Most read stories

Filth and Splendor: A Love Story

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Solomon just makes people leak. Literally.

Par Delicatesse

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I know what he meant. I've been in the 3 A.M. cream cheese. I've known the hole in the bagel.

Grief Has No Welcome Garment

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Twice burned, it buries its graves.

I Would Make the Worst Cable News Anchorwoman Ever

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I'd laugh, cry, splutter with confusion or outrage. I'd probably say “Duh” a lot, grow pale, flush, and wink at the viewers. I'd furrow my eyebrows, raise one or both, and my eyes would narrow, widen,…

Water

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The water rolls gently this evening, barely touching my toes before retreating. The tide has been going out for over an hour and already there are several victims – crustaceans, spider crabs, minnows.

WHITE

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I reached for that hair and the air zagged white...

Biodegradability

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As a boy I fished under the Tappan Zee bridge which spans the Hudson River above New York City.

SWAMPLANDS by Paul D. Brazill

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Elvis awoke in a cold, dank sweat, hungover from bourbon and bad dreams.

Salt

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I imagined the crystals in my mouth. Salt flowers blooming on my tongue.

Read Me

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I won’t be eating much anyway if someone doesn’t start reading me. I’ve got to get a hook so people will be drawn to my work. I’ve got a few concepts I’d like to share with you. See what you think.

You Say Sorry Just For Show

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The last of your tenuous septum dissolves when you press the nozzle of the neti pot against it.

Couples

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She served him pie she knew was ruined.

Anise Fish and Colin behind the glass

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“What is the sickness that you have?” Colin behind the glass wondered. “Too much world,” said Anise Fish. “We have that in common.”

Writer's Cough

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Ok, so I’m sitting here trying to write through a frigging cold. And I. . .Oops, . . . . . . wait a sec!. . . I’m stopped, astounded, stunned between coughing my left lung clear over my keyboard and watching it flopping on the back of my desk. . .

The Power of Bad Words

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Her skirt is so short, said the teenage girls to each other. I was 7 years old. I said: she looks like a slut. They laughed; I blushed. Later, the slut smiled at me. I tried to find the teenage girls but they were gone. I wanted to say: it's actually a pair of…

Cousin (from The New Yorker)

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...to know something people around you don’t know can put you outside of them. And then you can’t get back in...

Habits Die Hard

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Although radiation and chemo rendered him a wraith...

Ascension

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He reveled in the chase, giddy when just out of arm’s reach. When to catch him, that was the question.

Escape

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Can’t you do anything right?

Off the Map

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It's difficult to remember, much less write down, the hard times you thought were unforgettable when you have a full stomach. It's hard to remember that dirty little room you rented in that house, from a Bosnian landlord, on 27th avenue and Missouri. The…

Nest

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He spends his Sunday morning spraying WD-40 through the straw-like stream attachment at the expansive paper nest of beige and ivory striped wasps.

Amelia

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Every time she tries to sleep they come; legions of small armored things scuttle claws aloft across the purple sand as soon as she stops moving.

The Meaning of Life

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One must not confuse the meaning / of life with the joy of living

Sky Without a Song

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He hung up and I sang some whiney lyric about wanting him back. You know the songs that say the same shit: I’m an idiot. Love me anyway. I’m Velcro with nothing to stick to and you’re a nappy surface that gives me a reason to exist.

Today: Journal, July 21, 2007

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Sex is a sad reason to be alone with someone.

Black Children Learn Derivatives

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The white faces of the train look up in an attempt to satisfy presumption, smoothing out any interest into glassy eyed gestures toward looking but lacking the very important quality of sight.

Wrong Place, Wrong Time, Wrong Tree

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I found him dead underneath a sycamore tree. I knew it was a sycamore tree because of all the acorns surrounding the body.

The Missing Years

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Andrew smiled at her while he pulled out his penis. He then held it between his fingers and tugged at it, stretching it much like a rubber band

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 2

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Independence Day was a Thursday. Frank had been invited to join some Yale Art School classmates in Vermont for a three-day bacchanalia.

What Do You Mean, You Don't Sell Pigs Feet?

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“Excuse me–where are the pig’s feet?”