1702 13 9
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Writing as a form of imaginative hatred
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170200
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I blinked the darkness out of my eyes and saw the man again; I could smell his breath. Just like dad’s. I must have fallen asleep. My eyes felt so heavy. I was cold. Why was I cold?
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170200
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Everyone else in the bar was looking everywhere else: it was as though they were alone while Journey played loudly all around. “Streetlights, people,” she sang. Time didn't move. What she must be like while driving, singing to herself with the windows fog
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170221
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Cammie Richard's house was just like all the others in Wilchester. The exterior was vaguely reminiscent of the Dutch style; gray stone with cross beams of dark wood, with two stories and a bay window. Her yard was fertilizer green, with a giant STRATFORD FOOTBALL…
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170297
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They rise up, a sullen, sorrowful/
army of reproach, staring,//
stone-faced but eyed with fire.
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170200
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And the ocean was black and green and blue—as your dress that clung to your body’s curve. Round as the bend of the water trailing the false line of the shore.
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170121
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‘Miguel! A pint of Guinness, please!'
I might as well have asked for his mother's immortal soul. A smile as benign as a stiletto. But he served a clean and tidy pint.
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170142
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Looking with his ears, Hearing with his eyes, Not really mute, he simply didn't know how to speak.One word, then another string together,a crack spreads across an ice covered lake. Now there is an open channel, and his thoughts roil the…
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170110
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[He] practiced aromatherapy and licentiousness, in no particular order.
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170100
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Dr. van Roos reminded the group that trauma is trauma...
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170143
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"Hey, man. All we represent to them, man, is somebody who needs a haircut."
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1701147
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170175
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In the beginning was the Word and the Word was God. What on Earth does that mean? What the hell? Earth, hell, heaven, they were good concepts. He took a rib out of Adam and began to write with it.
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17011811
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It could be fun,/
with the guns, explosives, Molotov/
Cocktails and all,
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170160
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The two walked around, taking in all the classics: the imported Russian matryoshka dolls of varying styles and bright colors; spinning tops, red Radio Flyer wagons, kaleidoscopes, and wooden yo-yo's invoked memories of Christmases past. The hand-stitched
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170100
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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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170180
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The serious writer looks back on a long and distinguished career as an herbologist.
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170121
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Everybody knew it would happen. It didn’t happen exactly when or how they thought it would, but nonetheless it happened.
“I told you it would happen,” a bearded man told his wife.
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170100
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Frowning, loosening a purple tie, Tony pushed through the golden revolving doors of a skyscraper. He drifted into the crowded midtown street as if in a daze. He was roused to his senses as his cell phone sent out the melody of his wedding song.
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170033
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The next thing we knew, the KGB started tailing us everywhere we went. They must have heard about Lenin’s Paintings, was all we could figure. Because, what if they were real?
That night we went out to a pizza place where we saw the worst graffiti in t
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170099
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Requires one of those leaps.
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170065
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There is an empty space,
between every note in rock 'n' roll,
where they have buried John Bonham,
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17001712
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love weaves a perforated web
between the spikes
of longing
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170096
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Some nights you really feel it.
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170044
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Both his parents saved their pent up Puritan pasts to fill his ears with brimstone clichés.
"Idle time is the devil's playground", he would tell me, scrunching up his face, stuffing it full of meat lovers pizza.
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170085
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Twice burned, it buries its graves.
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17001714
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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,…
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170023
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Mr Robertson chuckled gently as he caught the aroma of freshly cooked cinnamon doughnuts and watched the oil leave its fingerprints.
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17001211
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170087
|
the steady, persistent work of beauty
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