The phone owner pre-writes his or her dying words! The app stores them and releases them at the moment of his death!

Tell Bono I want my seventy bucks back.

I'm in awe of her frankness, how she takes my breath away, how I wish to rush off with her to a splendid hideaway where only the two of us touch the grape-stained mountains and the cerulean sea, wild blades of grass quivering with the breeze. Sometimes th

That was before Cohen died. Castro died. Castro Died should be a title by Samuel Beckett. Once I nearly went out to buy a bass clarinet just for the purpose of playing along with Leonard Cohen.

I'm delighted to report that I've come up with my own school of thought. It's called, "Dress Like a Cat Until You Get What You Want."

She drew her hands out of the chest cavity and looked at the clock. ‘Time of death,’ she said.

Being simple like this, knowing a thing is done by doing.

flash read. have fun *cheers*

the observation, at the end, more/ important than the being there—

“Too perfect.” my therapist intervenes in assurance, “You did enough, really. More than anyone else would.” I know the subtext is that I possibly did more than I should. My appointment is coincidentally later that day, after his goodbye letter arrives in

one numberless character, an army of rants marching one by one, sand by sand, we move mountains this way…

The corpse lay silently in his open casket. Dressed in the finest silken suit. Italian. Rubber skin pulled over his bones. Arms folded in eternal prayer.

Please direct your attention to the flight attendants as they demonstrate the safety features of this aircraft.

The waters rose / on the earth

strumming on the pipe/blowing on the lute's body/drumming on the horn.