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Dime

In by Michael on November 29, 2009 at 4:25 am

A seriously hot female. Eyes, legs, tummy, hair, tits, smile, butt, everything, all perfect.

Ten cent coin. Can buy you a few extra minutes at the parking meter.

To rat on someone to the authorities. A cheap move that’ll get your punk ass shot.

Ten bucks worth of marijuana. Gets the job done.

A defensive play in football. Great for when the offense is using four wide receivers.

An assist in basketball. Teamwork makes the dream work.

A thousand dollars. Not bad for a day’s work.

A very precise point. If you can turn or stop on one, you’re good.

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Hobo Cigarette

In by Michael on November 29, 2009 at 3:58 am

Hunt around bus stops and by park benches and on sidewalks outside of clubs and under barstools and in ashtrays outside of offices. After long enough, you’ll find enough cigarette butts. Like fresh snowflakes, each one has its own irregularly smushed and wrinkled shape.

Unwrap each one, one by one, and collect the few remaining flakes of unused tobacco. It adds up quicker than you think.

Get some rolling papers. These are cheaper than dirt and sold at your local gas station or convenience store.

Roll your gathered tobacco flakes into their happy new home.

Enjoy yourself. You deserve it.

Slippery

In by Lara on November 27, 2009 at 3:14 pm

Walking briskly down wet pavement, she slipped and fell. As soon as the blood droplets started to form she looked away. Blood reminded her too much of her own mortality. But she forced herself to look—at the small cuts slanting this way and that, at the dirty asphalt rocks that knit their way into the flat part of her knee, and after awhile she forgot about the disgust, the fear, the anxiety.

She looked up and around to the grey sky and down to the wet pavement. She smiled that she was alive enough to breath, to bleed, to feel.

Things I am thankful for in no particular order

In by Lara on November 27, 2009 at 3:07 pm

Health, both mental and physical

Great friends, ones that have been on journeys with you in the past and those that are currently on the one you’re trekking on now

Family that’s there for you no matter what

Music

Logic

Spirituality in the least expected places

My dog, who is getting older and older and getting more and more white hair on his big dog face every time I see him

The ability to see outside of myself, my situation, my self-constructed world

Mindfulness

Bright colors

Dexterity

Warmth in winter

Guilt-free relaxation

Ability to learn, to create, to do

Grace

In by Lara on November 27, 2009 at 3:01 pm

Honey, will you say a little something for grace before we dig into dinner? Mom just asked me.

Oh jeez. I don’t even believe in god. I can’t say that though. I don’t think I even remember that meal prayer I used to say religiously—hah—like the pledge of allegiance before every meal when I was a kid. Something about bless you oh lord…

Honey?

Um. I stared down at my plate.

I am thankful for health, friends, and family. Let’s take a moment to think about what we’re all thankful for. Amen.

Great grace, honey, Mom smiled at me.

Thankful

In by Lara on November 27, 2009 at 2:56 pm

Son, did you give grandma her meds?

Yup. She can’t have solids yet right?

Only broth for now.

Okay, what about mom? Is she still having her anxiety attack?

No, she drank some water and is calming down in the closet.

That’s good. Is there anything I can pick up at the store for you?

Yeah, can you get me some Nyquil or cough syrup? I think I have the flu.

Oh, no not you, too.

I’m afraid so, son. Your old man is…well, old! Hah.

It’s been a rough year, hasn’t it?

Yes, but we’re all here. That’s important.

24 Magazines

In by Michael on November 27, 2009 at 1:49 am

It’s business week, and, without going into details, I’m an entrepreneur. I know it’s not in vogue in the recession, but don’t be mad that I jet across the Atlantic monthly (it’s o.k., I’ve got a fortune). Time is money, and it doesn’t take an economist to figure out that maxim. I’m an esquire by profession, and both my car and driver are in style. My girlfriend, a real cosmo New Yorker, is good at a whole lot more than good housekeeping.

People, listen: you can’t just sit and watch the world spin; you’ve gotta live life with some glamour.

Thanksgiving

In by Michael on November 26, 2009 at 3:15 pm

Mom and dad are drunk and passed out at the table. Uncle Will says not to expect any Christmas presents from him because he “put a whole goddamn paycheck on the Raiders game and the goddamn Raiders couldn’t get a first down if it meant getting head from the goddamn Virgin Mary.” My older sister is hitting on our greasy neighbor (who’s only over because my parents feel bad for him) who has been eye-fucking Aunt Cindy all night. My little brother spilled half the cranberry sauce on the carpet, the dog licked it up, and they both have diarrhea.

Shakes on a Plane

In by Michael on November 22, 2009 at 12:13 am

“I’ve never flown on a plane before.”

“Oh really? It’s fun.”

“Is it scary?”

“No, it’s kinda fun.”

“I’m scared.”

“You can hold my hand.”

“OK.”

“We’re going to take off soon.”

“Oh Jesus. Why is the plane moving?”

“We’re going to take off soon.”

“Oh Jesus. Oh Lord.”

“How’re you doing?”

“Oh Jesus.”

“Hey look, we’re already in the air.”

“Is this really happening?”

“It’s happening. You can keep holding my hand.”

“OK.”

“What’re those bags for?”

“Sometimes people get sick and throw up in them.”

She closes her eyes and puts her head back. “This is some bullshit.”

Hot and Cold

In by Lara on November 20, 2009 at 2:17 am

I hate warm weather. I love it right now. Cold, dreary. It’s excellent.

How can you love coldness? The sun is so beckoning, so warm.

It can still be sunny if it’s cold.

Fine. But summer is warmth! It brings better moods and longer days and better fashion!

You mean skimpier fashion. What about long coats and fur hats and boots?

Fine, well summer has more colors and flowers and life.

Winter is cozy. It bring people together, and the snow has been compared to a “wonderland.”

But you freeze in the snow.

You burn in the heat.

Hmph.

Hmph.

Wonderland?

In by Lara on November 20, 2009 at 2:13 am

One foot in front of the other.

“That’s right, you must jump.”

Terror grips me. I am so far off the ship, and so far down the plank. There is no turning back, so I jumped.

But I do not hit water. I hit air. Cold, black air. An endless tunnel with operatic voices surrounding me with their music. And after many moments, I fall like shattered glass onto none other than a large bundle of petals. I am tiny, apparently.

“Is this…wonderland?” I venture.

“But of course not,” a large alpaca says, grazing on umbrellas stalks, “you’re in Kansas.”

Itchy

In by Lara on November 20, 2009 at 2:08 am

Steve itched and itched until he could stand it no longer. He gave into the primal urge—the urge to scratch. He scratched everywhere. His arms, his legs, his back, his torso, his head, everywhere until he realized…he had scratched his entire skin off, but not in a grotesque way. No, he was a whole new person, a whole new creature! He had shiny blue scales that lined his bones like armor, and were smooth and cool like a pistol. And he was no longer itching! Hoorah for dino scales! Now he could rawr with the the kids in the playground.

DNA translation

In by Lara on November 20, 2009 at 2:02 am

“I see it!” the small ribosome said, “Look at mRNA over there with her cute G-cap.”

The big ribosome came booming over right away, “yo, tee, get over here and see what my A-game is all about.”

“Oh, I see you, bringing your A-game, and tell you what, I got a pretty excited amino acid here, ready to get super polypeptided up!”

“You bitches, you know you can’t do that without me,” butted in Peptidyl Transferase.

SHIFT!

“Aha!” PT said, “now you, tRNA, can move to P and then to E and get the hell outta here!”

“You got it!”

A Cold Walk

In by Lara on November 20, 2009 at 1:56 am

My extremities were so cold that I could no longer feel them, but I supposed that if I took an average of my entire body, I’d’ve said I was warm. So I kept walking.

“How long ‘til we get there?”

I shrugged. I didn’t know, so it was better to keep walking than make up some arbitrary number to keep this child entertained.

“Hey! I asked you a question!”

I stopped, squatted down and looked the little girl straight in the eye.”

“As long as it takes for a hufflufugus to turn into a minipony.”

“Ohhhhhh.”

And we kept walking.

Practice

In by Lara on November 20, 2009 at 1:53 am

Momma says eye have to practice righting because I’m not very good at it. She says I need to expand my vocabruary a bite more. ‘Cuz I’m a groan kid now. I’m getting big, all right. Yesterday, I ate fore types of peetsa. Anyway, I’m supposed to practice righting, write? So I guess I’ll right about my feelers. And how I feel write now is really exited. Why, you axe? Because tomollow is spearit day for school, and we get to dress up in lotsa bright colors. I’m gonna be a superheroe. Anyway, that’s it four now. Catch ya later.

Monday (These days mean nothing more than a Set Of Seven Stories)

In by Wyatt on November 18, 2009 at 2:53 am

Gerald walked into Vibe Music with a dimple in his cheek. He only had dimples when he smiled. Everything was on sale. And unlike the pesky new franchise stores popping up in the middle of town, when Vibe Music said everything, they meant everything. Somehow you could never overappreciate the value of open honesty over cold capitalism. He found a Pink Floyd remaster and fished out his wallet. He already owned every song but a true fan shows their love no matter what. And maybe they had turned out something different this time. It was so cheap he couldn’t resist.

Tuesday

In by Wyatt on November 18, 2009 at 2:53 am

The inside of a cloud is freezing cold and bitter. Ice so frigid is burns rakes against your skin, as you, the cloudclimber, attempt to resurface and reach the summit. For that is the most difficult part of being a cloudclimber, child. Falling in. Once you’re in, there’s nothing around. It’s dark in there. Clouds look white because they reflect all the light right back out – on the inside it’s a cold, black, jagged hell.

That is why you must never fall into a cloud. Its delightful, wispy shell has lured many a marshmallow loving adventurer to their stormy death.

Wednesday

In by Wyatt on November 18, 2009 at 2:52 am

Potato sacks filled with green beets sit on the dirt curb of a dirt road.

The road shouldn’t consist of just dirt. Perhaps it doesn’t, perhaps it’s just dirty. It’s in the middle of a middleclass suburb.

Watch Mary Soccermom drive along it to drop her retarded child off at special school. She doesn’t stop to notice the sacks of beets. No one does.

No one is willing to sacrifice their soccermom lives and see the beets. Or notice that only this one section of road, in between Fifth and Sixth Streets, is roiling in filth.

But the beets notice.

Thursday

In by Wyatt on November 18, 2009 at 2:52 am

Sometimes the blue wind flows within the trees with all the richness of a tasty deep-noon sky and I look at this petit hill and ponder. Inside of every acorn is a large tree. But inside every large tree are hundreds of acorns. Which, then is more special? The acorn, which can hold inside it a tree thousands of times its own size? Or the tree, which can produce thousands of these tiny miraculous things?

When the wind blows hair into my eyes I smile. When it rains hard, I smile. Mishap isn’t anything like injury. It is a pulse.

Friday

In by Wyatt on November 18, 2009 at 2:52 am

Susan, come get this file from me.
As soon as my nails dry. Yes Ma’am, right away.
Susan, what do I pay you for?
To paint my nails, stupid bitch. I understand Ma’am, I’ll be right there.
Tell me, why does my husband cheat on me?
I’m sorry Ma’am?
Frankly. I feel it must be related to me, so out with it.
Because he likes to taste me. I’m not quite sure what you mean, Ma’am?
Oh, fiddlesticks Susan, fiddlesticks. Everyone here knows. Look at them.
Well you hired them all, Ma’am, you are the boss.
So it would seem.

Saturday

In by Wyatt on November 18, 2009 at 2:52 am

Freedom reigns eternal.

Nothing enters dystrophy without first desiring it. Not a leaf, not a pillow, not a bowling pin. Everything must be dead. At the end of his life, he too would be dead. But he would have to require it. He would have to need it, to feel it. He wasn’t sure what would have to change for that shift to arise.

He bit an unripe apple and held the brown, grainy goop in between his teeth. He swished his tongue slowly through the pulp, which warmed up as he held it in his mouth. Then he swallowed.

Sunday

In by Wyatt on November 18, 2009 at 2:51 am

I must lay my weary head. Before I do so I must count woodgrains on a table, or mold a sculptural representation of angst out of playdough. This way only truly will I sleep the sleep of hollow tubes, will I dream of Georgian fissures swallowing my viscous self, will I encounter small beasts larger than the elegant imagination can hold.

I must do these things. Otherwise…

I am not oh-see-dee, no perhaps I have a personality disorder though. Come and diagnose me, oh thou with a doctorate. You just try. I will be sitting here with my playdough.

A Dedicated Writer

In by Lara on November 17, 2009 at 11:25 pm

The writer sat on the ground for he had no chair. He used a candle for it was nighttime and he had no lamp. He steadied his elbow on his knee for he had no table. And he drank nothing, though he would have appreciated some strong black coffee. He wrote on toilet paper because he had no other medium. And he wrote with a piece of burnt wood because he had no pen. And soon his back started to ache, his feet went numb, and he eyesight became hazy and weak. But he wrote because he knew he could.

An Unforgiven Dinner

In by Lara on November 17, 2009 at 9:21 pm

Verily, my dear.

Pray tell, what do you speak of?

Forsooth, I vouchsafe the importance of this treaty.

Prithee, dear wife, I do not know what treaty you doth speak of.

I crave your pardon! Methinks you forgot the guinea fowl?

Fie me! You, sir, are still tiffed about the foul fowl?

Perchance…

Apologies! Apologies, for godsake. Apologies, quoth I mayhap a dozen times.

(Silence).

Out upon it! I will not stand for this any longer. I pray you find faith in my hands once again.

‘Twas a sorry site, my dear. But yes, good. I shall forgive thee, methinks.

Various Snippets of Various Conversations in the dark

In by Lara on November 17, 2009 at 11:36 am

It’s super dark out.

I don’t seem to remember the stars actually twinkling that much.

Twinkle twinkle little star…

What do you think about this one: If I were a meteor, I would shower you and sparks would fly!

Oh, yay! I just saw one!

Where? I keep missing them!

This would be really romantic if we weren’t lying on wet grass.

There’s another one!

My toes are popsicles.

Wow, yeah that one was raging.

Does Orion’s left shoulder look a little reddish to you?

I thought I saw a slow one, but it turned out to be a plane.

Apples and Peanuts

In by Michael on November 17, 2009 at 1:40 am

An unlikely couple.

He, a Legume from South America. She, a Rosaceous from Turkey.

She, a fearless individual with a red-fierce outer skin deceiving the world about her soft-pale insides.

He, inseparable from his twin, within a brittle shell that cracks to reveal an equally rigid inside.

She loves pies and cider; he loves baseball games and M&M’s. Sauce was always an option for each, but rarely did they mix.

Beneath these stark differences developed a fertile ground for wild romance.

As cupid took aim and shot the slice of apple into the butter of peanuts, the marriage was consummated.

Schizophrenia

In by Wyatt on November 16, 2009 at 12:08 pm

I’m hearing really really scary and bad things. I hear them and I see them.

Reality check!

They are monks, medieval monks, with hoods and cloaks. They have bleeding faces. And they are in this room. They are lining the walls!

Reality check!

They tell me things. You’re a useless good-for-nothing no-good. You’re worthless. You’re an embarrassment to yourself and everyone around you. No one likes you. If you think they do you’re stupid, they’re just pretending.

Reality check?

They’re touching me! One of them just touched me! It’s cold and slimy! GET AWAY. AWAY. REALITY CHECK. I’M TRAPPED.

This is spastic

In by Wyatt on November 16, 2009 at 12:05 pm

Andre– for some reason I don’t have Harley chris and lukes email saved, please forward this to them.

Yo kids. Tonight was legit. And tho I was so drunk I shudnt have remembered my own name, I remembered the lasting impression of how insufficient self expression is when covering ones face with a burka. I will fight unroll you get reimbursed by Stanford for providing me this cultural experience. At every point in the evening when i felt i had something important or socially-relevany to share, i took off my burka. This experience has been markedly influencual. Thank you all!

Gangsta Rap

In by Michael on November 13, 2009 at 3:21 am

The hustle the grime the grit the tenacity the swag the money the loyalty the slang the style the rhymes the beats the airtime the bounce the legacy the remixes the respect the metaphors the rags-to-riches the cars the sense of humor the truth the dance moves the irreverence the exaggeration the confidence the thug passion baby the creativity the tall tees the crisp fitteds the sex the impulsivity the self-reflection the hate the game the battles the movies the graffi the reputations the hooks the gestures the simplicity the Gucci and the Luis V and the Patron the lifestyle.

Public

In by Michael on November 11, 2009 at 10:29 pm

Some people have a problem just being in public. You look at them and their existence just doesn’t make sense to you. You wonder how they operate. You wonder how their lineage survived natural selection. Try as you might, you can’t imagine any situation in which this person could be remotely smooth or charismatic. You want to help them out, but not if it involves getting anywhere near them.

I imagine these people only ever hit their stride when they’re on their own, on their computer, in their room, writing vague diatribes about how weird other people are. Fucking weirdos.

Dear Sleep

In by Michael on November 11, 2009 at 12:47 am

Dear sleep,

I missed you last night. I had homework to do. But I finished!

Did you miss me? Tell me that you missed me. Tell me that other people don’t dream dreams like what I dream.

I’ll see you soon. I’ve been thinking about tonight all day. I had to drink some coffee just so I could stop thinking about you.

You know I need you. Sometimes I wish I didn’t but you know I need you. My eyeballs feel weird and I have no appetite when we’re apart for a while.

I’m going to bed. See you soon.

an affair

In by Lara on November 11, 2009 at 12:18 am

the place smelled of musk and lime

scents reminiscent of that sweet time

and oh, the time it was, so utterly divine

but as usual the clock must chime

and chime it must, and chime it did

but we lingered, we waited

waited for the sign, so inflated

with pregnant pauses that hibernated

in the space between us.

but we still did not move, we did not budge

we were too scared, too old to misjudge

but the place smelled of musk and lime

of the things we do against spare time

of the things we do, partners in crime

Rationalisation

In by Lara on November 11, 2009 at 12:17 am

Rationalisation: cognitive striving for consistency with reason.

There is usually a negative connotation assigned to the concept of rationalization, as often times it can act as a defense mechanism or a means to conceal the true intentions. This is one type of rationalization: one that allows the individual to avoid an unfavorable situation or to go through with one where an individual has something to gain. The other type is positive rationalization, which is used to convince an individual against “bad” habits or cognitive behaviors. This type needs to be much stronger than the former in order to be effective.

The Conference Table

In by Lara on November 11, 2009 at 12:02 am

The CEO bit into an apple and made a face. He had just brushed his teeth and now there was that awful bitter taste in his mouth. The woman across the conference table thought he was grimacing at her and subsequently became insecure about her outfit. She smoothed out the creases on her shirt, but was doing so around her chest, so the CEO thought she was flirting with him. He was torn between condemning the unprofessional behavior and encouraging a little office romance—so he settled for something in between. She blushed deeply. Then they did it on the table.

The inside of a Key

In by Wyatt on November 10, 2009 at 10:26 pm

What goes inside of the thing that is always put inside other things? There’s a title for the property such things, and it is the Russian Doll effect. But few things have this capability, simply because it is difficult and cumbersome to put multiple of the same object inside each other. They mustn’t be the same size, yet as they grow smaller they must appear the same. What goes inside of a key that doesn’t demand or consume physical size?

Promise. Of what is beyond.
Power. To get there.
Entitlement. Over property within.
Love. If it’s that type of key.

Time Isn’t

In by Wyatt on November 10, 2009 at 10:21 pm

Time is an evolutionarily advantageous construction based on memory that allows creatures to better predict the future and survive.

Without the ability to remember, there is no time. If there is no past, there is only now.

And if there is only now, always, then nothing is changing with respect to time because it is always now.

Life is frozen still without memory. Such life is very soon death.

To survive, we must know how to exist in Now successfully by remembering past Nows so we can recognize when similar Nows occur and act fittingly.

Without life, time doesn’t exist.

Dinner time

In by Wyatt on November 10, 2009 at 7:05 pm

I can’t eat until I write eighteen things I learned in school today. Mum said I actually had to write twenty but I’ve already done two, look.

1. Acrylic paint doesn’t actually wash off.
2. Mum likes her jewelry the color she bought it.

I think if I was a fairy I’d want to give myself a tail, a large orange tail soft as a unicorn’s. Then I’d want to fly. But Mum says that’s clichéd. I don’t know what that is but it’s bad because it means I’m not creative and I want to be an artist one day.

Another Place

In by Wyatt on November 10, 2009 at 7:05 pm

I’m flying through nothing very fast, then I land. And I land far from here. Far geographically, certainly; but also far emotionally. Where I land things are different and I too am different. There isn’t, anymore.

Now I have landed.

The plastic store signs are dirty and colorful. Japanese-looking stylized scrawl punctuates each store-front board’s ragged proclamations. There are no people here, yet. I think they will come soon, bringing noise and energy and liveliness. Perhaps not liveliness, I may be beyond that. I feel happier. Happier because I feel safe. I am lost, but secure. And that feels wonderful.

An Awkward Tale

In by Wyatt on November 10, 2009 at 6:54 pm

Here’s an awkward tale from my day. I was taking some photos of a Welsh poet, the National Poet of Wales no less, when an old man barely sturdy enough to perch in a motorized mobility chair sets himself up in the front row. With the ungainly fragility of a freeze-dried newborn calf he makes his way delicately from his transport and into the seat. At any moment everything could go wrong. With offered and entirely necessary assistance refused in favor of upholding nebulous notions of contrived masculinity, he at once plops into the seat. With pride, he carefully farts.

My first doo doo.

In by Michael on November 9, 2009 at 10:35 pm

My first doo doo came out before I did. Yep, I released my first poop inside of mom. And then she released her first Michael into the world. It was a medical emergency whose name I forget.

I was born surrounded in my own poo. My mom thinks it makes me happy to hear it looked more like weird mustard than like poo.

I bet my dad thought it was really gross and really learned what love means, beyond what he learned in Disney movies. I’m not sure if he ever even watched those.

My parents are pretty cool people.

Nearby.

In by Wyatt on November 9, 2009 at 10:15 pm

There is a water bottle sitting on my shelf filled with orange vodka. The vodka is flavored like skittles candy. When you drink the liquid you at once hate yourself for absorbing such an absurd substance, and wish you had consumed more.

How fortunate! There is more!

I might have another dose. It’s like medicine, except different in every way.

Underneath the orange vodka is a dinosaur. The dinosaur is named Terry, and he’s fairly docile. Sometimes he wakes me up in the morning with a quick nip on my nose. He’s only about the size of a house cat.

On the radio

In by Lara on November 8, 2009 at 3:42 am

I’m waaaaaaaaaay dniheb the dampened dam and fortress of foundries…

…the best luck of them all results in

one

tingle

of

charm…

…and then the astronaut went KABLOOOOOOooooooie to the moon…

…But the cigarette posting did not hold,

and much,

if not all,

was lost…

…thoughts come in waves, in centuries of peaks and white surf…

…every now and then I fall flat on my supple face but

sometimes I find that I have fallen into

a pillow…

As the wheels played round and round, they could no longer pretend to be listening to The Radio alone, locked in her room.

Miss Margaret

In by Lara on November 8, 2009 at 3:39 am

Emotions spun around the room like the tails of multi-colored birds as Miss Margaret and Mr Scott sat across from each other in the teahouse.

“My it is a lovely day,” Miss Margaret twisted a ringlet of brown hair on her pinky finger.

“Why yes, it is,” Mr Scott said, sipping his tea absentmindedly but pointedly during the period of expected response.

“Have you spoken to your wife?”

Then Margaret smiled like a peacock with pride and feathers, all aloof in the forest—trees and vines feigning nonchalance. But he was not fooled. No, he was not to be fooled.

Feminism

In by Lara on November 6, 2009 at 2:13 am

“There still exists a dichotomy between the two culturally-created genders, and despite the so-called progress we’re seeing today, men and women are not equal. In the workplace, in virtually every realm, women are subordinates to men. Women deserve to be treated fairly, with respect, and as whole individuals. Women are not just vehicles for breasts. We are not just pita chips and hummus or carrots for ranch dressing. Or strawberries for chocolate fondue. You need to learn to appreciate everything. And I mean it. Learn to eat us as a whole.”

“PMS-ing much, honey?”

“Shut up, Bob.”

“Want chocolate?”

“…yes.”

Wanted: Best Friend

In by Lara on November 5, 2009 at 3:56 am

Looking for a best friend replacement.

Desired Qualities (heavily recommended, but not necessary if you feel you can bring more to the table):

Doesn’t talk too much

Has hair that doesn’t thwack people in the face

Makes jokes that are actually funny

Knows how to repair pants that he/she has borrowed, worn, and ripped

Likes to do things I do sometimes

Knows how to care for plants without killing them

No flaking on commitments

Likes cheese (this is the one deal breaker)

Won’t eat my food without me looking

Hasn’t murdered anyone and doesn’t plan to

Isn’t Frank David Smith.

Qu’est-ce que je fais?

In by Lara on November 5, 2009 at 3:46 am

Le matin de demain est certain—oh, putain!

Je me sens un lapin qui n’a plus du bon pain

Mais que’est-ce que je fais? Jamais été née!

Non je serais le plus riée, je ne serais pas trop gai

Je pense, je rigole, je vais à mon école

Et je ne serais pas rien, rien qu’une babiole

Mais ça ne fait rien, rien rien RIEN

Ça c’est serieux, verité, la mienne, la mienne!

Mais alors, que’est-ce que je fais? Jamais agirai?

Non, c’est bête, morbid, et il faut déraciner

Tout ce que j’ai dit et rien que j’ai pensé

Rien plus.

Translation:

Tomorrow morning is certain—oh, fuck.

I feel like a rabbit who has no more bread

But what do I do? Never been born?

Non I would be the most laughed, I would not be very happy

I think, I laugh, I go to school

And I would be nothing, nothing but a trifle

But it doesn’t matter, nothing, nothing, nothing

That’s serious, the truth, mine, mine

But what do I do? Never do anything?

No, that’s stupid, morbid, and I must uproot

Everything I said and nothing I thought

Nothing anymore.

Coincidence?

In by Lara on November 5, 2009 at 3:25 am

A man stepped on a piece of gum on his way to work. He cursed as he tried to scrape it off by dragging his foot heavily on the concrete, gleaning annoyed glances from passerby’s. But it wouldn’t leave, so he decided it wasn’t worth it. The gum collected more and more debris as the man walked on, and oh boy, did he grumble. As he walked into his office, grumpier than ever, there was a great hubbub. Apparently a man had been knifed upon entering the office just a minute before.

The man reconsidered his feelings about the gum.

Someone Pillaged The Pie

In by Lara on November 5, 2009 at 3:20 am

The pie was sacred: made from the blood, sweat, and tears of the people, and some god-awful denizen rose out of hell to steal a piece—a piece that would have caused eyes to drip tears of delirious satiety. And this abysmal excuse of a human being didn’t even have the mental capacity to eat the glorious thing. No. Instead, he or she placed it on a plate, zapped it, and left it in the microwave. And THEN, he or she covered it with half a calzone, the inviable hybrid of pizza and hotpocket, and four chicken nuggets. I am disgusted.

Rehab

In by Wyatt on November 4, 2009 at 8:11 pm

It was cold, so I got bored. No, when I get bored I get cold. Don’t know which causes the other. I was bored, and cold too, and there was some activity. It was an activity happening. And I don’t know what activity it was, because I wasn’t paying attention. But there was a writing on the wall. There was a writing on the wall it said “Be in Jesus”. And I thought, how. But it didn’t say more than just that. Be in Jesus. I think maybe someone changed the letters around. But I don’t know. I was cold.

In some bar

In by Wyatt on November 4, 2009 at 8:06 pm

“These are rough times, Jerry, the roughest.” Toilet paper was stuck to his upper lip. I don’t think he noticed.
“That’s original, Bol,” I said back. “Where’d you come up with that?”
“They told me, that’s where.” Bol had an easy way about him, for a top-heavy ex-cowboy from west Nebraska. “They told me and I listened because I’m coy.”
You’re coy. What? “You’re coy?” I said.
“I mean,” he chewed his bottom lip, “I’m savvy. I know what’s up.” He squinted and his eyes disappeared behind a pockmarked visage of leathery wrinkles.
“Then you know you can trust me.”