She whispered his name like a prayer, fingers already fast at work in that swampy heat between her thighs.
Since the Industrial Revolution, we’ve treated our world like it was a hotel room and we were rock stars.
Sorry. The shard clinked.
The Many-Worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics posits that all possible realities exist. That everything which has a probability of happening is happening. Everything that might have occurred in...
The funny thing is, as bad as I am, I don’t have it in me to murder her husband. Is there a fate worse than being halfway evil?
The idea of Wayward Pines was always more important to him than the people who called that town home, and I’m sorry to say, it was more important than any of you.
The search for meaning was the cornerstone of human disquiet.
There were moments when you saw the people you loved for who they really were, separate from the baggage of projection and shared histories. When you saw them with fresh eyes, as a stranger might, and...
Theresa wipes her face and turns away from the window.
They haven't been unhappy these last few years, quite the opposite. But it's been a long, long time since she felt that sense of giddy love that effervesces in the pit of your stomach and spectacularl...
Time is an illusion, a construct made out of human memory. There’s no such thing as the past, the present, or the future. It’s all happening now.
Twitter and Facebook. Ethan didn’t miss those things. Didn’t wish that his son was growing up in a world where people stared at screens all day. Where communication had devolved into the tapping of ti...
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth; ‘Then took…as just a...
We are so fucking lost. Literally adrift in the nothing space between universes.
We are spread across the country now, old and dying or dead already, and we have mostly acclimatized to the absurdity of daily life in the fourth decade of the twenty-first century, although occasiona...
We associate reality with the tangible—everything we can experience with our senses. And though I keep telling myself there’s a box on the South Side of Chicago that can take me to a world where I hav...
We have fumbling, groping, backseat-of-the-car, unprotected-because-who-gives-a-fuck, protons-smashing-together sex.
We’re all just wandering through the tundra of our existence, assigning value to worthlessness, when all that we love and hate, all we believe in and fight for and kill for and die for is as meaningle...
What might have been and what has been Point to one end, which is always present. Footfalls echo in the memory Down the passage which we did not take Towards the door we never opened. —T. S. Eliot,
When every memory contains a universe, what does simple even mean?
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