it.

Millennial students, pandemics, smart friends, a smart society, with smart stuff on wrists and in pockets, all closely monitored by aggressive algorithms that know everything about everyone. Ernest is in the middle of it all—behind the times, and clueless, while searching for his mid-life groove in the 21st Century. With a too-smart son, an ice-cold wife, and a sham teaching job, his real problems increase exponentially when he crosses paths with an evil rich dude with connections to a secret world order. When Professor Ernest Maltby is stressed, confused, and uptight…

When the robot came out of the closet and began charging its batteries in front of everyone there was a cry of outrage from a lounging bigamist who went on to say: "Protect our children's eyes from the machine lest they become machine-like and poop in our soup." When the robot approached the bigot to clarify a point, the bigot ran off screaming and left a hole in the breadline that the robot promptly filled to great cheers from the crowd watching.

Stream of consciousness with beat writing in a satirical, Gothic, noir and Zen setting.

This map is an idea that time will only take you as far as time allows and being read suggests no more than it does; so never let it be said that something can't be said if it's worth saying.

It all breaks like the tide upon the shore, where lovers ease their hurts and find their sorrows dissolved in the softness of that truth to hold and give that acceptance where love has no bounds.

This story sells itself by inference as it goes along and relies for its context upon the clues scattered within its generalities and has as its bearing the vagaries of the human condition in confluence with life as it flows and so should not be mistaken for anything else but what you feel after listening to it.

This audiobook may be a conglomeration of loosely bound stories done in a stream of consciousness style to evoke the feeling of being there on the long journey home, or not as the case may be.

I don't remember my dreams normally. I come out of dreaming and let them go and become whatever reality I'm thinking, and by the time I've found out where I am the dreams have slipped away out of mind, and no matter how rich or poor the dreaming was, nothing of it remains when I'm awake, but here are a few that did remain.

And then a different bandwidth, not quite a security breach came around the corner of it all as I was writing my prayers on the wall of my indisposition, and recognizing me somehow, called out my secret name. Disappearing down a hole I'd dug for just such an occurrence I left everything I'd built over the years behind me and wondered how they'd found me or if I'd been betrayed. Well maybe I'd find out and maybe I wouldn't but I wasn't sticking around to ask questions.