Stories tagged nothing

Nothing At All

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The ice in my drink provides ample cooling. The brew strength of my tea is just such that it combines in a pleasing fashion with the melting ice. My mind is clear and my belly absent hunger. I am completely sated from any physical desire at this very mome

A Bupkis in Gary's Bonnet

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uncush­ioned by the under­wear and inflat­able party dolls packed in the suit­cases that now cir­cled below, wait­ing for the Sad Men on Vaca­tion Society of Kamloops


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I got nothing.


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I dream about the boy in The Neverending Story, the gate of mirrors, and the Nothing, a dark cloud that floats in the sky, takes away everything.

Storms at the Door

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My Mother always said that a storm was death knocking.


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ON GETTING NONE I wanna fuck a none, wanna fuck a zero, wanna eat summa that cipher pie. I wanna get into the habit of nothing at all, crawl down the neck of an empty, set the clock back inside my daddy's cock to before he wet the face of that bloody…

Blank Light, Wooded Light (ELECTRIC DELIRIUM 1.7)

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Ships tumble, cars crash, horns gulp water, bombs burst up from the ground in a halo of screams.

13 fragments of a somniloquy, overheard by a burglar lost in the basement complex on midsummer night

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1. there's nothing more to say about it and I don't want to be drawn2. beautiful she couldn't hear me anyway I was desperate and there were moths3. they'd replaced his head with a picture of the moon he looked4. none of them were speaking English more like a ticking a…


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OVID OVULATING INTO THE VOID When my name is Ezell the Weasel, I sport for boutonniere a teasel. Drive around in my diesel, allaying fears of the measles by taking out, in the mind, an easel — to support a canvas that shows…

Failing Once Again to Imagine What Was before Space and Time Exploded into Being, the Amateur Cosmologist Complains

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Something// always intrudes,

The mannequins are only playing dead

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at nightthe mannequins leave their glass prisons and hunt owls in the forest***sometimes they dance a slo-mo tarantella in a clearingbone-white …

Cube of Boxes

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You could not only hear, but feel the pulse of thundering traffic from a flyover that arced a quarter of a mile from the communal lobby of unpolished floors, multiple letterboxes and dehydrated ferns in various plaster pots.

Improvisation on a Theme of Absolute Absence

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Perhaps nothing has never existed;/ perhaps something always has

Against Nothing

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To be free of pain. Is that what we all want?

Autobiography 22: It’s Not Just the Income

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Unless they leave you comatose,/ it’s the disasters you remember.