1118 4 3
|
While the shadows of lives that once were still hid away, others who survived tried to stand on their own two feet and walk the distance again and tell what happened and what it was all like.
|
111833
|
The sun was a dish of burnished courage
|
111743
|
Gun Notches
Working Stiffs
Garlic Torch
Dog Crouch
Menbrain
Membrane
Ein Zwei Drei
Fake German Soldier
Wet Tissue
Tissue Paper Pants
Tough Stain
Adam and Evil
Closed Loophole
Wait For It
Fiscal Cliff and the Cliffhangers
Repu
|
111762
|
It dawned on herthat her imagination hadswollen beyond belief
|
111700
|
Italian authorities seized $1.9 billion in "green" investments made by La Cosa Nostra to launder money. Reuters
|
111700
|
We huddle behind the bedroom door and hear the swish of dad's belt as he yanks it from the pant loops, our backsides clenched.
|
111700
|
But in the dust bunny there was an equally relentless and sneaky foe. A brilliant General that silently marshaled its troops under tables and chairs, in obscure, shadowy corners, and along the unsuspecting flat surface of things.
|
111732
|
And then I heard
“Yea, for I have seen the Father
The Son, and the Holy Toast”
Okay now, something up was weird
|
111732
|
|
111733
|
"..sneezing repeatedly into an obviously saturated cocktail napkin,.."
|
111766
|
Look. There's just you and me, that's all that's left. All the rest of them had already given up a long, long time ago. They dropped their precious, colorful dreams like rusted railroad lanterns, like abandoned pumpkins, and littered the Twitching…
|
111722
|
|
111600
|
“Well, Danny, what do you want for Christmas?”
|
111611
|
The name he was using this time was Paul Sterling.
|
1116127
|
If you ask me I'm thinking I'm just blowing off some steam, some hot air that doesn't add up to the old cliche of a hill of beans. A hill of fucking beans.
|
111622
|
By the basement washtubs, I watched him skin a squirrel:
|
111640
|
The news just now that you are dead
|
111600
|
“What can I do for you?” he asks Dan, who then rolls up his shirt sleeve to reveal a list of names etched into his arm, with lines through them, like a scrawled timetable on a prison wall. The last name on the list is the only one without a strikethrough
|
111651
|
If someone told me like people do / that I am a good person / I will never believe them / mostly because I own a mirror / but also because I have lived with myself / for the rest of my life
|
111612
|
The Sunday sunset slowly simmers the sea.
|
1116149
|
... and August's drought/
will yellow lawns, singe the shrubs,/
and amplify cicada song.
|
111611
|
Oriana, much as she wanted to, did not sleep with Francesco, propriety ruled.
|
111632
|
|
111645
|
Their relationship had proved volatile. The husband had gone missing. The wife had gone dead.
|
111622
|
The new members were asked to stand up and say their names. One obnoxious, pushy woman from L.A. stood up and said, "Ama Torrent, and I'm an alcoholic."
The roomful of people started murmuring.
Suddenly a man in his late fifties shot out of his chai
|
111601
|
Snow is falling like ashes. I know they're hot and cold. One leaves black streaks on my cheeks, the other tears. Maybe the ashes were falling with the snow, not enough water to put out the fire, just to stir the embers. If you screamed I couldn't…
|
111620
|
Fabulous birds perched nearby, where we were. In their memory there goes the little god, original, in the midst of it all, happiness like anything near the river-mouth. Letting yourself dabble in the femaleness of it. In the lower world or on the playin
|
111644
|
The world's anxious fire breathing mob still wants in, but they don't know what in the smoke they are looking for. They aren't really thinking in that intellectual direction. All these wonderful, friendly books you see do not hold the answer or…
|
111600
|
"Too many people were presenting themselves in a false light on lunch dates,” she says. “The power ties on the men, the come-you-know-what-me pumps on the women–that’s not what married life is about.”
|
111511
|
Writers, in general, enjoy the solitude that their profession allows, or more precisely, requires. I consider myself a member of that generalized group, along with a more exclusive club of writers who also tolerate an occasional…
|
