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I lived for a time on Red Square in Berkeley. You may have heard of it. It was run by Von Rotten (that’s just plain Von), who was considered the Vladimir Lenin of the Foul Language Movement of Poetry (FLMP, pronounced “Flimp.”) They even went so far
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All of a sudden I felt a hand on my neck. I jumped up from my chair and turned to face my brother Darrell, with his surprisingly white shock of hair, the result of all the drugs he'd been experimenting with, back in his mid-twenties. He was even taller
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I arrived at Yaddo, the prestigious artists’ retreat, in the summer of 1941. With America’s “day that will live in infamy” several months away, my own day of infamy began the second morning of my residency.
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"What's the matter Daniel, you think you're going to get Hannah to like you? I'd eat dog poop before I'd believe my sister would have anything to do with you."
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Though attracted to her first husband's (Soul L87F-056) love of outdoor activities, after their sixth year of marriage Soul suspected that his "hockey league" on Thursday nights was actually another woman.
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But the rats that stood before me now were lean and squint-eyed, looking sideways at me and sizing me up in terms of shank, brisket, flank, tip, and sirloin.
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Chapter One In the Woods Everett Finn liked white-bread sandwiches. In June, Flora forfeited all her free cafeteria lunches to sit with him during his quiet lunch breaks in the classroom. "Eleven more days until graduation," she told him. He sat…
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Soon I’ll be 66.
I have outlived Ernest Hemingway
and Curt Cobain,
two of my heroes.
I never tried sleeping my way
to the top of the literary heap,
as others have done.
I’ve won no prizes.
My work goes unrecognized and
more often t
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"Dad, I already told you about your wife. She’s not coming."
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While the tea was steeping, Ms. Darcy unwrapped the package. The book was lovely. It had nice heavy paper and the print was a good size for reading. The cover was glossy and not too showy, and Ms. Darcy thought it would look just right on her shelf.
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She hated the noiseless dying sound they made as he stuck the hook through their eyes. She always wanted for them to scream, but they never did. They didn’t even blink.
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It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t scary. It wasn’t great. And it never is with people.
Except..eventually..when you meet the right person..it is.
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1. If anybody tells you that this story isn't true they are lying. It is a true story; I am lying if it isn't, and I don't lie. It's the story of me, Ms. Emma Wakeling and the Winter I was holed up with her and her two girls, Noranbole and Urine. What a Winter! It…
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I knew I shouldn't have joined up!, but they made it all look so glamorous in the posters. That mustachioed man in uniform,…. it was as if he was pointing right at me,his eye's piercin me soul….. made me feel ever so special… ‘Adventure!, Excitement!, and a…
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Benton showed her his old room, a shrine of old posters and records. But it had been cleaned out, made to look like a guest room. “Kiss me,” Benton said. “April.” “That was just a name, so don't get any…
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