benjamin j kirby



Welcome to my blog for writing. Here is where you will find an archive of short stories and essays I have written. Many of those stories were published at a blog I have since taken down called Clintonaut. Many of those... Continue Reading →

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Feeding the Beasts

A big part of having the kids around is feeding them. Most nights I try to cook healthy meals for them, complete with vegetables and fresh fruit. Sometimes I hit a home run -- pasta is usually a winner, tacos always work, chicken and veggies. Sometimes it's a miss. I made a great black bean soup the other night, and the kids just weren't down with it.


They hit the switch, there was an electric crackle, and all I could see was hazy white out the window. I felt myself drifting, and then I saw nothing but blue. No other colors, not even close.

I’d gone to the place of the hermit not too many years before expecting the usual. Dusty brushes with horse hair at the end of a stick, ash from an old cigar and some crushed shell thrown around the room, the Ace, the Queen, the Five of Hearts and Two of Spades on the table next to a glass ball and a chicken foot.

Sacrifice to the Gypsy Monkey

He had found it almost by accident, the strange stone monkey, an artifact worth a lot to an old guy in Chicago. Three days later he was on a cot in a hut in Fortaleza in the depths of something a lot like malaria. It was the monkey – the Gypsy Monkey, they called it – and it spoke to him in his twisted dreams. Make your choice, make your sacrifice.

Book Day: Southern Gods

I am always impressed when writers can channel a different time.

A Conversation with an Angel

Two days later I was sitting on my small balcony wondering what to expect, when the breeze shifted and the evening rain clouds rolled in. I ordered a pizza and ran down to the market for a six-pack. The rain had just started plinking on the roof when I heard the knock. I knew who it was.


The thing I am most grateful for is my children. They have provided a clarity and focus to my life I never thought possible. They make me want to be a better dad. They make me want to be a better man.

The Pure Sons of Liberty

I. The Alliance, the last of the war frigates, bound tight to the dock by the tie-lines, held fast and creaked against the sharp chop off the harbor. A brackish mix of brown-white froth assailed her starboard. The thick ropes... Continue Reading →


His eyes glanced at the polished desk to the right of the fireplace, papers stacked meticulously. A green lamp, a set of gold pens. Something that looked like some official stamp. Some envelopes. A gun.

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