1373 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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1373 12 8
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Larry works the concession stand / near the pier.
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1373 1 1
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There are problems we lovingly fashion . . .
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1373 9 4
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There was only the sound of crickets.
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1373 3 0
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It's cheap beer, but cold
you welcome that rushing hiss and the following
long drink of chilly wetness washing away
the parched, dust dry, cotton mouth
of grave-digging in the desert sun
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1373 11 11
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Why do people kill themselves with food? It’s obvious, I suppose. They’re hungry.
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1373 2 1
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Lucy shrugs into the corner of the train's seat. She envelopes her IPod in both hands as if she's praying or holding a conch shell: safe, secure like when she visited a Morcombe beach in the school holidays. The only giveaway's the white headphone cord.
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1373 7 5
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I was tired and lonesome when I checked into another insufferable, shop-worn Holiday Inn. It was the only motel around with the internet — dial up only — in that little jerkwater town, Notmuch, Alabama. It was too late for a nap, so I jumped in the shower,…
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1373 7 5
|
One day it was boring / to be alive.
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1372 0 0
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Mort’s hand-mind suffered electrifying-absence-emptiness; no wife.
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1372 9 8
|
Just beyond the corkscrew slide / the President of Egypt was bleeding to death
|
1372 9 8
|
"Sara, do you taketh it with your eyes?"
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1372 3 3
|
Welcome the one and the all of you, welcome all you scraggly long haired weeds, welcome the no longer rolling stones of the new you, welcome you most beautiful little wonderfully…
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1372 9 8
|
It’s strange, what will become of me
What my life will be like
Since the animal in me
Is beginning to show on my back
Oh no, no, no
Women will never put up with this
I was afraid this would happen
They’ll think I’m only half a man
I’
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1372 3 1
|
Let's start from the beginning. Your mother's face in the phone. Your parted lips. Your surprised tongue. Hands deep in the folds of your skirt. The poet filling your pockets with blue and orange. The poet filling your notebooks with slowly drifting fields and gramophones…
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1372 5 3
|
In his dreamlike state the pianist turned into a preying mantis.
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1372 6 3
|
You say we will go together to the park and dig a shallow grave and atone for everything we ever did by breathing soil deep into our lungs, and the wolves will leave.
|
1372 5 3
|
He can become anyone. If he wants. He'd rather not but it's not his choice.
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1372 14 9
|
everything moved in circles
like the music, the booze and the drugs
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1372 10 4
|
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1372 0 0
|
No, that can't be him, Joe thought. The guy was messing around the displays in back. He had walked in three or four minutes ago, by now, and he certainly looked the part — or at least Joe thought…
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1372 0 0
|
The purple sweater brought out the blue in her eyes. Fantastic eyes made of ice, she was a stunner, and she knew it. I met her at Slabtown
|
1372 3 2
|
The voice on the other end mumbles, not forming words, but I understand: I am to be the starting third baseman for the Detroit Tigers.
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1371 10 8
|
In a dream, he’s covered in masticated bits of paint and canvas and metal shavings and it keeps raining down until he’s buried and he wakes up with a yell.
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1371 4 3
|
Philosophy: a muscular exercise of throat, jaw, tongue, and brain.
|
1371 16 13
|
One sneaker in the middle of the A-Plus Pawn lot...
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1371 0 0
|
She didn't want to let go of the crumpled tissue she had been holding all this time, as it is wrong to litter, but she finally did, and felt free. Released. Bad. Naughty. Almost orgasmic.
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1371 10 6
|
I'm using a 16mm motion picture camera with sound on film, equipped with a magazine holding six hundred feet, giving me approximately fifteen minutes of continuous shooting. Uzma has changed her cloths again. She's dressed for working in the garden, wearing a white…
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1371 0 0
|
The Kid, The Executive, The Doctor, and The Actress.
|
1371 7 7
|
to have something, but I don't think you need anything from me. There are poems that belong in your hair and no one else's. They should be like stars that only appear every one thousand years or so, then can only be seen when you are…
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