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Enumerate the small delights/ this bright first morning
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Are they too old for life's little pleasures? The answer comes as I pass them on the canyon road one morning.
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Some believe the Scots were encouraged to emigrate, hired guns as it were, to Ireland to civilize that population.
If that's the case, we would see it as another evil English trick. In any case, we MacGowans are Scots Irish and Protestant.
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When his wife left him, a friend told him that resentments were like canceled checks. You weren't going to get your money back.
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We perform our chosen duty— naming/
beauties and atrocities within
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The fettuccine is a disaster. Mini-ants have invaded the container. Barry spots them in the boiling water after pouring in the pasta, not much more than floating black specks, but too many to ignore. He dumps out the pasta and returns to the closet to…
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My man wears chartreuse shoes.!
He wears chartreuse shoes like a new king
right there on Main St.!
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“Jesus fall the second time. You want a map? Ten shekels.”
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My mother should have been a minister or a peace officer. Instead, she was a homemaker who ran the home like an agency. There were certain hard and fast rules.
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The child was delivered, set to breathing, and whisked away before Fae Anne could even catch a glimpse of her.
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Agamemnon and Menelaus were/
complete creeps. Achilles was//
a pompous piece of shit.
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Thistle and cracked corn were thrown to us each morning and the occasional live chicken...
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I wanted to watch, for as long as I could, until my innocence, like balloons, disappeared from view.
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fun fact: a doll's legs will twitch
while being scalped
but only for just a little bit
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Another thing about Dysthymia is how I get locked into a thought, a needle in a record of a song I can’t get out of my head, a song that drives me crazy until I hear it again, until I play it just the amount of times to where my brain is satisfied.
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The magician was bereft. What's a magician without a hat?
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A thin line separated her lips, like something sketched with a pencil.
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"Everything except food and sex."
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The tadpoles flipped on the brown mud bottom. She dipped one out and held it near, seeing it in her belly, shaping arms and feet and a small, blond head. She set it back and stood, breasts out, arms up. The ducks in the weed, eyes hard like hungry boys, waited for bread.…
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Two-way conversation with God.
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Everything would've been copasetic except about the time we got down there they put the turkey in the fryer..
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You wanted to be a writer. Now you’re a writer.
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The ghosts run before/
attacking horsemen. A heart/
is ruptured by a spear.
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it's all a bit like the quiet steam
drifting to nowhere off my microwaved
hot coffee in the sunflower mug
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“How much is stuff worth? Stuff man! Bling! Cargo! STUFF! What's it worth to you? It ain't worth a shit, man! Clean clothes! Comfortable shoes! A ride! Those things are important! But they’re only stuff.
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1.Oh yes, I'm just kicking around in the leftover moon dust you could say I'm certainly not waiting around for your satellite feed anymore certainly never ever hoping to see if your free falling hair strands still look…
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