Most read stories

Helmet

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The tiles begin inching toward him as soon as he moves. You've seen filings on glass. He's the magnet on the underside.

Billie Holiday Visits Her Song

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Why you keep a razor blade in your stocking?

The Dead

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When i close my eyesI see the faces of the deadI hear their voices The things they said, their laughter The ones i thought would live forever!! Something got them though: the ones who lived fastIt was a drug, some bullets, a disease I thought they would live forever!!Those…

destiny

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destiny

The Legend of Bo Grass

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Bo ruled the city by suggesting new scent formulas in a booming croak of a voice that shook the earth for acres around, yet as a result everybody on the block smelled like fairy breath. Or, on his BAD BREATH DAYS all of the people reeked of rotted sushi f

A hushed something

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Her skin is muddy earth/ I'd gladly play in.

Dick Be Gone

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One thing about being a musician—more specifically a drummer—struggling against the cost of living—more specifically the cost of living in the Bay Area—is that I will do just about anything to earn money.

Laughing and Looking for Love

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"Think of every sexual partner you've ever had. I'm nothing like them. Unless you've ever slept with a bulimic German cellist called Elsa."

The Fuddy-Duddy Writer Reflects on her Fan(s)

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The Fuddy-Duddy Writer does not do wit.

How to Fuck Kanye West (Up the Ass) by Donald Trump

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[marbles] [blither-blather] [blarg]

Warthearm

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‘Look, look, Quark. Look here. Warthearm. A shiny warthearm.’ Maz was on his elbows and knees, his fat ass sticking out in their air like two cannon-balls ready to be shot off. He was peering at a long, shapeless earthworm, its skin translucent and i

Faithful Still

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The moonlight illuminated Dahlia’s bare breasts. She remembered when Gerard used to appreciate them.

It is Written

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That Dagwood is not a real person but a story told in dots. That Blondie is a male fantasy and will one day find her Nora Helmer.

Why They Cried: Jisette

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There was that long weekend she'd spent lazing around a suite at the Beverly Wilshire between the Golden Globes and the Oscars with the suddenly now married actor, and then there had been Cabo. This was before the current thing and before the thing before

After Baptism, He Speaks

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The world is full of dead dogs

Dublin

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My swinging purse sent saucers tinkling to the tile and the copper-headed waitress flew over, swooping on the shatter, clutching clean forks like a handful of flowers.

Similarities

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She was skinny and with breasts like a wound up skein of yarn.

Didn't I always let you have one of my cigarettes?

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I liked the taste in my mouth, mint and cigarettes and fresh and filthy.

A Way of Life

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Nothing more savory than gossip relayed in confidential tones.

Island Music

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Of all the things Shelly hated about her job, the music was the worst.

Of Soulful Cheese and Melted Needs

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Two fine-young-things scan the menu board of In-N-Out Burger off Interstate 101. Dressed like twins -- hoop earrings, tank-tops and mini-skirts, ballet pumps — you could hardly tell them apart, except for their Cleopatra and Marilyn Manson hairstyles. As they…

the morality of pens: a sonnet

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poets can kill, or at least they once could:/ perhaps poems tamed us, if they are any good.

Trombones and Figs

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“What are you doing, Maestro?"

Raincoat

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“It’s about basic working conditions!” she says, rubbing ice cubes on her nipples.

Where Is Daddy?

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He checks the bedrooms first, then the hallway, followed by the living room and the bathrooms. When he can't find you he takes to calling out, daddy, I'm sure the neighbors hear.

A Deaf Man

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Billy had crystal blue eyes A small mouth And long hair to cover up his Hearing aids. He told me once, with his hands How he liked to submerge His head in water and yell So loud he could feel it. "I can hear myself that way," he…

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.”

11 Bang-Bang

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The smell of candy and burn... /A patriotic prose poem for the fourth of July.

Notes for a Life. In a Swing. No Wind to Speak of.

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Somewhere a banjo, somewhere a hound.

Made in Japan

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It was in the spring of 1958 when I first arrived in Kobe, Japan, traveling aboard a Norwegian merchant ship, looking to make movies on a limited budget. Superior quality cameras, lenses, and film were being produced in Japan at a fraction of the cost for similar products…