Stories tagged personal

Do I Want to Be a Writer ?

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Kafka himself espouses in diary entries and letters to Max Brod on the idea that the price for the passion of writing is equal to “service to the devil”. His belief was that there are two kinds of writers. One who writes in the daylight writes “sto

Have You Seen This Girl ?

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And it struck me. You needed to be on the side of a milk carton. 2 percent of course.

A Science Experiment Called LOVE

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Scars shine like jewelry. Under the microscope of introspection. Two opposite poles possess positive and negative. all along the borderline between the true and false.

Martini Business

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He didn’t get the idea of dialects, but on those nights he heard broken Italian from the owner of a restaurant and gathering place for celebrities and men in sharkskin.

Homecoming

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Pion's long fingers fly from black to white, white to black, without missing even a measure. The nocturne starts soft.

Three Love Poems

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We will love like dogwood. Kiss like cranes. Die like moths. I promise.

Care-lessness

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We moved on past the events of quiet rage, subtle acts of suicide, less subtle acts of calm homicide as people imperceptibly became willing to do more heinous acts than they were yesterday.

ANYTHING FOR JOHNNY

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After nine months, I was granted early parole...

Flipping Off People With Romney Bumper Stickers

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“Hey,” I begin, a naughty smile breaking across my face before I can get to the punchline, “Want to drive around flipping off anyone with a Romney bumper sticker?” Kaleb chuckles and beams at me. It seems everyone likes a good girl turned naughty.

ALL THE BASTARDS AND ME

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The apartment was a second-level place, so I went down the steps and looked through the stained glass window of the door. “Ah hell,” I said to myself. Raymond Carver and John Fante and Charles Bukowski were outside. I opened the door.

Personal Hell - I'm Not Scared, Just Disappointed

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Satan is a wide-eyed Pollyanna mime who communicates with a ventriloquist dummy that corrects my grammar, speaks in internet acronyms, tells me that I’d be a lot prettier if I just smiled more and lost fifteen pounds, and nags me about how all my problems

An Open Letter to my Fictionaut Family

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Dear Fictionaut Family,Some of you may recognize my name and remember reading my work, some of you may have joined more recently and be wondering what the hell I'm doing addressing you directly. I began writing on Fictionaut in 2010, during four years as I was fragmenting…