Michael Harold writes under the name Michael Aro, his father's Spanish birth name. Born in 1952, he is a novelist, poet, painter, multimedia artist, computer technologist and inventor. He has worked as a roofer, a truck driver, an urban planner, a teacher and a founder or co-founder of several software companies. His books include five novels, five volumes of poetry and two chapbooks. His work has been published in The American Poet, The Journal of Experimental Fiction, Identity Theory, Smokebox, Steve McCaffery's North American Center for Interdisciplinary Poetics, Unlikely Stories, In Posse Review, Burningword Literary Journal and the Dirty, Dirty Anthology by Jaded Ibis Press. He lives and works in Louisiana.
The girl’s subatomic particles suddenly interacted with each other and every other subatomic particle in the universe until, a yoctosecond later, through a cascading near infinity of quantum events, they caused her of her own free will to walk home from school, first between the rails of the railroad track and then on one of the rails.
Beginning with appeals to authority, we tend to believe we were born because we exist, we’re be(ing) here now and also, everyone knows you can’t have a chicken without an egg. But for some reason, being born is not always enough. You need more proof than that.
is what I meant when I said that sometimes
no matter where you are or who you are
with it seems you would be perfectly happy
on a world with one island surrounded by a big
purple ocean filled with really nice apartments.
“Now this is how I see it. As far as I’m concerned you’re all niggers. All three of you. It’s easy to tell this one’s a nigger but you two may as well be. I don’t know what’s happened to this world, but I’ve had all about all of it I can stand. Now I’m going to make you a deal. If you all get down on your knees and beg, I might just let you go. Otherwise, I’m going to shoot you right here.”