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the sour waft of a secret
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1Paradise Lost is cast into the lake of fire. Satan tells John Milton to rewrite it in 140 characters or fewer.2Filippo Marinetti languishes in a dismal rural idyll. His hand, possessed, scrawls euphonic odes to the moon with a quill.3Henri Michaux floats through the…
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The Argument: A couple of young female lovers, one slightly older than the other one, decide to part ways. The elder has contracted a terminal illness, and they decide the best way to part ways would be by joining together through a suicide pact.…
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Have you measured the cups, the conveyors' yield? Do you know the span? I am the LORD your God, she murmured.
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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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We exist to facilitate/
successful conclusions of hopeless lives.
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In the living room of a model home, Mr. Jorgensen lived. He was a mannequin. He spent his days in display windows. He spent his commutes displaying the latest model cars.
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"Psst! You can't hide behind a broken dream.The gardenia's hint that fills your air with her perfumed scent will remain like a residue on your mind. I wish there were an antidote I could share with you, but alas, my apothecary drawer is empty. Many times it's been my…
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Frank was about to take the first bite of a chicken salad sandwich.
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Today, I am almost entirely self-coincidental, though I still feel a lag lurking somewhere.
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"Shouldn’t I be able to easily get my arms around nothing?”
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Touch these words with your mind. They will create an elephant with an unidentifiable itch.
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Walking down an unfamiliar street, / I heard a sudden caw of crows, / some thunder afar, strums of a lute— / a streetcar came flying along.
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Clatters and clatters ensued, and the splash destroyed all denial.
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What the five-year-old I baby sit for wanted to do yesterday was torture his Barbies. “Why would you want to do that?” I asked.“Because we're bad guys!” said Hanina. “Can't we be good guys?”“Not today. Today we're bad…
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It's important to sound
human, I know
To get fragile
near your
mother
I myself
get glimpses
now and then
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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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How much sucking, faithlessly, can there be? The body being a night thing off which steam rises, that attracts like a magnet or loadstone, whose curls attract, whose ringlets or tufts of touched hair between the legs glory up the nightly watched miracle,
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She wakes up lip-syncing the remnants of a dream: the throb of cherry blossoms, the whine of lotus flowers.
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Your cairns/
are litter in the streets
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She woke before the sun was up to brew a pot of coffee. His eyes blinked open as he lay in bed smiling, smelling the fresh coffee mixed with marijuana smoke. He walked to the living room and sat next to her on the couch. He rested his head against her shoulder.…
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It's called the Knee Defender. But I prefer to think of it as the Schmuck Identifier.
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these dead letters for you... and then they withdrew...
something happened on the way to shabriz...
my fingertips fell on their knees.
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It must be nice not to have to worry About certain things because those things are not yet In your circle, or in your circus, of life. I don't begrudge you for being almost grown in A much different, sweeter place and time. I'm thrilled By…
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It’s quite simple - don’t move.
No fake or feint - just stand your ground.
The fixed gaze, the thousand yard stare, hold your place.
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