1645 2 2
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1645 0 0
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You’re never really asleep. I am never awake. But as the darkness fades, I read. Your body tells my story.
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1644 2 2
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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…
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1644 2 1
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Thirty years later – and all the years in between – Alan Walton would remember how insidious it was, the anger that started that night with Quinton Harris, fifteen years old and the undisputed leader of the troop, and spread like a virus to the other boys
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1644 0 0
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Everybody knew Billy Miller. He had messy hair and crooked teeth that he hid behind a thin-lipped smile. He and his friend Jimmy Rodgers, who everyone called Cock on account of his red hair that stuck up like a comb, were inseparable. They liked to ste
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1644 4 3
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Atlanta, 1990The night we almost died,crushed at a one-hit wonder concert,comes back to mewhen the club announces it's closing.An ancient excelsior millturned industrial dance hall,I spent three years mapping every dark corner, finding secret places for sex and…
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1644 0 0
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Caster had always imagined the Consensus as a big room, as big as the world, filled with white space and people with quantum wings, flitting about, creating information. There were tinted bubbles for people to share for privacy, and the lights never went
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1644 23 11
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Every Monday you brought your Sunday finest to the bus stop...
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1644 14 9
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the wind mistook your arms for wings
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1644 9 9
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She may never know and it sureis a small world. She may neverknow and they have a list. She maynever know, I'm very grateful.She may never know and I couldhave sworn we were getting along justfine. I refused to say goodbye. I am still wearing those…
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1644 11 6
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The days cut off by damp chill with every thought a different variety of protection.
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1644 0 0
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Still as the knife on the counter there still. Like mothballs in a chest. One with clear bags and newspaper clippings and your scarf inside it. The baby girl could put a mothball in her mouth and suck it like a penny. The way too close to a light bulb bur
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1644 11 7
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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…
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1643 6 3
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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. "
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1643 9 6
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It hangs unspoken in the sadness he pushes through his harmonica, while his hands work the old, beat-up guitar that tries to be a Gibson for his fingertips.
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1643 3 3
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1643 2 0
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A shot in the dark and everything goes black. It's as if the story never happened.
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1643 6 5
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Santa’s stuck/you say? In the chimney of course./The lard-arsed ol’bastard struggling
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1643 0 0
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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.
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1643 5 5
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This story is falling head-first into a mud-puddle.
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1643 7 4
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The Judge waited for the perfect wave.
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1643 2 1
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The story itself is not much longer than a snippet. What is a snippet anyway?
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1643 4 1
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threads of Cocoa Krispies
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1643 0 0
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I was awakened by a disturbing dream. He was no longer with me and I felt afraid. Everything was cloudy, almost blurry. I couldn't see much in front of me, but I knew for sure he wasn't there with me. Then he said the words I feared the most “I don't love you.…
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1643 1 0
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Floating along the ebbs of the ocean,toward the horizon, where time has no say,an end that will never be reached.
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1643 0 0
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In order to be a catalyst for catharsis — which is just a fancy way of saying agent of change — you have to be willing to condition yourself into something partially inhuman. Only something on the very outskirts of humanity…
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1643 12 8
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1643 18 8
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The cloudless sky/
amplifies the incompletion,/
clarifies the imperfections/
of the night’s normalcy-
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1642 15 11
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Poor, pocked Ceres- dwarf planet/
trapped among mere asteroids-
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1642 17 8
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When I was young and self-born in religion my aunts, uninterested in being washed in the Blood of Christ, called me Preacher Boy. I didn't pay them any attention. It was fine by me, I said, if they wanted to sit around and paint their toenails . . .
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