Most read stories

In an Irish pub with a lot of oiled wood

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“I love women. They’re like goddesses.”

The Cure for Cancer

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Thus, more people can drown// and leave their bones

See?

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look at the shape here / is it not pleasing to the eye?

Oopsy-Daisy!

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[This story definitely WON'T be appearing in this month's "Alfred Hitchock's Mystery Magazine"!]

Autobiography 22: It’s Not Just the Income

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Unless they leave you comatose,/ it’s the disasters you remember.

Gee, If Only We'd Known!

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As soon as those planes hit the buildings on September 11, it was pretty much all systems go for Cheney's long-planned Iraqi invasion. But first he had to shitcan an aide who showed him in detail how Iraq would eventually…

Forever KAP

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She mustn't...

New Year's Eve, 1975

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contacts, false eyelashes, strappy open-toed sandals

The Umbrella

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Weed Fire

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Wind was a sorry excuse for force

Going the Way of the Dodo

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her expressive sigh releasing. Sated. The last of our kind, evolving flightless we remain on the ground, culling through corpulent consumption.

ANSWER: (g)

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[CAUTION: READING THIS STORY COULD CAUSE IRREPARABLE "CULTURE SHOCK" AND IS NOT ADVISED FOR OLD FOLKS, PREGNANT WOMEN, OR THOSE WITH "MONSTROUS, FRAGILE EGOS"!]

Every Step, and There Are Lots

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Her plastic shopping bag brushes your leg. You look into it and all you see is a 2 liter of Coke, a bag of Lay’s potato chips and a package of Oreos. It’s so oddly touching, so purely American, that your heart breaks a little bit. You want to hug t

Hooves on the Sand

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It was a bright day in April, the cruelest month, and the gears and pumps of the train beat on into the still air.

Omen

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The bird sat there some time. Several minutes. My wife and I grabbed out i-Pads and took pictures.

Parajanov Contra Zizek (oder selbst proclaimed Brechtian Beast Z vs aSublime moving picture for magnitude of efficacy.)

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People act, today, as if there were no such thing as Death - i.e. they "psychotically" reify the notion that we "live on" in our work or more pointedly/poignantly in our offspring and in society qua Creation. This tendency was half present in the old Greeks - the …

Invisible Vestibules

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Sometimes the wind comes across the fields and you would swear that it can be known. Going along the one lane there I look out and see those vast spaces and then refocus on to closer on. Swinging the truck into a side road that goes far and far and then left, I pull into…

The Beautiful Mercedes

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The screen door slowly opened. I was expecting the second / coming of perfection.

Begonia {part eight}

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Like a scroll spinning swiftly before his eyes, he deduced that the tracks around him could have been left by nothing but a dragon. “Father God, protect her,” he said as the gravity of Isabella’s situation hit him.

Begonia {part seven}

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Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, swoosh; the rhythmic thrust of Mezereon’s wings…Th-Bumm, th-bumm, th-bumm; the drumming of his heart…Hooou, hooou, hooou; the exhalations of his breath…

Frankenstein (In Three Sentences)

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I made a man of men. He made a man of me, the way all men are finished, in tragedy and sorrow. Together, we make a story, for other men, brothers and sisters.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 12

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Frank was happy to leave the art show and take the train back to SoHo.

Braque's Diary of the Atelier Cut-Outs

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Today, the buxom neighbor carrying blintzes Egged me not to care about What’s not flat. She forgot To bend, clanging together Some fronts and sides.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 35

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I visited his loft last week. There were many exciting new pictures. Francesco was your main money earner before, now he will be again.

Breaking News

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We are our own pathogens.

Cold

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Winter will be cold this year, you tell her. You read that. She says she is with child with her new husband. You tell her she's forty-five, it is selfish. The baby. It's fine. You demand to be at her tests. Evan may let you, she says. He's a doll. She would never use that…

Paddy Wagon

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So many are so sick.

The Swindler

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John Davies paces nervously around an empty parking lot...

Love in the Time of the NASA Mars Rover

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I've lost the remote control to my brain

Star-eater; a poem

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Star-eaterHere lies the star-eater.Tilting on the ancient wheelof summer-glaze-breath,you speak the oceans. Fire's the mealfor you, the star-eater. You defy death,and out of your mouth, a universe openspouring forth, as fleet as the starslight on your tongue. Space…