1342 7 2
|
If I should stumble into cheerfulness/
remind me of all the business models
|
134242
|
1. Lost in the Vision Matrix, J0hn Clare transmitted a distress signal designed to be audible only to himself.2. T S El10t ran on a complex algorithm that produced seemingly fragmentary results. However, if you run Imagewise an underlying order appears.3. C0ler1dge suffered…
|
134100
|
destinies bring me to a damned desert
|
134130
|
Get a Hold of God
Get a hold of God, will you?
I have seen a lot
I saw
a Great Dane
licking the dew off
an orange bird of
paradise
Get a hold of God
and tell him that
Get a hold of God
and give him a piece of
my m
|
134131
|
NO IDEAS FROM HERE Tape The knife that tore the envelope tore the apricot. What was it? Water The boxes ranked against the open room. Watch So it was cut the water bright the tub. Say …
|
134154
|
Suddenly, the room was filled with a screaming vortex directed at a pinpoint in the corner. Timmy's bureau was gone and everything loose in the room was flying towards the spot it had occupied. Timmy stood up in horror. He tried to seal this rent by tossi
|
1341137
|
Expose those for whom freedom is greed.
|
134164
|
It's not stories the quiet lack, but inclination...
|
134110
|
machine utility of thought,
intangible aesthetic of sentiment.
|
134172
|
and the President didn't call.
|
134161
|
I remember one time that summer I was with you (1964) going to a bar in maybe it was Melrose Park, or Northlake, or somewhere along Roosevelt Road closer to Chicago, not as far as Cicero though. I went there with a crazy gear-head named Roger Hudson, wh
|
134100
|
Welcome to the world of (un)reality television. He/she who dies with the most stories wins. Another kind of religion. The Church of Being Famous For Whatever.
|
134100
|
I hate buying shirts. There's no point. You need a shirt, you go to the library.
|
134187
|
The rat had been informed, assured, cajoled in order to gain his assent—duly lied to, in other words, by the researchers with not one tear of remorse, with no smudge or smear of conscience . . .
|
134053
|
He slathered the glue on my scalp and talked non-stop about Harlem. Electrodes or nodes, I never asked which, would measure something inside my head. I doubt they actually did though, measure anything. I've had the pleasure of having wires glued to my skull before and have…
|
134041
|
CALENTURE The horizon is marked with the still sculptures of dead gulls; A young man floats off slowly on the…
|
134000
|
this is your hair, this is your stare, this is your voice
|
134021
|
In college, I made friends with my Jewish roommate. Her name was Leah and she was from Brooklyn. When she asked me home with her for Thanksgiving, she mentioned we could go to synagogue together. I asked if there would be other black people there. "No," Leah…
|
134065
|
Posit butterflies/
as evidence of heavenly design.
|
134084
|
He thought of it as magic, but magic that he understood, the way a magician knows about the hidden compartments in his hat and trunks.
|
134063
|
When nothing's coming in All I have are fragments Cloudy memories Uncompleted projects Disappointments loom large and threaten to define me I am only as good as what I produce And now I feel empty So how do I shine How do I find the spark that…
|
134031
|
This is a very impromptu piece written at two in the morning based on a prompt from Meg Pokrass, who insisted the following words be used: fussyhairybloomingslipperyflutterdamppaleweedsyanking “Maxfuss” was his password, which was appropriate,…
|
134042
|
—Man, what a tearjerker way to end an interview, said Ben.
|
134033
|
No preview available due to the brevity of the piece. In fact, this comment itself is longer than the piece.
|
134052
|
“My name is Violet,” I add. I am trying to stop lying. Going without cigarettes has been easier.
|
13401411
|
I. The sun's corona. Empty boxes near the firehouse. Red birth. A bird's lost wing. II. The bitterness of littleness. Apples in a pile.Early love.A spider, swinging. III. A father's harshness.Twelve bills unpaid. Leaves in a crevice. A dream…
|
134033
|
No, your clever costume won’t protect you.
|
134060
|
Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my phone?Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my phone?Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my phone?Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my phone?Where the fuck are my keys?Where the hell is my…
|
134000
|
Wait a minute, said Ben. What do we really know?
|
134000
|
Famus Peepul Ellen and her boy, Larson, were on the second floor of The Monsters restaurant, searching for the fortuneteller. Larson had decided her signature was a necessary addition to his autograph book. He hadn't asked for her autograph…
|
