It has been speculated that his failure to become either a recognized artiste or a blockbuster director is what ultimately led him, when the opportunity presented itself, to upload his consciousness.

Vicki's scream echoed in Michiko's ear, an unwelcome earworm.

How many extinctions can we claim?/ Is someone keeping score?/ Somebody needs to keep the score

Run up and down the hill shouting Hollywood! Hollywood! Hollywood! Order a penis size enhancer for everyone in the neighborhood. Invent theorems for the unrivalled glory of eggnog. Get drunk on utter futility. Pack my favorite suitcase with tree bark…

There is some debate about what kind of twins they are. It’s a fissure between aesthetics and science.

He will later claim he knows nothing of the girl’s disappearance and that I was the last one seen with her, which will unfortunately be true but not the real story…

That evening, my friend and I were at a McDonalds'. It was late in the evening, and we got together after she sent me a text message she meant to send to someone else. I got a burger. She got fries.

At night, I watch TV shows with fictional characters who lead my life.

Hardly a soul could pin him for creating the vehemence that found a streamule to her pen if she wrote in cursive or a fanjet to her keyboard if she typed quickly and satisfyingly in print, employing eight fingers and two thumbs—

The memory fades so quickly, It makes me wonder if it ever really happened? Then I have to create something new from scratch to fill the space Yeah, there are patterns, and sudden movements that pass for recollections, but couldn't they as…

I found Mathew face down, cold and ridged like a plastic doll. I had overslept because he never cried—never told me he was hungry. Rodney had to peel my arms from around my son so the paramedics could take him in a blaze of flashing red and white lights.…

Listening to old friends speak the same way, the same things tells me they have been dead a long time. They are in their form of living, their self, there is no new season of growth. I witness each of them continue on the same path because it is familiar

We creep the hill, flat on our bellies through yellowed grass and stone, black dirt grimed on our bright faces like powdered war paint. We are sitting ducks as we approach, out in the open like this but Cobb believes no one will be watching this side; it

are speaking clear enough, through their open and bleeding wounds, for you to at least try and understand. Waving their massive arms like living lighthouses, bobbing in and out of the floundering waves, they are splashing out an…

There's a whole pack of us, men minted from hot brass and thumbtacks. Too tough for sensibility's sake.