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Character & Fitness, the opening chapter to my novel, "Death of the Dying City."
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I look as sympathetic as I can, under the circumstance, which is entirely unsympathetic.
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each act of creation is a jolt of expectation
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. . . once you start reading and thinking about what he's saying, it's like looking at the reflection of your soul in a mirror . . .
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Gripping the sink, head bowed, I let the blood gather on the rim of my nose, pooling for a moment, before its fleeting journey towards the basin.
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the strength in you i envy/ leaves me naked, sweating in the dust/ while you possess what ethic i pretend to have/ in the face of those who expect from me/ so much more.
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This year, 2011, you bring about my thirtieth year. I'm apprehensive about this, but mainly because my father made me watch "Logan's Run" as a kid...
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I nearly burst out laughing when I heard myself telling him in my accented English that she’d confided in me that she was preparing to sacrifice herself as part of an elaborate snuff film produced by a band of psychotic artists hell-bent on making up for
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Sometimes you wait by the mailbox and he doesn't come. It doesn't come, the letter, the talisman from another world you've been waiting for, and you give up. You finally open…
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He fought off the U-boat packs in the Atlantic — one hand on the tiller, one on the torpedo launch button.
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Seeing her in black /
with his arm around her /
from the other side /
of a glass door. /
He gave her a beer. /
She might’ve been thirsty, /
uncomfortable.
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Further down a small group of men lolled near a doorway.
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paste into browser:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsSKsjOTCFU&feature=em-upload_owner
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Before he became famous Faulkner was postmaster at the University of Mississippi Substation Post Office, a fact that endears him to mailmen around the world.
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In the backyard with Joey, I make the mistake of answering him honestly when he asks what the gray brick in the dirt is for. “My parakeet is buried there,” I say. And he asks, “can we dig it up?”Joey's grandma lives down the street; he comes over…
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One by one the hundred matte black drones hummed awake. The buzz was loud on the tiny airfield but died out soon among the waving amber heads of Kansas wheat that surrounded the unsigned base.
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“I love women. They’re like goddesses.”
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The mother continued to stand, marooned in her isolation and Isis' hostility in between table and bed and under the overhead which cast a blue tinge, she held the newspaper- The Daily Mail- which embarrassed Isis- aloft and at an angle, one leg position
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The mist monster leaned over the building, drawing its face close to Mayumi. Its’ lavender eyes locked onto the Magi as she stood there ignoring Rumiko’s calls to flee.
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"Don't pull too hard," warned Father. "You might sever it from the body, spraying blood into your eyes."
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It has been two days since nearly seven billion people have gained some extent of super powers and I figure it will only be one or two until they tear this planet asunder. I have had to move from my third story loft and take refuge in the basement of my apartment complex.…
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I remember the days when my brother and I would walk down Tillman Square, careful to avoid the cracks zigzagging along the ground. Well I did. My brother made a point to step on every one.
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During the hangover, I crawl to my desktop computer and then Google “rapid STI testing” and “speedy divorce”
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...society has tampered with its denotation so much that it is almost incomprehensible without context.
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Every night I say "I dream about you all the time, Nae Ann," but the truth is I don't. I dream about stupid crap at work like air filters for a 2006 Mazda RX-8 GT.
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" . . . the government works for the aliens now, taking over the world. That's why everything's so screwed up."
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The man next door came over with a pitchfork.
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If you stop, you starve//
and they just offer what you do/
to others, starved already,/
and schooled, as you, in servitude.
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if i could i would leave/ my beating heart like flowers/ pumping blood upon your doorstep/ in gory testament/ to the way you make me feel.
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