Most read stories

Pitch Meeting

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Someone shoved over a table. A little girl started crying.

A Raisin in The Sun

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I was about sixteen or seventeen when James Miller had a stroke and died. He was a friend of my father's and a preacher-guy. The last time our church had been that full was at the barbecue the weekend after the church was built. Somehow, the structure went…

The Etymology of Fun

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Tell people of substance the truth.

Suicide Consulting Hotline

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We exist to facilitate/ successful conclusions of hopeless lives.

No Exit

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The bar was packed. Fascinated, Tom watched the shenanigans going on around him.

The Memory

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The old lady is losing her memory. She forgets people's names yet so familiar to her. A little sheepish, she takes her basket and walks to the village. Just like when her legs were young, suntanned, shapely and attractive. Along the footpath, by the shop windows, over the…

One in the Numberless Series of Requiems

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We perform our chosen duty— naming/ beauties and atrocities within

Manifesto of ism

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We walk though the streets of London, New York, Paris, Prague, Barcelona, Skegness, inhaling air heavy with metaphors, eyes set alight by the microscopic pyrotechnics of quotidian symbols hitherto debased by the outmoded conventions of a bankrupt civilisation decomposing in…

Video from Cairo

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The view from the tenth floor of Ramses Hilton hotel was depressing. A restless crowd undulated between the wrecks of tanks and armored cars. JOURNALIST: Hey! I’m dying here, and you admire the views?

There Is No Glass

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I'm a heathen in the church of the absolute.

Story to Forget

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The white Boeing 747, all three hundred and sixty eight seats of it, prepared to depart from Johannesburg Airport. Mild conditions on a clear flight path coupled with the soothing voice of the first officer didn't allay my unease. I offered a friendly nod to the…

A Little Man on a Rainy Corner

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He is sitting in the infinite rain and the water is making him some infinite silhouette

Black Friday Crime Scene

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Her name was Christine and she was nailed to the cross of their lust and their greed, and their vengeance

Donkey Kong

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Don’t get me wrong. Maria Shriver is hot, but her angled face makes me think a knife thrower is out to get me.

Black Widow - Snack Whore

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“Psst."I paused in my tracks as I walked in front of the building where Two Doughboys used to be.I looked around. The streets were deserted. I saw the big “For Rent” sign in the empty window where the sweet smell of pizza used to emanate. “Over…

Halfsies

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You and she might make love here, next week, and I'll buy my own razor, switch from baths to showers. I shave my legs in my imagination. They, like life, are smooth.

Time. Stop.

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So young. So innocent. How do you tell a little one that her mother is dying? The father seemed to be bathing in a sea of hopelessness lately.

13 poets in Hell

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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…

Matchbox Car

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Clatters and clatters ensued, and the splash destroyed all denial.

Your Guide to a WASP Bar Mitzvah

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“The first thing you must remember,” Polly tells the Levensons, “is that every penny you spend on your guests is that much less you can spend on your horses.”

1

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Years ago when the smart of it was as nippy as this one.

Buzzard

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what lies, in my eyes

Staying With Mattie

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I invited Henry to go out with me and Marge, suggesting he ask Ellen who he dated a while back and who still asked about him, but Henry shook his head “no” and said “out things” were just too boring at our ages — and besides, since his…

Project Undeath (Work in Progress)

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The moon bulges with meticulous sick amber fire while first night’s chest heaves and sputters free infantine monstrosity from plague-wormed hovels, din mold choked grottos, and stale metal-cast labyrinth catacombs.

Max Beckmann Poem

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the unutterable things of this world

Things That Are Sad

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Things that are sad.

Some Things Can't Be Fixed

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Orchids strewn over the floor...

In Which Mad Dog Kicks French Women's Bony Butts

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If Mad Dog were interrogated by female U.S. forces in a combat-riven no-woman’s-land to see if he was really an American, he couldn’t name the most recent WNBA champion.

Bearable

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"Don't be dense."

Trying to remember something else, I recall supreme and utter solitude in a far off time and place

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Before the war...