Most read stories

The Everyday Juggernaut

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I will go to work in the morning and no one will stop me. I wish someone would stop me. I don’t know if my car will start in this cold. But if it does (it always does), I am going to drive to work.

Freeze! It's the Library Police!

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A Texas man was recently arrested for failing to return a GED study guide to his local public library. He'd kept it out for three years. This is the kind of news story that brings joy to a librarian's heart.The library where I work just installed a…

The Bird, The Snake, and Me

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The truth about the bird and the snake is this. They are dead. And me? I cannot stop thinking about them.

Squirm

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“We should start a virgins' support group,” said Cindi one autumn afternoon. We were sitting in the bay window of the Campus Coffee Cavern ...

Mount Baldy

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The most beautiful possible thing is to deprive all places of their meanings.

The Nature of Things

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She’s not coming today. She didn’t come yesterday either.

Flight

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Another bird hits the large plate glass patio doors as I am sipping my morning coffee.

My wife denies being my older self.

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What are you, my judge?

Jammin' On Duane Street

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I have cherished the memory of that meal since and have sought out Indian restaurants all over the world. San later told me that the best Indian food was to be had in London

Shadow Play

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I read it all wrong. In writing her novel, I thought Marilynne Robinson was writing about twins — writing, in some way, about me. Instead, these characters, Lucille and Ruthie, were standard sisters, one older than the other. In fact, Robinson explains th

The Day Nixon Died

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"I remember thinking, 'Good.'

Blind Observer.

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I sat there, observing the city people. Frowns upon all our faces. The rain moistened my heart and journal. A blind family; a trio. They used their wands to lead the way.Their faces read joy but, most importantly, satisfaction.My envy filled the damp page.

Impotent

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A spire that had stood one hundred and forty years fell in a single second of the blackest day.

Brown Plastic Bag.

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[ADVERTISEMENT: If you look for it, Google search, for 'html special characters,' the UT Austin page will come up, and you can just Cut & Paste 'em. Fuck the code!]

Here

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I am reintroducing myself.

boring

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You don't want to knowthe details of my lifethe gossipthe boring moments strung togetheracross the lap ofmy sense of responsibilityit drives methrough the daysdoing this and thatchore, check on the listi am tired and need to stop for a drinkand then, i am filled up for a…

Silver Spring to Phoenix

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Vibrations of a cavern a mile beneath silver willows.At two in the morning beyond the Sheratona lumination of pollution intercedes realism.Cardinals and doves develop their melodyprogressively caught in beat/heart echoes,as with spelunker canaries fluting noxious gasa small…

you're a james now. here's what to expect:

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fetal position can make a man seem small. harmless. like the child your womb won't carry...

Third World Problems: On Breaking My Kindle in Africa

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I blame the fucking mosquito net.

Five Million Yen: Chapter 8

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He finished the omelet and started in on the short stack. He drowned the cakes in syrup. -Never can have enough syrup.

match point

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two roses her eyes aqua-blue no, blue-green

THUNDER

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not the sky

Morning Sounds

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Morning sounds

Tostoi's Last Fiction: a footnote to a note

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The note was a lie, multiplied through each member of its potential audience....

Crows on the Curb

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They perch on the curb in front of the factory, like so many rail thin crows exuding smoke from their haggard beaks. They've been here. They've been here a long while.

Three Lullabies (after 'Ooh La La' by the Ditty Bops)

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she knows that's the natural place of a man, above everything, closest to god, eyes slowly filling with rain.

Lament of the Horror Movie Marathon

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I'm in our bed eating yesterday's pizza and chain-watching pirated foreign horror films

What We Talk About When We Talk About Lasagna

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When we talked about the lasagna, we were, I see now, talking about different things. I.e., I was talking about lasagna, and you were talking about almost everything but. You weren't talking about the dry, burnt noodles or…

Rain

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That was what I said, let's go before it starts raining again. I stand at the window, staring at the downpour outside. Since then the sun has gone down a precise one thousand four hundred and sixty one times.

Untitled

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What else, H, is there to say about heartbreak? What else could it be but our hands, cupped as if holding water against our chests, then broken into halves. Or the picture of this one, pretending to load a gun. Or this one, soaked in smoke—asking for