Most read stories

The Dock

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Row, Caps of white, A salted escape beneath reflected light. Brother, remember those old lies? I’m off to sea to make those things right, now.

Nothing Revolts

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"Nothingness had had enough. Nothingness had become militant. It had bought a camouflage jacket. It grew an afro. It burned its bra. Nothingness was pissed, and it wanted its stuff back."

THANKS FOR TRYING TO RUIN MY DAY!

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If you work with the public, you're stressed. Unreasonable customers. Demanding bosses. Reduced staffing. I love my job, but the workload is tough and getting tougher. What can we do to keep our spirits up?Play Customer Appreciation! It's simple. Assign a point value…

Burger King Blues

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Read signs sometimes and you just might get where you're trying to go. When Eddie suggested they stop for a Whopper, Dennis said no. "Fuck Burger King, man. Let's get that Wendy's up there." They got…

The Mix Tape

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I made her a mix tape. It was revolutionary. Twenty-two songs she had to hear at least once in her life. I even drew some trippy drug-like designs on the label of the CD to make it seem more real. It was the ocean and the sun and every body of land balled up…

A Few Good Band Names

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Auto and the Grease-Pits Sugar Cube Full Frontal The Holy Grill Crazy Al and the Squirrels Talk Is Cheap Grilled Cheese Sandwich Cold Zippers Destiny Howl Epiphany Critter Cold Kneecaps Crepes Pulled Pork Baby Seals and the Club

Singularities And the Circle Of Convergence

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There was a knock at the front door of Apartment Number 9. Ace Quana tried to beat his wiener dog, Little Ace to the door, but he could not. For while Little Ace had stubby legs like wet…

A Fine Life

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It's really not too bad. The personI am was me. We laughed insidethose sacred places at all the monieswell spent. We walked in the gardenswithout any shoes on. Not one singleflower seemed to mind. And now it'sa forgotten mess or so I've imagined.I'd rather you think about…

Artist's Statement: Oracle

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Mark Reep is a faded Polaroid oracle taped to the only unbroken window of an abandoned house in Ithaca NY.

Mob

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He is leaning back against a pillar watching the dancing; a spectator to joy – both planned and spontaneous – that’s unfolding in bodies fourteen and fifteen years old in front of him.

The Taste in My Mouth

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whose spit is this?

The Ghosts in the Meeting

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No one had told the newer tenants that the dead would be given votes, and they were in an uproar: it wasn’t legal; it wasn’t fair; it was creepy.

The Road

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My mother moved her things out of my parents’ bedroom into the attic guest room. When I asked where guests would sleep, my father said, “Matthew, don’t be an asshole.”

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 40

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—Mazel tov, schmazel tov!

My Literary Pockets

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I don’t know what to do with all this money flowing from my books. It’s burning a hole in my literary pocket.

Genocide City Zone

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Welcome to the genocide city zone I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay We've been killing folks here All the live-long day If you want to join us You'll have to pay the price Your soul's the cost, so ante up C'mon and shoot the dice Welcome to the genocide city zone …

Deadheading

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No matter how much he composes and prepares, he cannot override the electrical trigger in his brain. Something to do with the resonance of physical memory. It remembers amplitudes of current.

Speaking to the Dead

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I didn't hear your last words or see your lasteyes. I didn't reach you in time, so I sat by your corpse,silently saying goodbye. I am in that process,not sour, not sweet, that yoked speaking which can't(because the heart won't let it) utter its whisperedlast word, but…

Love Story

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I don't know when it was I first stumbled across your blog. I know I definitely must've followed the link on your twitter profile, but how I found you in the first place, I have no idea. But fate works in mysterious ways, I suppose. I remember I then visited your blog every…

The Street Singer

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The Street singer gathers up his coins and counts to a hundred before The last string stops vibrating

Sounds like leaving

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chains across all the old doors

Rising

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The coin, so little, the watch chain, the youth, the fading softening speech, each hand and finger, the panic modeled on your own eyes, the ashtray, certain stumps along the way, the long distance, the odd feather, the jazz rope gone,…

Guinness for Iron

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My sister / craves raisons

The Show Must Go On

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I had the idea for a pageant for my obedience school at spring graduation

Did you ever kill someone?

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Well, yeah but no one that wasn't pointing a gun at me, mostly. I shot at a lot of people but there were only three times when I can honestly say I know that I blew someone away.

A Good Man

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Charles tapped the anger management code on his steering wheel. He rolled down his street and saw Jack Watson throwing stuff into the trunk of his black Volvo coupe. He waved, but Jack did not wave back. Jack's face was blazing red. He looked like he might have a…

On a Count of the Stars

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The number is very large/ and perpetually changes// as old stars fade, explode,/ or collapse into something not stars

Odysseus as Superintendent

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No king of Ithaca, but of each/ whining, banging, dust–clouded island/ of focused, physical work

Five Million Yen: Chapter 6

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Sure my man. Show me the token I’ll show you the slice.

Blackish by Reason of the Ice

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"Sara, do you taketh it with your eyes?"