1824 1 1
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The elevator door opened, and Tom ("The Baffler") Frank found himself confronted by Jesu bar Joseph, who opined: "You're WORTHLESS!" and recommended: "Why dontcha PULL your PANTS down, and CUT your COCK off!"
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1824 2 3
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But the boy next door is worse than a dweeb; he's a prima donna and a bully and a little shit to boot. The divorce will only make him more.
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1823 2 2
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John was sitting at his computer one night after work, when he read an article linked to him by a friend.
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1823 6 2
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We’re on our way out, my brother and me, to the graveyard.
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1823 3 2
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He lit another reed - a new score orchestrating in his head - his thoughts swirling around the older man; there was something else going on here…
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1823 18 8
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1823 1 0
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She was now sitting in her bathtub. The warmth of the water made her pale, rich vanilla skin flushed with the fullness of circulation as her pores continued to allow the passage of her toxins from her system.
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1823 11 7
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War came home tonight. We weep and hug, while he stares over our shoulders, like the statue we'll make of him. We pour a drink for his shaky hands, wheel him past his friends the dead, and lie to each other about other, far off places as if we knew.
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1823 0 0
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Walking home, carrying his guitar case, Jed felt the sums of his life adding up to dangerously high numbers, the deadly inertia of vaguely comfortable apathy swallowing his time. His moment would soon be fading. Because, like many young men before him, Jed…
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1823 9 8
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This is the parallel room I keep my heart in. Got a solo fireplace. I don't want to invite anything else into the story. It doesn't matter if no one knocks on the door ever again. I'm too shy to hope for much more than a couple of Interesting shadows…
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1823 10 7
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Most everything is white because white means clean and hospitals are supposed to be clean. They wouldn’t let me leave.
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1823 6 6
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The coffin-sized pit in his basement wasn’t freshly dug.
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1823 9 9
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Your honour stinks of failed fishing trips to Galway.
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1822 3 2
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A married woman requests a butterfly tattoo that won't please her husband from an old tattoo artist.
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1822 3 2
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He was drinking heavily again and complaining that there was nothing fresh worth writing about.
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1822 13 11
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It’s been a series of bad clams
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1822 13 6
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With the morning comes the repetition...
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1822 13 8
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Every morning if I don't have to go potty....
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1822 2 2
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"Honey," I called out to my wife. "Why do we have Spam in the closet?"
"You mean unsolicited bulk messages sent electronically?"
"No--the canned, precooked meat product made by the Hormel Corporation."
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1822 3 2
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I’ll tell you what’s wrong
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1822 6 6
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No one writes epics anymore. Why? Perhaps it's because we no longer share mythologies. Once there was a shepherd, and now there is a Google bus loaded with pricks. Yes, you say, but they are good at math. Each and every one of them. And this is true. I envy them…
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1822 0 0
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Would a chickenshit leave her like I did yesterday?
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1822 9 6
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I cannot begin to list all the ways this conversation can go downhill from here, so I hang up the phone quietly.
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1822 7 6
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He leans in close then, close enough that when he speaks, his words tiptoe out and tuck me in.
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1822 8 4
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"This tastes like goat cheese," I said.
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1821 0 0
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There is a feeling in my hands,
fingers,
a restive, potential energy,
drawing inward, reaching
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1821 10 6
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I had a meeting with the editor of a well-known magazine. She said, “I think your paradigm got stuck up your monomyth.” “Oh dear. Is that bad?” “Bad? You want to be a writer, don't you?” “Well, I did. I'm not so sure now.…
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1821 5 5
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Where you used to exist, there will only be spaces.
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1821 4 2
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God's honest truth, I wake up every morning when my clock punches out its dulcet, insistent clangs, a setting called Ultra Zen Up & Out. I brush my teeth with a blue dollar store toothbrush and watch one of the five morning TV shows designed to let me know the weather…
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1821 0 0
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We dig up conscience-tunnels, pluck the play-flower of present choice for fun, run aground, past this dimly lit, though not to be underestimated, stage, and open door upon empty door, to nothing, for the lights are a pulse flickering in the perceptual per
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