1569 7 5
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On a trail, Richard and I came upon a saguaro cactus that had dried in the shape of a human figure. Its arms were lifted and its back was stooped. I said, “It looks like my mother.”
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156977
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They say that inside the veins of every Bohemian
lies an entire army of dead alcoholics.
I suppose this is true of me too.
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156998
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Years later he surveys this place again to post something, anything. He plays "sex on fire," sounds that once fueled him. Now he knows the song is about VD, not unbridled potency. Names and words all seem at once familiar and numbing and noise. He once wanted fame or…
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156954
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I smell it, it smells/Of giggles and leg shaking
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1569103
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It performs the dialectic that intertwines real and ideal through her mounting concern about being choked to death then eaten by a very large pig.
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156953
|
—Jesus, a snoring cat. No wonder Alex put this cat outside.
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156863
|
It was that pink lipstick found
on the end of that brown filter
yeah, think it was an Old Gold
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156822
|
Secretly she suspected she was really a witch. She didn't have green skin or scraggly black hair, and certainly no flying monkeys. Maybe those came over time, the more bad things you did, the more ugly you became until all the world could see how horrible
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156822
|
The Fourth Defenestration took place in September of that year, and it became an instant internet sensation. Mostly because of the fall from great heights into an enormous pile of haufen mist, arranged by a bunch of henchmen pals of Boris and Vladimir
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156855
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156845
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Art books, paintings, antique chairs, marble tables, full length gold gilded mirrors, oriental rugs, tapestries, a Louis XVI painted French armoire, a wrought iron Deco coffee table, flat ware, silver flasks, mantel lamps, iron gates, a silk settee, theat
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156855
|
How the hell do these 1/8 inch long red-eyed flying insects wind up in my kitchen anyway?
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156856
|
Wearing Land’s End clothes at life’s end
Driving around in circles in your Codgermobile
with 3 good hubcaps.
Who wouldn’t want to steal that?
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156800
|
His name is Rick Reynolds. His name is Steve Redford.
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156864
|
After the ship stopped shaking, the angry flashes of warning lights discontinued, a few people could be heard sobbing or whispering prayers.
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156854
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“I’m going,” O’Bannon-Krim says with exasperation as she throws trinkets such as Dylan Thomas beer coozies and Edna St. Vincent Millay hair scrunchies into a cardboard box.
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156841
|
Motionless seconds turned
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15681111
|
Why do people kill themselves with food? It’s obvious, I suppose. They’re hungry.
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1568152
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It was Fredrick Miller, not his murdered son Matthew, who was executed Monday night at Henshaw Prison. (the system won't take anything under 200 characters, so this part is just to take up space. please ignore)
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156810
|
1. Lamia I slapped the venomous dream from his mouth before he could spit in my eyes; fuck him and his rage, fucking Tonton Macoute or whatever he was--and I got the hell out and away from that house and the fires that raged on all floors, and I fled…
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1568119
|
For Sale: Clean Depends, Never Worn
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156886
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1. How can one begrudge the cracking open of a heart?When the lava love fire loaded insanity of self-control disappearsAnd the raw spewing beginsYou better be ready for the truthIt ain't gonna be prettyYou'll wish you were deadYou won't recognize where you areYou'll be…
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1568105
|
Chuck woke when he smelled cooking.
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156755
|
He’s more than a little pissed at all this eternal boulder rolling.
|
156700
|
Martin Heidegger wore hearing protection out on the tarmac at JFK. The runways were broad and he danced and leapt with the freedom of a Cats performer while he guided planes to the terminal.
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1567105
|
Two types coexist- the sanguine/
and exsanguinated./
My skin is cool/
and pale as moonlight
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156720
|
Time stole you from underneath the goldendock. Writhing there, slick as a flapping tongue;lips gored, red, whose gaping could embolden weak hands behind the blazing buck blade, long ago pierced in your summer quietus, beneath the soft shade of a tackle box, as the…
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156784
|
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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156711
|
Five years ago—or maybe ten—I clipped an article containing a quote that has haunted and inspired me ever since, and tacked it to my wall. Describing the success of diplomats from nearly ninety nations to convene in Oslo, Norway, and agree on the wording
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156754
|
The Zone is a garden of skyscrapers. Every building is a model.
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