DEMON SONGS FOR THE SHAKUHACHI

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A straight line pointing to the darkest obscurity.

Omikuji -- oracles and fortunes written on scraps of paper.

A cluster of reeds beside a nameless river.

Night. A flame. A demon. A bamboo flute.

Welcome, traveler; hello, stranger.

This is a page for pieces of fiction. Most of it is unfinished, in progress, or quite raw.

I am also serializing some of my novels Movellas.com.

About me, what's to say? I write. I play the bamboo flute. I do Zen. I mistrust words but I love clean, direct sentences.

I live in the majestic Pacific Northwest. Today there was a hailstorm. After that the sky cleared, and I sat out under the blue sky amid shattered hailstones playing "Mukaiji" on my Tozan shakuhachi.

It's always been hard as hell for writers to survive. I've been through it all. I am the original starving beggar-artist, incapable of doing a thing in life but seeking out beauty and being destroyed by it. So, if you like what you read here, please consider buying one of two of my e-books on Amazon. If I sold a mere 20 Kindle books per day, I could make a living at this. Not likely! I know.

Note that I will soon also have printed editions for sale.

But I am fascinated by the brilliant prospects for digital literature -- ketai shosetsu (cell-phone novels, like my spare and minimal novel-in-verse THE LUZHANG BRIDGES).

Digital literature, I believe, offers a possible return to the direct starkness and spareness of some of the earliest forms of storytelling.

-Ku/Okamoto/Andrew Wilson

DEMON SONGS FOR THE SHAKUHACHI

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