Most discussed stories

No Ordinary Pig

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During the day we search for truffles. I have a pig named Henry. He is a big help. He wanders the forest sniffing for truffles like a parable of porcine inquisitiveness. He knows what he is doing. He is not just a pig. Nor ordinary pig. He is a French pig

You are beautiful just the way you are

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There were avocados splayed across menus like 1950′s pinup girls–all thigh and curve. Avocados in California omelets. Avocados split and diced, sprayed with lime, slapped on bagels, served with tomato.

What Was It

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we were all meant to do with our love? What I can think of is to ask the question again. I suppose there are others more willing to supply you with a proper answer, but none seem real to me. These words are only stones,meant to skip across the…

Strikhedonia!

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Amen, no more nothingness now, finally the hilarity of a band of abecedarians getting drunk on whiskey and beer. We've been in this place since 11 am, now its December in January On the toilet cubicle wall are words such as Sorry and …

Sam in Fragments

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He injected her with a sedative to keep her still. He projected himself into her narcotic dream, a small bar with tango playing from a jukebox. They were dancing.

the hungarian artist

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What led to the current situation was that about a year ago the conceptual artist had been shocked to read in a small item in a newspaper that a conceptual artist in China had also grown an ear on his forearm and this discovery had led the conceptual artist to make a …

Backing up at Wal-Mart

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An action oriented solution for bovinity

The Game

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We touch the places now, feel the hardness of bone...

The Model

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This is the world of an urgent art, the room silent, except for the constant sound of the camera.

Monkey House

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We walked into the light where tired elephants slung their trunks and big cats moved over hills. My head was swollen, the whole back of my skull throbbing and black.

Masquerade

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. . . music and dance, theatrical performance of tragedies and comedies . . . a primeval orientation, celebrating the cultivation of herbs and vines . . . ritualistic use of intoxicants, to remove inhibitions, to liberate participants . . .

Sof a

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My softness craves your weight. Give me your shape, and I won't resist it. Or, rather, I will but just enough to recall it. I can only give that much, and that's my fatal flaw. If I were a more pliable thing, I could let go of these impressions. The stains—coffee,…

I'm Dreaming of a Nihilistic Christmas

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The mind sparkles with Shakespeare. It's like hearing the rain fall. The world becomes silent and dark and the rain becomes snow and falls like snow and rests on the ground like snow and informs the mind with the values of heaven. A distant oboe pins its sympathies…

Driving Lesson

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Just take the mountain curves as tightly to the inside and as fast as surface conditions permit and the road’s edge

In the Parking Lot

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Maybe they considered themselves beyond redemption, or maybe they couldn't sit for that long.

Twilight, Nov. 07, 05:50am

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Light spreads its way across the sky like a drop of inkon dry cotton sheets:starts at one point and expandsas wind shufflesover bodies, seashoist your sailsand I'll throw this oneoverthe night can have itnowhear the waveshow they seem satisfiedwith their…

The Buddha on my Wooden Desk

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The Buddha on my wooden desk says all things are Chaplinesque, that all's a self-containing joke, a cube of ice in a glass of coke, a sunbeam dragged thru autumn leaves, the residue a lover leaves, a kind of vein,…

My Friend

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Remember when we went to New York to take our test? We looked for cheap hotels near the test site, and there was the "Hotel Earle." Twelve bucks a night. The clerk behind bullet-proof glass, smiling a knowing smile. Pubes still on the sheets, but we couldn't sleep anyway,…

1975: What I Wanted

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I wanted my sister to not be in that box. I wanted my parents to laugh again. I wanted my friends to actually be my friends and not call me hurtful names behind my back. I wanted my awful cousin to have never come into my room in the middle of the night. I…

Three Wives

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The heart attack felt like the time Alison stabbed me with knitting needles. It made me want to see her. She was the fun wife, the first of three. I was morbid and full of regret — my drinking had driven them away, no kids in the wake. I decided to visit all of…

long goodbye

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where are you today?/ where you are is the one thing/ i love & cannot know

All Dogs Are Needy

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I know she's a dog person, as she owns one. “No, my asshole ex-boyfriend wanted one and then he left me with it.” she admits, then adds, “I don't even like dogs. All dogs are needy.”

Florida

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Now, at last, she finds what she's been searching for. Worms. Like bitty pale larva, like half-moons of air trapped under fingernails. She thinks she sees one twitch; she blinks more furiously and hates herself for it.

Laughter

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At the center of the world our bodies float over each other near to everything, at the center of being Not like arrows pointing in three directions but like our own bodies pulsing in and out Laughter can cure nearly anything it is sa

Family Happenings

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Saturday afternoons: tartan blanket spread on the pebble beach, transistor radio hissing static, fish paste sandwiches and seagulls. Why fish paste, Mum? She didn't dare ask.

Your dog, or hazelnut gelato - which would it be?

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It’s hard to lose. Harder than you think. I guess the ultimate question is: If I had to give up one thing, my dog, or hazelnut gelato, which would it be? I’ll tell you, between those two, it would have been easy to choose. But losing you, that was a who

We Are Waiting For The Wolves

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You say we will go together to the park and dig a shallow grave and atone for everything we ever did by breathing soil deep into our lungs, and the wolves will leave.

A Shower of Rain

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You have at least an intermittent belief.

Zen and the Art of Enjoying the Last Laugh

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What doesn't kill you gives you great material.

His Essay on the Meaning of Poetry

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Poetry is conceit; emotional, intellectual or technical.