Stories tagged fiction

December 15, 2012

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Already, I can see that, whenever Harold moves, some of his soul escapes, like an accidental exhalation, like breath on powder.

My Crush on Daniel Ortega

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Time advances. One space between words, two between sentences. When I'm not working, I rehearse the language of newspapers: teez, pica, reefer, jump, hed, sig.

Magic X

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I twisted the nozzle and lit the alcove in yellow light. It was somber light. The light of alleyways in Brixton. I was in shadows, as I liked to be. An empty egg shelf split the yolky top from the dark underneath.

Magnum Opus, or A Portrait of the Artist as a Dead Man

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Imortél and his masterpiece looked deeply at one another: both were nearly complete.

Going Green

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It was a curious little thing—a small wooden box, about a foot in any direction, unvarnished and imperfect, with a couple of knots in the grain.

Prehistoric History

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Adam Jones wanted to become a caveman.

Bread, Fish, Serpent, Stone

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"Hey buddy. Hey! Ain't you got no place to go to?"

Famous Female Artist

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I remember being sent a picture once from one of my old roommates, Louise, back in Chicago where I came from. The photo was taken when she’d come out for a visit to California. In the picture I am sitting on the front stairs of my house in the Rockridge

Cats

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Whenever I put one over on my wife, she gives me a look, then curls her fingers and scratches the air.

A Locked Door.

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I look at that wall, it has piss-stain yellow paint and water scars from several years of leaky pipes. I say I wouldn’t mind that, if he took out some of that wall.

Wipe Your Feet at the Door of Sex

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Jackson ran his sweaty hands over his vintage cowboy shirt hoping testosterone would iron it.

Estranged

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He kind of enjoyed living by himself. It was nice and peaceful.

Lenin's Paintings

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I was going through Lenin's jewelry and his paintings with a team of experts. I got the idea that I was hired to verify his paintings, although I didn't know he painted.

One Night Below Climax

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It was 4pm, and Harrison Ave had on it two churches and sixteen bars, making it…

Sissyneck

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He pounds the roof of the Pontiac with the side of his fist and it rumbles like a timpani. He raises his head to light and wipes the sweat from his forehead. There's no sense in fighting it. He will go back and knock on Peter's door.