Most read stories

Birth

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In the early days of the atmosphere there was less dirt, and the rain had trouble falling. There were no stoplights on earth, only rivers of white light. Early man and birds collided in the upper air, because everything was clear and light like a feather.

Pro and Contra in Sepia Black

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From decade to decade, editorial opinion swings and sways as to whether the fault of volubility resides chiefly with the practitioner or with the lawless company he keeps.

The Summer Of My Beautiful Idiocy

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In the summer of '68 my father persuaded me to go visit my grandparents on their farm in North Dakota. I had long hair and dressed like a French symbolist outlaw. Took the train to Minot, spent the night in a hotel (watching Your Cheatin' Heart, movie about Hank…

The Sinking Boat of Evolution

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Living dangerously, I left my house with no glasses, no umbrella. I also forgot my straw hat, no purple dye for my gray hair, my map of the world to come,

Beckoning Silence

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Your silence is beckoningDrawing us nearThere's truth in a silenceCome over hereTell me your secretsTell me your liesTell me the reasonWhy happy clowns cry...And put on a show for the people to seeAnd why people watch them and want to believeThat the illusion is real and…

A Worthy Caws

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It started with crows. I'd walk the switchback trail to the top of the park with its outlook of the city and if I didn't see any crows I'd whistle and they'd come swarming from everywhere. I'd give the peanuts a toss and the crows would caw their heads off and peck at…

The Dream to Build a City

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I tried to drain the ocean But only got a waterfall I tried to drain the sky But only got a thunderstorm I got lightning I got rain I had to build a city By blowing on the palm of my hand The sands rose up The dust blew away And all

everybody knows

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If ever there was a fire left smoldering, it was you. If ever there was a chance in hell to fan the flames and break out into a bonfire of the vanities, it was you. It was you in a heartbeat, and it was you for all time. I knew it the second you entered

Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?

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Marcel Proust had never been to a big-box store before. He was dazzled by the sheer size and scope of the store and the seeming impassivity of the shoppers. So many products, so many shelves, such strangely intriguing examples of the human condition. The people seemed…

we were just dolls

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I had a dream where everybody was dressed in paper. By the end of the day there was a long line of people waiting for new clothing, since what we had on was torn to shreds during the day. Our uniforms hanging from our bodies. We all looked unwrapped. Pa

And in Chicago Yet, and It Was 108*

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It was the middle of the night when she started hearing voices. She thought the voice was saying, “Hello Dolly, Hello Dolly,” and that was when she called the building manager. It was the middle of the night, but he came up to her apartment anyway, be

am I still alive, yes

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She read her briefs as she sat at the café table in her smart dark blue suit, and she altered the wording on the briefs in front of her, and she would check the watch at her wrist as if there were a pulse there: Am I still alive, yes. Am I still alive,

Happy Absurdist Halloween

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Sure I dress funny sometimes, but I have an excuse–I don’t give a shit.

some god

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I remember a painting of a young girl (this could have been me) who had just given birth. She was almost smiling while she slept. Her upper lip was violet with exhaustion. One hand left up behind her head where it was thrown during the exertion of birth

Excuse Me, There’s Some Suspicious Activity In the Men’s Room?

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Someone has locked themselves in the large stall They’re smoking one cigarette after another And pulling long stretches of toilet paper off the rolls God only knows for what purpose And yelling for anyone who’s outside the stall To go get them

Music

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Without a creator

Hunters

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At fifteen...

Summertime, NYC

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We would walk to the gallery opening along the Highline, looking in all the windows in the evening, hoping to see life as it’s lived in the moment, the flesh, the mystery, with all the clothes of unreason removed, hoping to see the exposed nipple and the

The Silken(revised version)

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tentacles of stringy rains opens up the stage antics for this common February day to the fidgety audience at hand but it appears that they just won't be able to grab on, not this time. The familiar grumpy wind with…

Hey, Pistolero

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I'm complex. You're complex. We're all complex.Who gives a shit? Man's fallen and he can't get up.I consulted Jacques the Atheist for advice: he toldme to beat it. "But I lack the proper stigma!" I cried.Once a month, I volunteer at the dressage parlor.On Tuesdays, I…

The Cliffs at Fayburrow

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Whatever the world is it is alsoyou. This leaves me smiling. I'm glad you arein it. I'm glad for the deepest colorblue like the Mediterranean sea,for instance. Baby orangutans. Forclouds and mushrooms and seahorses. Songs fromtreetops. Whatever the world has it has…

The dream diary of Anna Perez - page 63

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I came suddenly awake and the rain was beating a furious rhythm on the rooftops, like a thousand shaken tambourines, like a thousand angry mojaves.

Sex Change Operation

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Her condition was giving her the blues ‘Cause her gender, was slightly confused.

They Come and Go

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Days come and go. Faster through the years. Falling like Christmas tree needles, the longer the tree stands. The days will eventually end. Only one day a year is special. Even when we say we are too old to notice them, we do. We know they are there. Even when we…

Cortizone

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so i slather cortizone on the bite marks of my experiences

Pebbles

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On weekdays the two walked,The man in front and the boy always behind,Away from the borrowed house and the kachina dolls inside.Neither of them said anything.The boy thought of things that just wouldn't come out,and the dirt road was always just wet enough thatThe man's…

When the Germans Were On the Roof of the World

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Hand shaking as she drinks from her cup, talking non-stop on her cell phone. Blue eyes, dirty blonde pigtails tied up with blue ribbons, pink polka dot shoulder bag, old pock-marks along her cheeks. Having long discussions over the phone wit

Who's Going To Clip the Toenails of God?

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Who will plume the chicken? Who tend the little flower of the soft person? Who steal the pea out from under the bank while you’re holding it up?

le flâneur passed by worlds

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I’m wearied with these tired Potemkin façades / these elaborate gates for alleys all blind / worn out with walking into dead ends each time.

Skull and Bones

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“Okay, so I'm lying naked in this coffin with my big dick out,” George W. Bush says. “Yes!” …