Who Dunnit?' profoundly expresses the theme of confusion against a funky groove, and what makes this song so exciting is that it ends with its narrator never finding anything out at all.
The topic on The Patty Winters Show this morning was Has Patrick Swayze Become Cynical or Not?
Someone has already taken out a Minolta cellular phone and called for a car, and then, when I'm not really listening, watching instead someone who looks remarkably like Marcus Halberstam paying a chec...
Julian’s not at the house in Bel Air, but there’s a note on the door saying that he might be at some house on King’s Road. Julian’s not at the house on King’s Road either, but some guy with braces and...
I feel I'm moving toward as well as away from something, and anything is possible.
I am a ghost to this man, I’m thinking. I am something unreal, something not quite tangible, yet still an obstacle of sorts and he nods, gets back on the phone, resumes speaking in a dialect totally a...
How easy it would be to scare the living wits out of this fucking guy. Kimball is utterly unaware of how truly vacant I am. There is no evidence of animate life in this office, yet still he takes note...
He’s the boy next door, aren’t you honey? No I’m not, I whisper to myself. I’m a fucking evil psychopath.
Fear never shows up and the party ends early.
Danny is on my bed and depressed because Ricky was picked up by a break dancer at the Odyssey on the night of the Duran Duran look-alike contest and murdered.
Cualquiera que fuera el interés que compartían se evaporó tan rápido que pareció no haber existido en absoluto. Robby se nos acercó penosamente bajo el destello de las luces del centro comercial y de...
Courtney, I warn, getting furious, if you just said what I think you said: that your lithium is in a carton in the freezer next to the Frusen Glädjé and is a sorbet—I’m screaming this—if this is reall...
Certainly, in the spring of 2013 I hadn't fucked up as many gay lives as Bill Clinton had.
But... what about us? What about the past? she asks blankly. The past isn't real. it's just a dream, I say. Don't mention the past.
And as things fell apart Nobody paid much attention Talking Heads
Akthent on thee latht thyllable.
When I look over at Luis in one brief flashing moment his head looks like a talking vagina and it scares the bejesus out of me...
Suddenly I’m seized by a minor anxiety attack. There are too many fucking movies to choose from.
And reduce the influence of political action committees.
And like in a movie I appear in front of the D'Agostino's, sale's clerks beckoning for me to enter, and I'm using an expired coupon for a box of oat-bran cereal and the girl at the checkout counter--b...