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Yes, my old uncle liked roses. Grew them. He had a way of smelling a rose—after he smelled a rose, you are surprised the rose is still there.
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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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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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It starts on the Fallopian Speedway
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For Sale: Clean Depends, Never Worn
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I smell it, it smells/Of giggles and leg shaking
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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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Chuck woke when he smelled cooking.
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He’s more than a little pissed at all this eternal boulder rolling.
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It was that pink lipstick found
on the end of that brown filter
yeah, think it was an Old Gold
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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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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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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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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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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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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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The Zone is a garden of skyscrapers. Every building is a model.
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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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How the hell do these 1/8 inch long red-eyed flying insects wind up in my kitchen anyway?
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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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I could feel the old house skulking in the shadows. In the basement I used to play in the dark, shine a flashlight on the angular black widows creeping in the corners, feed them ants and silverfish and flies with the wings pulled off so the web wouldn’
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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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He's driving in the Sierra Nevada with his wife and their small daughters and the girls are fighting and he can't take much more of it.
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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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The next moment is a convergence made from a single repeating sequence that disappears behind the voice that tells of it.
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“There’s enough food to last here a week.” Ferdinand assured, as a dingy wooden cabin came into view. They were on foot now. He’d insisted on forcing the car into a ravine, using a heavy rock and the last of the gasoline to drive it into a heap of rusted
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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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If I floated about this coffee cafe,Like a spirit, just watching.In this room of framed fake memories,A room of ambient light, marketing to the masses,(It works; it gets 'em in the doors.)If I floated, I'd seeThese people sitting—eating, drinking, sipping, typing,…
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Two types coexist- the sanguine/
and exsanguinated./
My skin is cool/
and pale as moonlight
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This morning as I stepped out of the shower I was hit with a panicked fit in which it became urgent that I rid my flesh of each drop of water that burdened it. Not quite like the feeling of being…
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