Most read stories

Old Beat-Up Trunk (containing a History of Forgotten Paintings)

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The world can still be viewed as a honey drop of sparkling rain, but not all washed up tears can be revealed as such. The stories swirling inside are constantly shifting their own gears, searching for the lost highway, and sometimes…

The Bad Bed, 2011

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Im in bed. Bed. I look at the word bed written on the screen. Bed. It looks like bad but not quite. Bed-Bad. Bad-Bed. I have a bad bed. Lets say my bed is bad. It is a bed to the extent that it is bad. It is not good, it is bad. It is a bad bed.

Five Million Yen: Chapter 36

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Ben panicked momentarily. Which passport?

Starlight Standup

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They wink at me as if to share/ a cosmic joke whose punch line’s still/ a couple dozen light years out

black

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my soul is black and it's deep like heartbreak and heavy as stone and as thick as ink and it is pressing on top of me like last nights one night stand like dead weight so that I can't lift my arms or spread my legs it feels like I am walking through mud but it's…

PTSD

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the queue for hell

The Last Days of Summer

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Their laughter is of a tiny world that knows nothing of taxes or lost loves, or news reports of flag-draped coffins filled with limbs.

WE TURNED THE SAFETY OFF

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It’s not like I could tell anyone. I hum a song my mother sang to me as a child. A dressed-up soprano to calm the tail I’ve grown.

My Stigmata

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“Don’t you think you should tie a tourniquet or something?” she asked as I bled profusely from the points where Jesus was wounded during his crucifixion.

remembering

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I remembered because the man took us to see the horses. I didn't see something that set off a series of memories. I only saw the stables and the moon sitting pensively below the firmament. I looked at these and there was spaciousness between the moon and the stables and…

Hype and Melancholy

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Sonia banks on hidden things in the minds of other people, whereas I bank on what I know.

Where There Be Monsters

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“C'mon Billy, don't be s-s-s-s-scared.' said the voice coming from under the bed. Billy looked over the side and saw a pale white, bony right hand with it's forefinger beckoning him protruding out from below. The nails were yellowed and cracked. And long. Very, very…

Philip and Gene

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Our lives are lived backward in memory...

President Liz

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I fancy myself a spy. Unofficial official of the H. O. A. Super secret free agent agent of the Glenwood Homeowner's Association. Even the board is unaware of the work I do in their name, without the faintest utterance of their name. Only the highest of the high, the…

Outré Souls (WIP)

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When the lore of the land could no longer hold the minds of men, they turned their eyes to places where they expected to find no other gaze.

Going on Account

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I study the architecture of hunger. I listen to intuitions. I have a map of heaven and a map of hell and they are the same map.

The Busy World is Perfectly Happy

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to continue to crumble its way through another grinding cycle of slowly walking to the edge of the universe ancient treelike beings, like gentle ghost buffalo, and our own thundering buildings by the hundreds of thousands, …

Carmen Rental

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But in 1991 Carmen developed a heroin habit and was forced to sell her powder blue, convertible Mercedes 500SL...

Confidence

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one day the words will form an order, one day the words will make a rhyme, one day the words will make a meaning

leyh (they say)

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and then he began to sing, along with the ghostly villagers

April

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Well, hello hunger: what a sweet surprise.

Paul Steven Stone Goes Topless

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Breaking News: Noted local writer and very minor celebrity Paul Steven Stone joined a growing list of talentless wannabes to bare skin and a hint of nipple in a shameless attempt to draw attention to his current blog posting. When asked how far he would g

A Writer Abroad

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Here’s an obvious fact: I live in Germany, but don’t speak much German. Okay, I speak very little German. Truth be told, hardly any.

In This, Our Life

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Her captors allowed her the use of the toes of one foot. It was hard to pretend she was numb—as if playing an artic game indoors. With the ball of her foot, she primed the canvas. Her big toe acted as a fan brush, the rest were sable, flat, or pointy. She told…

in the sun

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an artist sits in the sun moving fingers through long hair

An Excoriated Sensibility

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The machines of her perception/ tuned themselves to frequencies// that peeled her skin and fatty tissue

Thanksgiving Carnage

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The game is set, thirty pound gobbler at the center; brined, browned, and buttered to perfection. The players take their places around the table: Reagan’s_Disciple and BraBurner38 sit at the head seats, eyeballing each other over a fizzing bottle of dom

The Glass Bowl

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I caught a fragment of a charged argument as I passed them. The young man said, “Well, I am talking about love.” And the young woman with equal volume checkmated with, “Well, I am talking about money.” Though their lives were none of my business, this exc

The Prodigal Son

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A minute later, a shadow appeared across the left-hand page of the book.

Five Million Yen: Chapter 70

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Ben left the airport and headed toward downtown Nice, his stomach was in a knot.