1858 1 2
|
And I just want to say that my morning song is better than yours. I want you to hear it buzzing in me like an old radiator. I want you to do what you’ve done before. To press your ear against the skin and listen for the static.
|
185821
|
so one time the Holy Ghost come down to Stumptown
|
185811
|
Graeme King was disturbed. He sat at his desk feeling his bloodshot eyes rolling backwards, impatient, leaden in their sockets. Could he believe what he had just seen? Surely not. Surely the late nights spent absorbing the relentless pulse of his computer screen…
|
185800
|
His mouth smiled but his icy eyes did not. "You like it?," he asked with a thin deflated voice. "Old family recipe. Enjoy."
|
18581011
|
The man of a thousand faces was defunct.
|
185865
|
weep or go stark mad your amanuensic fool will bury your words
|
185897
|
"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."
|
185831
|
There’s no training course available for kids in love. You can watch your parents, you can watch other kids, but for the most part it’s all trial and error, and I'm still pretty shaky at almost all of it.
|
18572217
|
Sometimes cats had to die or dogs
|
1857108
|
Time to pull in the shining teeth, but it makes me so sad, you know I'd rather be holding hands. The others have told me, don't hold back, hit them with every white knuckle, and let them bleed out, I'd rather be kissing your face. It hurts,…
|
185762
|
She was in love with a boy whose eyes were so brown that she sat stopped in the restaurant at the anniversary dinner with the spoon in her slow chocolate fondant. Out of the corner of her eye, around the back of her head, under the table knees knocking
|
18571819
|
Where we live, at the edge of the foothills at the east edge of town, fire is always a worry during the summer, and this has been an exceptionally dry year.
|
185772
|
leaning over the banister, her Christmas waist making the wood swoon and creak, a warning sign if there ever was one...
|
18571310
|
I will not tell you that your anger is wrong, child.
|
1857103
|
A crash, a loud tear screams through the house. A coffee table continues its dutiful life as a bitch.
|
1857107
|
Newhouse returned his gaze to his wet palm, which he lifted to his nose with suspicion, sniffed again and again, then struggled to move out from under the growing stream.
|
1856134
|
tell me about the time you lived in Carolina, and what my smile does
for you.
|
185654
|
Yeah I walk itWithout a companionOr friendI walk the world aloneIt seems right to meI don't like the moviesMost television showsOr most popular musicI walk the world aloneUnable to buildAn emotional attachmentWith anyoneI walk the world aloneWith beer as My…
|
185664
|
|
185641
|
Cos I play hard that’s why. Everyday hard. You want someone who ain’t an everyday player ? Try our Closer. But ain’t his fault he’s always sat there in the pen, like he’s taken root. His number lines rely on the rest of the team. So he’s flatl
|
185675
|
skies electric blue,/limpid dewy air, the world/framed by a small farm.
|
185663
|
Her skin is muddy earth/
I'd gladly play in.
|
185610
|
Artie invited me to go with him to pick out a Halloween Pumpkin for the house. I had recently moved into a communal living situation and we were still getting to know each other. Artie was the kind of person who made a special occasion out of ordinary life. Why…
|
185500
|
Darrell looked at me, then down at himself. He was still in his wet underwear. "What is this?" he said, looking up again. "Where in the hell was I?" He shook his head. "It was weird, Philip. Boy, that was one wild dream."
"That was no d
|
185512
|
[DO NOT READ BETWEEN THIS LINE ... CITIZEN!]
|
185584
|
He wrote, wrote, wrote with the sharp eye of an eagle...
|
185544
|
Why you keep a razor blade in your stocking?
|
185420
|
Rose, silence her desire when she, in this moment of desire, has passed into the grey and dawdles in the margins of such a hurtful unconventionality. Bend her astray from such a becoming. It would be a horror show: intimate, endless, and bloody, just the
|
185411
|
Amid the swerve and pulse of hungry bodies Girma Dali picks his spot, a tissue-wide patch of net where's he going to strike. A green-jerseyed defender closes in on him his brute momentum unleashed like a kamikaze pilot swooping into enemy orbit, his lunging body makes…
|
1854105
|
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.
|
