Cultivate your vaginal tears at the gates of Thigh and Holy.

this is where we end -- the exorbitant eye of forgotten days.

She said, "Tonight let's talk of things untrue and he said, ' Like black is white and night is day and up is down and in is out?' and she said, 'Yeah, those things we know to be false for sure like you know, like...well, you could say, 'I really love you' and I could say,…

He painted a woman on them, identical to the woman that kneeled by his bed.

We were offered mannequins that had pubic hair that grew and swirled, and could visit like a pet, and sit in your lap

I dreamt I was raped the other night. Sometimes it was me, that is, and sometimes it was another woman with a dark bouffant hair-do. Definitely outside though and the hulking back of the man was covered by a charcoal wool…

The past has no flavor.

If there was another way to describe emptiness, I'd word the endlessness of the sky, of the ocean at low tide.

Whenever trees or limbs fell in isolate forests—well, no narrators were ever to be found, not even beneath the larger tree trunks or under the fallen limbs.

When Chuck dies, I’ll throw/ a party and dance, a little drunk,/ across what I’ll pretend/ is the old shit’s grave.

It was unusual, a feeling of déjà vu waft in the air. However, this was completely new to them. Mayumi gripped her shoulders as Emi’s lips moved trying to ease her fear. Mayumi did not understand what this stuff was.

Every town has one. Or one at the very least...

I know someone in need of healing.

She heard the quick footsteps and knew where they were headed. Running down the hall she knew she “only had 1 hour left and there was no time to waste”.

At eight o' clock: as, drawn by many bells, The patchwork congregation lopes and stalks, To churches far from serenade of shells To storms, we leave behind the windblown walks, And sails of youth, to glide through liquid hells, A temporal…