Stories tagged surreal

Her Ennead

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Her baby is a furred thing, alternately bristled and then soft. She hopes it isn’t shedding, wonders how she’ll ever get all that hair out of her if it is.

How to Make Love to a Woman

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There's just no pleasing her.

El Funcionario

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The man looks into the round face and tiny eyes of the lawyer and sees a brown pig. He wants to smack the son of a bitch and carve him up with the letter opener on the desk like a leg of Jamon Iberico.

Scrawls From My Blue Period

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The following was written under disagreeable circumstances, in that I was present for them.

Twin Moons

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Stroman first saw the moons when he took Lisa’s blouse off. He did not call them moons when he first saw them; they were merely identical crescent-shaped crimson discolorations at the tops of each of her breasts.

Ain't Comin' Back

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He told of the wilting heat, the fulgent landscape, the people....

The situationist(s) à la crème.

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Cut 4 cm-thick strips from suburban bouncer's deltoidsPlace 2 vegetarian piranhas in the oven......Preheat with a cup of wonderful love affairsCombine interactive art in crowd control operationsAnd persistent genital arousal disorder in a saucepanWhisk together survival…

stinking nightgown

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Frank says if I eat the whole bowl of live crickets he’ll give me five dollars and his grandfather’s silver bullet from the war.

toupee

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It wasn't until about 2:30 that my hairpiece began mauling small children.

The Ending Tastes Just Like the Beginning

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He promises me night-time napalm and arsenic-laced locum. He promises me absolution or a shudder of respite. His words draw open my face and he promises me nothing at all. -His voice is seductive as a gold filigree gift-box proffered in long ivory hands.…

Though the Heart be Still as Loving

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With my heart preserved, I shoved a handful of baubles back in its place: some pages torn from my favorite books, a bass guitar string, a butane lighter, a shot of vodka. I stitched myself back up and left the roof in favor of the attic, where I hung my s

The Nightly Dance

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The electricity animates my body into myclonic dance. I do not rest. I dance with the demons; I dance with Nijinsky rage. I dance with the fury of Saint Vitus and his wooden cross. My shoes are fashioned with my own fear, tanned and stretched over my feet

Music That Tastes Like Blood

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It is your music that makes me want to crack open my ribcage and rip out my heart as it still beats, to cauterize my carotids, and shove the mechanical insides of a clock into my thoracic cavity.

The Old Man and the Shark

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The shark’s voice was dark, warm and scratchy, like dying embers.

Child of Night

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The dark is my enlightenment. The night my awakening day.