Most read stories

Small Snow Haiku.

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A small snow.

Goatee

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"I'm in a wrestling movie!" you shouted.

Boner

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What if blood engorging your penis could be the result of emotions other than sex and violence? Wouldn't it be nice if your dick could be used to express the lengths and depths of other feelings?

The Artist

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The story itself is not much longer than a snippet. What is a snippet anyway?

The Mojave Desert Remembers Ron Paul

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The Mojave Desert remembers Ron Paul With tattered billboards Scraped and clawed by vehement dust

Drop Water

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slather consciousness

Whispers (set of 3 themed poems)

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The Hound - Part 4

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My gaze could have gutted any man. Any man, but John Marcy. History would write that John Marcy was a traitor to his country. Public enemy number one in the state of New York. When that probably couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Voices From a Playground

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"Eye contact is essential as it shows confidence. I walk with purpose and hope that my skirt isn’t too short. "

Our Merchant-Ivory Weekend

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“A shibboleth is a test—a way to separate da wheat from da chaff that's as old as the Bible, but as new as the latest trend in men's fashions,” Gus says.

Ring, Ring, Ring

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If this is trouble, please call someone else.

Arcana Magi Pure Vol.4 - c.3

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Jumping from roof to roof, Keiko and Rumiko remained quiet after hearing Mayumi’s story. They saw the shrine ahead but they knew they were going to run out of buildings to stay above.

Real Heart

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A heart which is alive despite everything in the world that wants to deaden it.

ROLLING LIKE THUNDER

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The ocean smelled like decomposed plant life and clinically despicable vagina, but I still spoke of its power and my fear of it in moonlit clichés and she still listened.

Professor Einstein's Living Proof (an excerpt)

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Light “I can escape the feeling of complicity in it only by speaking out.” The professor arrives on time, sockless. The former a sign of his polite upbringing. The latter, his lack of pretense and high …

Ketchup and eggs

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As a young baby, perhaps a year old, I have a memory of sitting on myfathers lap, in front of a coal stove to keep us warm, while my mothercooked soft boiled eggs for him every morning. He would break offa piece of his toast, dip it in the egg, and feed it to…

A Word About Everything

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I remember having a beer once And feeling like a minor god And I know in some lie you told Your life began making sense And I also know that the mind likes logic But the heart loves chaos I just hope flies land on the butter of your soul

Soliloquies of Mr. and Mrs. Macb.

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A small bar of glycerin soap floated in the sink full of bloody water . . .

Salinger Pays Caulfield a Visit

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Out in the world again, pretending to belong.

Mumbles

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We bobbed and weaved using our words like the sniffs of two unfamiliar dogs in a Wal-mart parking lot. Wary, but sensing we could be more than just polite neighbors, once we got past the normal darkness of strangers. There was no plot to our story yet, but we both seemed to…

Static

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The days cut off by damp chill with every thought a different variety of protection.

Sausages

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When I cook sausages, I am afraid I will not let them sit in the pan long enough, and they will be pink inside. Then, even if the pigs have been handled humanely, I and the person for whom I've prepared this meal will be at risk for some terrible stomach poisoning.Let's say…

Facsimile in Boots

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There she is. A paper doll of me. The dress, the lilt, the self-hatred. The crowd thins and swells in want of a scene. Conversations begin, pretend, then halt. My gin and tonic sweats into my hand and I lick at the…

Working things out in my head

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A shot in the dark and everything goes black. It's as if the story never happened.

Santa's stuck

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Santa’s stuck/you say? In the chimney of course./The lard-arsed ol’bastard struggling

Nearly Lost

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My body feels chilly but it's not from the outside temps. It seems to me it's the opposite of a fever.

This Story

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This story is falling head-first into a mud-puddle.

Ballerina

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His mother was a ballerina.

DRIVING WITH JON

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“There’s no real freedom in this world. But a car and the open road is close enough for government work.”

the true bliss of objects is entropy

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What the tumbler meant