1910 3 0
|
If I was a bum
I’d risk everything
for a drink or a smoke
I would beg and curse and steal
if I was a bum
If I was a bum
I would cuss out the Pope
I would not vote for anyone
because I would know truly
they’d be telling gross lies
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1909 7 6
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2. humility You know what silly does? Silly guarantees that you will enjoy the moment as the moment for the moment. Clowns make fun of silly. Isn't that ironic? They are in essence the opposite of their own image. That's why so many people see them as evil--because you…
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1909 9 8
|
In the beginning the revolution was all motion and energy. When the President for Life resigned motion and energy disappeared with the sounds of clapping hands.
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1909 3 3
|
To what better worlds remain.
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1909 17 14
|
Tan my hide. Feed me to rabid / macaques.
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1909 1 0
|
It wasn't until about 2:30 that my hairpiece began mauling small children.
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1909 2 1
|
She persisted. “How long have we been here?”
A note of anger crept into his voice. “How long? How long? Why …, why ….” He swallowed hard, realized he had forgotten.
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1909 3 2
|
He kept the lawn mowed at the perfect height. He mowed it twice a week to one inch. Some weeks he mowed it a third time for good measure.
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1909 0 0
|
Lighter-than-air flight was back. The skies of the coast were alight with colorful balloons, dirigibles, and zeppelins tethered to their docking towers along the beach, the huge aircraft bobbing in the breeze up and down the coast for miles,…
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1908 2 1
|
so one time the Holy Ghost come down to Stumptown
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1908 7 2
|
leaning over the banister, her Christmas waist making the wood swoon and creak, a warning sign if there ever was one...
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1908 8 5
|
They have a saying in Russia: Live in Voronezh, work in Samara, die in Tyumen. In honour of Saint Rose, born on the banks of the Voronezh, fed the hungry and the poor of Samara, torn apart by wolves in Tyumen on the exact date that she had herself predict
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1908 4 2
|
“Really? And you write…?” asked her breasts in the black dress, making excellent eye contact. He smiled at them.
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1907 2 1
|
A plague of dykes mattered not. This spider-girl had driven the world of thought from Borden’s mind.
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1907 4 3
|
The scaffolding had been difficult to construct. The rock floor of the bluff offered no purchase, so he'd been forced to anchor braces to the trees behind, then span some thirty feet. A cantilevered gallows reached another fifteen feet past the stage...
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1907 0 0
|
The first time they were separated, he rediscovered music and writing.
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1907 1 0
|
At this time of night, the fluorescence makes his eyes bleed. The muscles in his legs are tight; walking's more of a necessity than anything else. Alexander pushes the shopping cart down the endless gray tile floors of the Grand Union on 35.
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1907 7 6
|
Now, the Midwest was ashes. The oceans were covered with hydroponics plant growth.
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1907 5 4
|
It was Brad, for short; or so he would say. But really his name was Bradford, and he was a writer. He had almost always lived in New York. He was only half-white. His mother had run away with a black man in the sixties. Her father had told her to never come back to…
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1907 20 8
|
Phoebe-Lou Adams wrote this of them
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1907 5 3
|
It's a pretty strange feeling when you think you're about to bite into some ice cream and instead it's gazpacho.
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1906 10 5
|
there she was, this beautiful duck with her 4 beautiful babies, under my bush.
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1906 14 12
|
He says, You think too much and he grins a grin that has all of the attic keys on a wrought iron ring, on a chain.
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1906 20 10
|
Their bodies, ripe uncovered flesh, had begun to erode, the edges of their limbs and cores bitten, taken by the wind in small pieces, flaking and tearing, some parts sliding, falling away.
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1906 16 8
|
dos equis ambar
sits cool and dark
by my side
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1906 8 4
|
He wrote, wrote, wrote with the sharp eye of an eagle...
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1906 10 5
|
Truth came out of it, a little bug that hovered there...
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1906 11 9
|
The taste of / what is denied us is always sweet
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1906 6 2
|
I flip up my hoodie, pull the string tight across my lips until it cuts into them, pull tighter, saw back and forth until blood warms the hairs on my chin.
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1906 11 4
|
A wall of icons can be beautiful if you don’t look closely at the hands. The hands tell stories of too short lives and unrequited love.
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