Herbert Goldstone, what are you going to tell me about him? Writes crazy sci-fi about thinking machines more human than man. This story in dozens of brilliant anthologia. Very little else to be found. The wiki draws a blank. This story is not a drop shy of Wondrous.
A delivery truck pulled out in front of me the other day, freshly deflowered by a graffiti artist who chose to express him- or herself by relaying the following, in big blue caps:
I LOVE SARAH, KINDA?
Some days, as a podcastress, you find that it’s about a billion and two degrees of sour sunshined degrees outside, measured by the scales of Daniel or Anders either/or, and while the last thing you feel like doing might involve heavy lifting dressed in black, the next to last thing, on days such as those, might involve trying to get discernible sound and meaning to emerge from your throat.
Dearest listeners of the internet, I know. I’ve been gone. Many of you have pointed this out to me, though by the time I returned to read your pleas and queries, I was back, relieved of goneness, and racked with guilt over how abandoned you’d all been left, was at a loss at what I might read to redeem myself.
A caveat for you listeners. Hell, a full-out warning: this is a long one, today’s story, long and, dare I say it, a little dark, and not in the “change the bulb” sort of way. Which is just my way of saying to you:
As a rule, yours (very) truly takes a big dollop of pleasure in knowing just a little something about the authors I’m reading to you. Where there are exceptions, they are serious exceptions, resuscitated from beyond the brink and leaving their snot in my mouth.
If I were a state fair judge offering blue ribbons after thoroughly scrutinizing the stories that have been read to you to-date, tonight’s would be a heavy competitor for Most Gut-Bursting Opener in American Short Fiction, specifics of which, there’s nobody can offer sympathy like me. And I’m pitting this as the prizewinning hen against … Read more
Riding the big train today and started to daydream, in the daydreamy style of reductive logic unique to the accompaniment of a train horn, the subject which was What I Might Read to the Internet Tonight.