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March 16, 2006 My mail, e-mail, and phone calls go from the ridiculous to the sublime. Apologies for the cliché, but I can't resist its perfect applicability: In my mailbox today yet another catalogue of boob jobs in bikinis and an invitation to explore…
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Growing up in Mississippi meant growing up in a “dry” State which it was until 1966. Dry State meant selling alcoholic beverages, except for beer, is illegal. Period. By period I mean there was no distinction between selling whiskey and stuff to adults and…
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there is a vault in the mountains / that in itself contains infinite vaults
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There was something about his eyes that seemed more sly than happy. He looked like a teamster winking at a mayor who’d just paid him off to keep trucks rolling through Scranton.
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Now, I am getting angry! Now you want me depressed too!
GET OUT! GET OUT!
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You are like gasoline on the fire of my desire–you send me higher and higher into paroxysms of earth-shaking erotic explosions. Remember–the “light” catfood is the kind in the turquoise bag.
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Something reached into Avi and took his voice, turning his volume to zero....
A short story of one day. A man going to work, a little magic, a car crash, and a wedding.
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It was where the “Suits” worked. I didn’t want to go there, I didn’t want to be there, but in those days one did what one was supposed to do.
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The first time Momma shows me a demon is during revival week at church.
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We all ran out of the house into the communal garden without fences. There stood Von Rotten with a smoking rifle in his hands, and our mascot Digger lying on his side, limp. We all looked at each other in disbelief.
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Though some days... I feel as though I'm nothing more than the ultimate hedged-bet should the offender be living out his last days on earth, holding my arm as we both feel our way through the long dark corridors of tragedy.
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On beach trips with our families,
there were bumper cars, jet skis;
flash enjoyments,
beach-themed distractions.
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My husband waits for him to hurt himself.
The boy drinks red wine between movements,
Staring hypnotically at the back
Of a girl’s head.
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For the past 6 months our love for each other had been akin to a chess game. We avoided each other’s traps, fortified our defenses, set up gambits of our own, exchanged pieces of our lives, and now it was endgame. Checkmate. Time to move on.
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The surface temperature of the sun is 9,800 degrees Fahrenheit.
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1654 7 3
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Where I went to college, you couldn’t swing a dead cat in a physics lab without hitting a Nobel laureate. I know–we tried. They finally made us stop–it wasn’t fair to the cat.
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Nor woke, as always, to a dark room smelling of the lavender she kept in little bottles to perfume the otherwise stank air. Outside, she could still see the edge of the moon hanging there like a lopsided smile. The early summer wind blew in and stirred the faded floral…
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He got tired of the pool party, the chit-chat, the suburban posturing, and he decided to swim home.
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There won't be dancing, anymore. That isn't true, that can't be true; but there is no floor to dance on, you know?
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and the smiles light the way
when the wind blows the darkness
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Be it a moment of zen, an epiphany, a vision, or even an ill-tempered chinese food inflicted dream, I've seen what's been shrouded carefully behind you… ahead of me.
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1654 7 3
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The surroundings, he thought, are just as important as what's surrounded.
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1654 1 0
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Shh!
What?
The downstairs neighbors. They’re at it again.
What?
It’s the weekend? They’re both home?
Oh.
Remember?
I think so. Sort of.
Shh!
What’s that grunting?
He must be doing the heavy lifting.
Sounds like he’s hurt
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They were all sitting naked in a sauna and drinking Diet Coke, with droopy ball sacks and sweat rolling over massive man titties and paunches. Yahweh sat on an upper bench, wearing dark goggles to protect his eyes from the brightness of his own still radi
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He was a liability. I knew I had to ditch him.
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Like puddles when it rains,
like relationships in chains.
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Co-workers have started calling him Jesus, Manson, Foghat, Doobie Brother, hippie, hipster, Grizzly Adams, Dude Lebowski... there’s really no end to it.
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When I bite into a York Peppermint Pattie, I get the sensation of being curled in a ball inside a cold, dark cave filled with my darkest, most paralyzing fears.
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However did we make it this far/
without murdering one another
as the other sleeps
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