1820 14 12
|
I have nothing in me but a raw loneliness right now. It's as if someone whirl-winded me out of the sky into the middle of the ocean in the middle of the red faced night. My fate seems immobile, sealed, doomed to a rocking nothingness, like…
|
1820 13 8
|
I’m aware I will never be a woman the night you leave me for another city
|
1820 9 5
|
I'm warming my stool at the far end of the bar as usual, nursing my fourth draft on a balmy Wednesday afternoon when I lock eyes with this lady who's bashing her head through the front door. You've heard the expression, “50-yard fox,” right? —Looks…
|
1820 0 0
|
". . . with the impact of a 18-wheeler jack-knifed into a Mini-Cooper as it hits the surface."
|
1820 7 3
|
I, the energies moving through this body, in this particular parallel reality in this multiverse, am standing out in the middle of the night, under only stars, and surrounded by the soft, organic shapes of a tree line.
|
1820 3 5
|
My mother and I are close We talk like friends I tell her about people I'm dating She gets excited for me And she asks how it's going When I tell her I think I'm gay She says nothing She does not ask about the woman I am seeing She does not ask how I am doing …
|
1820 10 1
|
I told you that I have homicidal urges that alternate with ones of the suicidal kind. You flicked an imaginary speck of dust from your fat, fleshy forefinger with your ultra-flexible, wimpy thumb.
|
1820 4 4
|
She has a mercenary way of doing business and she's pretty shrewd. I make her stand outside to smoke her cigarette. I stay inside watching her stance as she violently tugs at the barrel, tearing every ounce of smoke out of it, then stamping it out as I wo
|
1820 22 12
|
I liked the taste in my mouth, mint and cigarettes and fresh and filthy.
|
1820 12 5
|
The heavyset blind woman came into the art opening without a dog or a cane.
|
1820 21 19
|
I once read a book of warnings.
|
1820 3 0
|
Shannon refused to jump from the castle drawbridge to the gigantic truck tire sunk halfway down in the playground quicksand. He just stood there-arms folded across his chest, bony knees sticking out from beneath ratty cutoffs-in silence, looking to Rollie
|
1820 5 3
|
We have read your book, but regret to inform you that it is insufficient. This is not to say that you as a person are insufficient, simply that your writing is. When you asked us what percentage of manuscripts we found sufficient, we told you, “Less tha
|
1819 12 7
|
Emma and I were in a shabby part of town with vacant lots and overgrown yards, and I wondered if something would happen as we loped beside Tom, who was slow-witted and 21. We were 13 . . .
|
1819 15 11
|
Stupidity is not a mask; it is the face / and it is the face that betrays us / always.
|
1819 15 9
|
“Phennias Jessup is his name. That’s his death’s head scroll, an hourglass, bats, spirals and angel’s wings on either side of the top part of the stone. "
|
1819 5 1
|
‘Oh, and try these. ' She handed me a plastic baggy full of seeds that resembled watermelon seeds, only smaller. ‘If these don't work your problem runs deeper...'
|
1819 14 7
|
a bird who gives messages
|
1819 4 2
|
He finds a beach ball and recreates humanity upon it. Kicking it down the shore he wonders how the little people must feel about each other. To place them on such a tiny globe almost seems unfair.
|
1819 2 0
|
Nothing more savory than gossip relayed in confidential tones.
|
1819 11 10
|
i never much liked Elvis
never did then never do now
he was no Kris Kristofferson
|
1819 4 2
|
He picked up a pack of cigarettes and shook it. He flipped the lid to confirm there were none left.
|
1818 16 8
|
dos equis ambar
sits cool and dark
by my side
|
1818 6 4
|
Raymond Carver used to write poetry in his car. /
Tonight, I tried it too. /
I have a car like Raymond Carver /
but cannot write poetry like Raymond Carver. /
The car isn’t enough.
|
1818 5 0
|
The sound of it wasn't right in his head yet. When he said it aloud he didn't really believe it.
|
1818 4 4
|
She lets go and it slides back too slowly.
|
1818 0 0
|
7
We sat in Darrell's truck in the deserted silent world of the down-trodden industrial area of West Berkeley, where no one in his right mind went at five in the morning. "Put the gun away, Darrell," I said. "I mean it."
"I can't help but keep
|
1818 13 5
|
The Fuddy-Duddy Writer does not do wit.
|
1818 2 2
|
In principle, Sergeant Brock Lumley resisted superstition, but if you were to stop him on any given day he was patrolling Baghdad streets with his rifle squad and ask him to open the front left ammo pouch on his flak vest, he’d get this look on his face..
|
1818 3 0
|
He was still on the ground...
|