There are two kinds of stupid in the world of smoking. The first kind includes anyone who smokes – knowing well that it is likely to cause terrible pain at a later point in their lives. The second kind includes the people who tell the first kind that sm

leave a trail of potential weapons dropped from your shaking hands. you must always make it easy for him to follow.

"And you’ll forgive my sayin’, your Maggie’s in heat, and if ya want to keep her you’re gonna ‘ave to fight. To be sure after this they’ll leave ya alone.”

He inhaled all these sensory impulses like they were so much illuminated, fluorescent pollen which jostled for space with the strong aroma of coffee in his nostrils.

Sunday mornings my mother got up early—and dragged me kicking and screaming out of bed and into my nicest jeans and sweater. I have still never thanked her. (I’m borrowing, of course, but that doesn’t make it any less true.)

She's always sitting in a soft chair watching television with little stars dotting her elbows and lightning bolts on her wrists.

You are lonely. Let me tell you about the smell of the rain.

While I had believed that the subject had been exhausted, that the bottomless pit of the individual navel gazer had been done to death, now here arrives How To Find Yourself to show that previous literature had only scratched the surface of the belly butt

Could sampans fall upward, sailing from the bottom of the Earth? If so, which way would their sails bend—up, or down? And would the strange China Sea follow suit? Would salt water geysers spurt from the hole we dug, flooding the streets of Seattle?

my exposed flu-ridden head

I laugh too loud cause the world looks good that way and for a minute we both make funny sounds just to exercise our vocal cords and see how close we can come to the line without crossing.

He's Eric Roberts, the stalker and eventual killer in Star '80.

Wow. I’m just going to say it/ That’s one ugly little girl you’ve/ Made for yourself. But now someone/ Will miss you when you’re dead.

It had been Tom at the wharf who strode over to greet me, his friend Tom with the small spectacles standing at the bar. “Write it when you get home,” Bella said. I was wearing the same beads.

1. The clouds and the shadows of the clouds. The early light, like the night undressing herself revealing pink beneath, underneath the glory and the intimacy like early love made of arms only arms fingers and…