Jeff Glovsky Published Stories by Jglo

published snatches
from

UNDERWEAR WOMAN DIGS THE SEA
These are Some Travel Stories!

"... strong voice, intriguing situation(s)..."
"Funny and a bit disturbing..."
"deadpan humor ... whisk(s) us into the whirl of the stor(ies)."
"a manic voice that carries through from beginning to end."

"A blend of brilliant images and fractured syntax"

by Jeff Glovsky

South Rise
in Thieves Jargon, 2004

"Standing like stone at Prytania and Terpsichore…Wishing they’d won that Civil War. The City That Care Forgot, some say. Infusions are needed…

Of cash, and self-worth.

In New Orleans, they dance to Koko Taylor. Sit out on their civil porches, naked, flood their war-torn streets…Don’t never go to Bourbon or the Quarter but to sweat.

Yet where I met her was a place called Rick’s. All beautiful, reserved, cloud flashing eyes and tempest storms beneath…But cool! And beautiful, reserved…"

Contact
in Strawberry Press, 2004

"Tap Tap go my teeth as I gawk in the mirror. I tap them: They're hard, sort of white...One is broken. I see skin cascade from my bones like a faucet. A walrus bulldog-looking, blank apparition...

There is nothing behind the grey teeth, walrus laughing...The dull, bulldog skin dripping udder-like, down. There is madness. Unrest. Discontentment. Starvation."

Read more ...

Hung Hannah
in Thieves Jargon, 2004

"It’s usually the cutie-pies who get me: The smiling-with-tongues-leaking-out-of-their-teeth ones; the gap-toothed-and-sunny-eyed dollop of heat ones…the sweet ones…the sad-eyed and vulnerable, meek ones…

Though sometimes, a freak ends up
having to do."

The Venezuelan Dairy Case
in Pindeldyboz, 2004

"The Venezuelan ...

"'I think it's something interesting to talk to you,' she says to me. 'Tu pinga es muy linda,' she states later, as she's shaking it. Occurs to me I haven't had a virgin for a while.

She states dreamily, 'I have to concentrate, and I am sleeping now. This thing needs time!' She tries to drift her hand away, but I replace it with my own… Begin, up-down, the necessary doings that I'm used to …

Then I… Sí.

Sí, sí… Oh, sí…

YO VENGO!!!!"

... Dairy Case" (Read more)

Bus to Anaheim
in SFStories.com, 2002

"In San Francisco...Spinning round the Metronome. I've no idea...

I walked to meet her here, from Geary. Walked with map, the vaguest notion...Even that's all over now! Head spinning, feel up for blood...There's none.

There's just black lumps and pride.

The Mission. Baddest part of town...I smelled things getting worse there; I, like Fortune, found a taxicab.

'So how's San Francisco to walk? It's safe?' The driver's eyes meet mine in disbelief. He smirks and shakes his head. 'Oh, really? Even this early?'

'Back there? Back where I picked you up? There's twenty murders every day.'"

Read more ...

"Bus to Anaheim" on JeffGlovsky.org

Left Coastin' (Some LA Scenes)
in LAStories.com, 2003

"The park breaks Piggett Drive at Bentley. Who says you can't walk out here?

Officially annoying now, though: Traipsing - sad, soft calves aflame - down endless, palm-framed, block-long miles. Buses floating past me as I drift…An island in this stream of traffic noise and children screaming.

* * *

Loud and blonde and Japanese, she reams the piled heap upon the floor of her gold auto...And in doing so, intrigues me with the workout suit she's sporting: Black, fish shorts laced tight to thighs, brown, round, and muscled where they
ought to be.

El Mirador apartments blink, night, later...She is blowing me."

Read more ...

"Left Coastin' (Some LA Scenes)" on Medium

Mornings
in Underground Voices, 2003

"I don’t know anymore how to do it. Can’t seem to sit down and write some things…

The worst is that the vibe seems gone! Don’t want to put a pen to paper…Want to write a thought or two, or feeling.

I just sit and stare.

Blank ignorance, can’t even think...Just mumble in my jumbled half-awake state, numb, not even dreaming. Portugal speeds by, a week in Athens…There’s a carnival. But nothing seems to slake me to the core, or rake my senses. Sate me.

Happy memories flood a little: Pedro with his gimp, and fleshpot offers ('Zhu wan’ womens?')…There was Voula, on that balcony: thick stockings ripped about high waist and sweating as she blew me (hair like flooding hay cascade), full moon over Kifissias! Greek smiles, and an ancient tongue…

Oh! Pray to be alive still."

"I like your writing style, but I don't understand what you are talking about..."