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.
You gather one brush, one can of paint, one room, and one hand tethered to attention.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
Preparation:
- In pint glass, pour Rumchata over ice.
- Top with Dr. Pepper or Root Beer, whichever he is feeling.
- Drink through a straw.
I carve horses out of watermelon. I swallow / fish eyes like gum drops. I pray under / neon chandeliers, string chrysanthemum / in my hair.
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.
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
A lot of people had just given up. Other people had made survival plans. Schmitty and his folks were holing up in their basement with shotguns and rations. He asked if I wanted to join them as he was allowed to bring one friend.
"This isn't like going to Hershey Park, Schmitty," I told him, "I'm staying with my family."
The baby is adorable, and I wish she really was mine, I was really hers, and this was a picture my wife took, my beautiful blue-eyed wife and my beautiful blue-eyed baby.
Remember when every stray dog was a love story and the snow that night cleared the crust that had gummed my eyes shut? No, me neither, but fuck it. Let’s get lit one last time.
I think everyone has heard this a lot but it’s still true — read with curiosity and hunger — reading is as important as writing, more important, probably, when you’re first starting to write.
Growing up I never saw road kill. / A government worker was paid / to take the bodies away / and nobody’s day was ruined by death.
On a Tuesday morning in May, everyone in Spokane, Washington woke to the smell of pie. It was blueberry – sugary with a hint of vanilla.
