The book reveals as much about the reader’s psyche, about the self and the readers’ reaction to reading it, as it does about the author— this deeply personal thing, a dream, so full of symbols we imbue with our own shared and cultural meanings.

The neighbor comes to my door with my keys in his hand: I'd left them in the mailbox earlier, or maybe yesterday, or the day before that.

Nemo me impune lacessit - pueri et infirmi, qui scripsit in pupa.

It’s not the enormity of the half-eaten doughnut. 

Malek's our man for Malek on Malek

His new girlfriend makes things with her hands. You know. Things. Candle holders out of twigs. A mosaic picture frame out of broken up bits of CDs.

Because I love in the manner of eating I am sure whatever I take from you will pass.

He's lying in bed thinking about his imaginary lover. He's not touching himself, he doesn't think about him when he does, only maybe in the very final moments. 

You gather one brush, one can of paint, one room, and one hand tethered to attention.

As far as structure goes, I’ve always been interested in the way fragments of narrative can play off one another. All of my novels have been puzzles—games—that I’ve created for myself. 

I began my life in a trailer. A black and white shaky construction plunked on a corner some farmer had carved out of an old cow pasture. One silver maple with a rotten core clung to life. I watched the world outside through drafty windows and remember the shade slapping the sash when the wind picked up. 

You ignore the sudden impulse to bash your office mug collection and dance barefoot on the broken glass shards. Instead, you brush your teeth and get into bed because you have a busy day tomorrow!

The man who bought Hitler’s bed did not have nightmares as a child. 

I don’t know if I ever actually listened to Blink-182, but I told people that I did.

This is what Ro’s holy confirmation means. It means she’s a woman in the eyes of God. It means she’s almost done with the eighth grade

You were the hands

Of course the laundromat goes quiet. I glance around. We're all shocked. I catch the eyes of a little girl. Hair in pigtails. She looks scared.

I walk in the mud by the river. The mud is cold. The mud swallows one foot, then the other. It's hard to remove my foot, the mud won't let me.

Woke up alone today in my own bed
after a solid sleep for the first time

in over three weeks, feeling strange there,
almost rested, but not quite, how big

my bed was around me, how new

I used to think my father was a baseball card.

I carve horses out of watermelon. I swallow / fish eyes like gum drops. I pray under / neon chandeliers, string chrysanthemum / in my hair. 

Preparation:

- In pint glass, pour Rumchata over ice. 

- Top with Dr. Pepper or Root Beer, whichever he is feeling.

- Drink through a straw.

i think i was an onion in a former life / i think you chopped me / lord how high were we last night

I knocked your socks off and away they went into another neighborhood, city, state, country, world, and dimension. 

“You should have a drink,” she said.

“I’m going to be alone forever,” I said.

Your content will resume after you answer a brief survey.

How many movies have you seen in theater so far this year?

0

1-5

6-10

11 or more

….

With whom