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This story* is brought to you by
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We got a sandwich at Mr. Pickle's, but they cut the sandwich in the plastic. Plastic wrap.
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I would drinkbut Iam unfortunatelychainedto a senseof selfpreservation.
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Hi de ho, and hey, hey, hey; The farmer's daughter is made of hay. I went to touch her but she blew away, And noo ma hert is nae langer gay. Hi de hoo, and how do you do? The farmer's wife has a cold up her flue, And takes me away…
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What are our reigning philosophies today, what dominant schools inform and lead our intellectual efforts, inspire our blissful reveries, inflame our breathless humanity?
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Life ascends gradually—just like they always said. I stop counting on immediate transformations—the overnight best-seller, instant enlightenment—and instead focus on what I can do: Writing a little each day and making it to Mass on the weekend. I even giv
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One fine afternoon a few months after her husband's death, Susan awoke in the porcelain tub of her gigantic, empty house with: two champagne bottles, one only half-empty; a Xanax bottle, completely empty; and a loaded gun, which was most startling
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he thought of her / longingly
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Unapproachable... for all that.
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That’s a long time/
to live with the certainty/
of your death
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Some life in Rosco's walls. He listened with his dead wife Sonya's stethoscope: rustles and scratching, a collective heartbeat.“Vermin”, said Vlad, Rosco's neighbor. “Will take over if no kill.” He smiled with one tooth, urped some vodka. “I…
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I was talking to this famous female artist
at the reception, (as if I knew anything,)
“If you want to be taken as a serious artist now,
you have to have one long serious eyebrow.”
There was no reaction. So, I said:
“Also, you should kn
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I realize the kid is still smoking. Shocked, I tear the cigarette from his mouth, throw it to the earth, and grind it to death with the heel of my boot.
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Author's Note: I will assuredly persist in this pretentious literary endeavor-my first admittance of honest intentions-unless I am taken violently ill, a disapproving rodent chews through these pages, or I forget.
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I shall go with german rules of capitalization in titles today.
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IA prophetic mile from the towering hill,tombs of ages lie.I open my eyes; I am stillin hieroglyph dreams of histories,nearby moans the sea, cold as usual, consecrated.Something created, destroyed,then in shadow, remade. The shore spouts forthold silence,…
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Time has wings. They are bright and beautiful, like those of a butterfly. They are delicate wings, and they carry the years away from my decaying mind. I would break those wings if I could, for tomorrow I turn seventy-three, and I grow weary of their ince
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At the week's end, memories may come to you Of weekends same as those just gone before, That fade away from seeing as a tide's grey flue, That vanishes once travelled to a shifting shore: Still, hope you'll know a girl for an hour anew, One who fades…
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A proper study of human history should
lead the student to an inescapable desire
to commit suicide
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“Paroxysms, well, what in the hell’s a paroxysm?”
“I think the better question is what kind of name is Gentry, Gentry?”
“Yes, that’s a better question. Do you really want to know? I was named after my grandfather, Ol’ Gentry Jones Filips III. They
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(I woke once from a bad dream to throw them from the drawer, but my hands were so clammy, the coins stuck to my hand! I had to scrape them off my palm on the edge of the table.)
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Accidental suicide, though. Why, that could happen to anyone.
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A day will come when silence spells what nothing else could. It will come to feed those things no autumn can. And when that day is over we will go through a period of bereavement, pray we won't recover fully. Not everything is a…
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Moonless sky of stars, silently flickered by bats, with constellations defined and bold. The curve of the plough matching that of your shoulder, as if it were a decoration.
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She lies on her stomach by the side of the pool staring into her towel. On her back, I can make out a pastel isthmus, surgery's pink art or charlatan's scab, I can't tell which. She is beautiful as rare roast beef is beautiful.
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