1445 5 5
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I keep my love for you in me, /
like the egg of a worm,
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1445108
|
I bit her ear and /
it was burnt toast
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144510
|
We're doomed as a species. The Zorks are coming to eat us. It all started when Joey Cacciatore, the dumbest crook in the history of the world, got Veetzers swarming like blowflies in 1972, and thereby ensured the upcoming…
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14451210
|
The kid with a testosterone chip
Instead of a brain
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144554
|
Published writers will tell you that the most important thing you can do as a beginning writer is to know your markets! So this month, we'll talk about two of the markets open to you and your riveting but as yet unpublished prose -- Fling Magazine and Clubhouse…
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144500
|
A woman is fishing in the Seine at the far left
of the painting, while time is suspended and light
remains. One man plays a trumpet. A half dozen
people sit or walk under parasols. Couples stroll
and children run or sit or stand beside their
p
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144584
|
It’s just that—well, I don’t know how to put this—
With a Dadaist poet a non-affair is the height of erotic bliss.
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144531
|
"do you know what your problem is when it comes to girls?"
she must mean other than the fact that they're all
completely insane. or at least all the ones i've dated.
|
144552
|
Billie Holiday and I want a cup of coffee and they tell us to go fuck ourselves.
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14451312
|
Today I'm feeling fertilized by an egg—
|
144584
|
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
|
144554
|
I had the idea for a pageant for my obedience school at spring graduation
|
144500
|
A pair of flowers leaned on each other, almost holding one another, their petals hanging off by the edge. Emi touched one of the petals to hold it up, but the dark mist appeared and made it fall off.
|
144500
|
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…
|
144433
|
Trisha dreamed of being a Playboy Bunny since the days she still had buck-teeth and fried egg boobs. She blu-tacked page threes above her bed-head and had me snap topless Polaroids till they littered the floor. She told me to imagine she had 36DDs and per
|
144474
|
Easing her hand with her other hand.
|
144488
|
-Love is a rushing
of blood
|
144464
|
I pull into the parking lot and see a group of roosters squawking and trying to overturn an ‘87 Pontiac Bonneville that's caught fire. They're pouring whiskey down their throats. They're weeping over a bag of economy sized frozen breast fillets.
|
144430
|
my molars are dancing, tekka-tekking to the strung-out paint can groove of my heart.
|
144411
|
...the dead have...communicated into the high tech microwave towers of modern Prague. And their messages now may mount to the stars, confusing millions.
|
144456
|
It's tough when muscle gets in the way of memory. The way pain is the only thing I can remember about certain things. Fifth grade, that's what I think of. I think of pain. Not just abstract pain, not some we'll get to it later adolescent angst or ennui.…
|
144411
|
Brian had spent the morning filling out applications all over Knox County, and by noon he was more than ready to call it a day. But apparently there was one last squirt of virtue in him, because heading home he saw a Help…
|
144444
|
She wakes up with rosemary.
|
144364
|
Sleep never fades away quickly. It has to be shaken off, layer by layer, before reality can reach you. That is the way every morning works for me. There are some days when I will sit at the edge of my bed for almost an hour, shedding remnants of dreams
|
144361
|
Mr. Wazzeldot has seven legs. He lives very comfortably. He likes to sit by the fire. There's a large cushion for a chair, and in the evenings, he sips his Bloody Marys. I know because I visit him…
|
14431010
|
As if to ask if I'm okay, as if to ask aren't we the same two on this wet December morning as ever, as yesterday, a month ago even, she shoots me a look as I stand by the bed, then her sane mild brown eyes…
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144322
|
|
144345
|
the beeps, rhythmic,
tell us that you're still with us
|
144322
|
Tomorrow, they'd bury their daughter . . . and still, so many questions. Why would a beautiful fourteen-year-old choose for herself such a horrible, painful death? In life, she appeared the antithesis of suicidal ideation: excellent grades, well-liked in school and…
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144320
|
On the plains there are no cliffs, no vast mountain ranges to persuade us that we were somewhere above the world. Yearning to escape the pull of the Earth was the big dream of a plains boy…
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