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The Sadness of Thrift Shops

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They couldn’t have done it better if they’d waved guns around in the air.

Arcana Magi Pure Vol.3 - c.5

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The sound of the crowd’s excitement, their smiles, and laughter started to turn Mayumi’s thoughts about life in the Magi world.

The Chords are Clean, the Growl is Real

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"Good, it's Link Wray again,"

13 machines from the Bird King's private collection

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1. The sparrows' heads revolve slowly when you press the red button, but the boxing glove attachments don't work.2. A weird weaving of voices, unmusical harmony. One phrase punctures the texture: “The empty slot.”3. Poems are processed into more useful verbal…

Etienne's Voice

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And suddenly, I have this crazy impulse, so crazy and so puzzling I do not possess enough vocabulary and grammar skills to describe what is invisible and what is visible about it. The reader must excuse me and be attentive.

Wild Dreams of Reality, 13

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At 7:30 that evening my brother knocked on Parker's front door. When I went to let him in, sweat was running off Darrell's head like he'd been hit by a water balloon. The air was absolutely unmoving, and there was the smell of tar from the asphalt in th

Third World Problems: On Breaking My Kindle in Africa

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I blame the fucking mosquito net.

en/core

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(vogued.)

A Museum of Numbers

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At street level there is a small arrow on which is printed “Museum of Numbers” that points up a long narrow staircase. There is a restaurant on the first floor. All the way up the stairs, the air is permeated with smell of fried foods

Despite Your Faith

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As the other mammals go extinct,/ we can’t presume we are immune// because of big brains and a history/ of belief in the control of nature.

PARK

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Shadows from a star Never too close Never too far

WARNING: I Brake for Plastic Shopping Bags

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"...innocent butterflies of pollution trapped and entangled,"

Layover Memories

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It was a pleasant time, my thoughts were mostly good ones, with little effort wasted on regret.

What's Wrong

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I’ll tell you what’s wrong

Out the Window

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she lifted and threw her legs out the open side front window of the speeding auto

A Brief Conversation With A Man Who Fell Off a Cliff

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I asked him where he hurt and he said everywhere.

Rain Dance

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You were gone, long gone, and I could no longer smell your scent as I walked through the empty house. I couldn't bring myself to unpack the boxes, and they lurked like a forest of overgrown drab Legos.

Yellow Dining Room (from The New Yorker)

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...you should pick a VERY OLD millionaire. Very old, and NOT VERY WELL...

1994, What I Wanted

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Xanax, A hand gun, And the courage to pull the trigger

Grocery Deliveries

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I was shooting baskets in the driveway when the Mexican kid delivered the groceries. He drove in fast and loud . . .

The Light After Equinox

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Soon enough, October’s ragged/ lawn will hide its deficiencies// under withered leaves of oak,

My Coyote

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I say her- it might be him-/ but from a distance I supply the details I prefer.

The Diaphragm

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They had a deal, she reminded him. If he didn’t want to wear a condom all the time, he’d have to help with her birth control.

My Piper Laurie

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Eddie meets Sarah Packard, a “college girl” played by Piper Laurie. She walks with a limp, a fact Eddie doesn’t notice at first because she’s sitting down at a diner table in a bus station. She’s alcoholic and writes poetry.

Not Making Heads or Tales

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Something about shadows and last time and driving.

A Killing in the Market

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Everyone hoped to be assigned somewhere they could just drop in on their way home for Memorial Day weekend. Someone said, Blake, you’re single. You hate your family, don’t you?

Old Penny

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Nothing about it// is attractive- its color, it’s design,/ it’s market value. I leave it be and watch

Tokyo Girls in Science Fiction

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Let’s say you know so little about me. Like whose idea of a joke to name me Hideo for excellent male. Or why I hang out at triangle Park, ogling expatriates or crusty punks.

Not Calculable

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saw the world was a mess I did nothing about it, poured myself some apple juice

Time Flies

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Time has wings. They are bright and beautiful, like those of a butterfly. They are delicate wings, and they carry the years away from my decaying mind. I would break those wings if I could, for tomorrow I turn seventy-three, and I grow weary of their ince