1051 12 9
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Who does that besides Kafka,
Arreola, and Steven Wright?
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the memories return like they do every year at this time
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His eyes are closed yet restless, as if too many thoughts loop beneath the lids.
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honey/she said/with a wink/and a twinkle
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I am one of 14.8 million Americans affected by depression or about 6.7% of the American population 16 and older. My episodes are cyclical and my first episode was at age 16. I assumed it was because my mother was sent to Auschwitz at 16 …
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I was having festive sex flashbacks and wasn't thinking sharply.
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3860123
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She was an easily lit, wide hipped, Stoli-drinking, schemer from Irkutsk that got her claws into an American riding the Iron Rooster from Khabarovsk to Moscow.
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1632129
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How to Boil Water
How to Cook an Egg
How to Eat
How to Think
How to Love
How to Die
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I think we love sex because it brings us so close to the heat of creation that we can see the smoldering flames and the light rising from twigs being rubbed together between the legs. Okay – your turn!
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I've got an appointment to see my shrink next Wednesday. She's pretty sharp. Not bad looking, either.
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'This dude’s whole life must be in this book. It’s like, a man diary.' The thought makes her laugh.
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All creatures know death at their very core, a tacit default--
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If you ask me I'm thinking I'm just blowing off some steam, some hot air that doesn't add up to the old cliche of a hill of beans. A hill of fucking beans.
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i miss you/
at times unbearably/
a dull ache that won’t quit
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I signed on with a large national restaurant chain to write descriptors for menus, and I was the very first to use the term "farm-fresh" to refer to eggs.
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in White Heat
there’s a character
who reads lips
using a mirror to see
the mouths of prisoners
in other cells
that’s how I feel
when I talk
with you
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I smelled the bleach of burst anemones
the sweet arousal of the Dungeness crabs
the seaweed of sour twigs and feces
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The City Council supports this policy and, by necessity, ranks human slavery very low on the list of the city’s woes.
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My ChurchThe white dressThe bridesmaidsThe friends, the familySadnessMy church knewno music
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forced to submit/
to reasonableness//
and universal healthcare.
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A man of action would take to his rake/
but Sloth would rather watch and wait/
for snow to erase each leaf on leaf.
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Val walks through the world, absorbed in the day to day. A plainspoken narrator drones on in his mind. The nondescript voice marks time to the beat of Val's banal footfall, hums along with the whir of Val's modest, midsize sedan. The narration is loudest in the twilight…
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It’s about 4:30 when the phone rings. I look at the display and see it’s home.
“Hey,” I say picking up.
“I hate you,” says Jules.
“I hate, you, too,” I say. My co-workers don’t even blink. They’ve heard this before.
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What happened later that evening is unclear. When Mickey got back to his quarters, he was in good spirits. Buoyant even.
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I pointed, trying to keep a rising frisson of alarm from my voice.
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Identification both ways was BooBoo, case sensitive.
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Lucy looked up, smiled and said mine had a head that looked like a mushroom. I suppose she was right. We were sitting on the floor drawing naked bodies for our anatomy lesson and teasing each other about our lack of drawing talent. We were new friends, having met when…
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Like a small meteorite, a white cloud falls. The journey seems to have been long since it cannot spring up again, its wings being exhausted. Like a scared and shivering bird, it curls into my hand. Its apparent fragility prevents me from tightening my grip. A unique…
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