1492 6 5
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Nothing good ever waits at the end of a long corridor.
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149222
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It's one of the most difficult problems of aesthetic philosophy: What do we mean when we say that a song is sad? None of the big names--Aristotle, Kant, Croce–Benedetto, not Jim–come close to answering it.
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149200
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Behind the bellicose façade lay a soft, compassionate soul. He sat within a swirl of rosy twilight hues, buoyed by the gently creeping tide. A dark wall approached and he mechanically spun and began stroking into the glassy canvas of light and ocean that lay between him…
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149222
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A single woman should regard every train ride as an opportunity, I once read in one of those “How to Find A Boyfriend” books. “When boarding the train, don't take the first available seat,“ the author advised. “Walk through all the cars…
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149211
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When people talk about the end moments when one's life flashes before his or her eyes, they often refer to time as slowing down. I can attest to this phenomenon during my final moments, before the collision: the song playing on the radio, the squeal of tires and flash of…
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149294
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I’m not / going to change you I /promise
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1492159
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Conjure calamity and calamity comes.
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149211
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Suddenly the producer, Irving, tosses a new idea into the discussion, an idea for a possible film. Then the writer, Herbert, does the talking. He performs, in fact, puts on a one-man show. The idea! The idea! It's…
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149255
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Eat blueberries every day and you'll live to be a 92 year old mogul. Really.
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149153
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Seeking your will, instead we found, somehow, a clutch of our own documents;
folded under a rubber band gone to rot,
muddy strands nestled in the creases.
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149111
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While Leif was still very young, his emotions were very easy to read, for they appeared on his parchment coloured skin, named in his mother's writing. When he was seventeen, Leif fell in love. She was a pretty maid, one of the college servants who kept his…
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1491188
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he who laughs last is probably a dumbass fuck
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149123
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I. Europa How else to begin but with Gustave Holst's Mars--the gods waging war in romantic twilight as drumbeats and cannons blast swathes in the gloaming and glory awaits in the halls of black smoke. A visual perhaps:…
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1491109
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He looks outside, sees everything disappearing like crumbing cookies into what appears to be a giant mouth.
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149110
|
It is your music that makes me want to crack open my ribcage and rip out my heart as it still beats, to cauterize my carotids, and shove the mechanical insides of a clock into my thoracic cavity.
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149142
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Years ago, I was involved in a freakish tragedy so startling and heartbreaking that it made the front page of not only my local newspaper, but “People” and “The National Enquirer.” I'm not going to tell you anything about it. This means that…
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149132
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I don't mind being dead. It's ok. Really. I've discovered a whole new way of being based on non-being. What else can you do? I like being invisible. I like groaning and rattling chains. I used to be a writer. Still am. In fact, it might be more accurate to say that…
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149164
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"...she's been seeming like she's been dreaming while awake lately..."
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149132
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“Guys, who would you rather live with.... Mom... or Dad.”
His younger siblings giggled in shock, not that they hadn’t thought about it... apparently.
"You know I'm right here..." I joked, waving at them.
“I’d rather live with mom.” the question-a
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149173
|
Shit, I guess I'm gonna hafta
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149143
|
Before the paint spikes Coney Island to the wind, I walk home through the strum of a shield, colder than the one he left behind. For the hour I sprawl along the sidewalk in her laugh, crater's shadows for Wonder Wheel, he is midnight sun in The Last Waltz. Where the glow…
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149121
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She positioned the mouse cursor over the word Bikini and double clicked. The hard drive of the ageing work PC chugged into life as an Excel document dragged itself onto the screen.
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149021
|
One can’t predict the final cadence of one’s life.
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149063
|
—You're convinced I'm crazy. I'm convinced you're incompetent.
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149011
|
There's something about the way he touches me every time that makes my heart skip a beat and pushes the air from my throat. I shiver under his hot breath while he whispers softly and pulls himself closer, letting his fingers glide…
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149097
|
This is the Minuteman tine/
of the three-tined fork//
we can stick into the modern world/
when it’s done-- a MAD triad.
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1490105
|
and, under foot,//
dark caves waiting/
with their unseen pigments/
adorning forgotten walls.
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149032
|
The Intrepid Explorer recounts his travels for the benefit of subscribers to the Magazine of the Museum of Everything
|
149089
|
They can’t exterminate the poor just yet
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149011
|
“And what kind of man would prefer all these dusty old books to my physical form? Who would memorize archaic incantations, when he could be whispering in my ear? Why search for the ancient splendors of metaphor, when one could be searching for the ...
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