Are you mad? Always a trickier question than it looks.
And if you’d swap your metalife for a bone clock’s snatched, wasted, tawdry handful of decades!
An Anchorite was a girl who lived like a hermit in a cell, but in the wall of a church. A living human sacrifice, in a way.
All the seats were taken, and I had to squeeze into a three-inch slot. I lost my balance when the train pulled away, but a human crumple zone buffered my fall. We stayed like that, half fallen. The Di...
All rising suns set, Archivist. [...] All revolutions are [fantacy, lunacy], until they happen, then they are historical inevitabilities. [...] I was not genomed to alter history, [...] no revolutiona...
Adverbs are cholesterol in the veins of prose.
A wrongheaded world, sighed Shiloh Davydov, where women needs must deny their gender for fear that their ideas will be dismissed.
A twig snaps. I am intensely alive.
A trio of teenagers, dressed like Prostitute Barbie, approached, drift-netting the width of the pavement.
A salaam aleikum. The elderly Irishwoman has a foamy cloud of white hair and a zigzag cashmere poncho. You wouldn’t cross her.
A rocker rose like Poseidon and flexed his knuckles.
A no-name place, as far as I could see, but it had a miserable cafe-cum-garage-cum-funeral parlor shared by a gang of silent locals and many flies who wheeled through the air like drugged angels of de...
A man like me has no business with this substance beauty, yet here she is, in these soundproofed chambers of my heart.
A handful of gems from Somni:One's environment is a key to one's identity.An impulse can be both vaguely understood and strong.What is knowledge for, if not used to better our/one's existence?My IQ ma...
A book you finish reading is not the same book it was before you read it. Girls are the same, too, perhaps, in the morning.
A big fat zoo of snorers is snoring in all different rhythms
Where there's Hilo, oh, there's blissweed.
His deceased wife, watches her husband from the photograph on his console desk.
It's hard to describe a psychosoteric battle at close quarters..... Think of those tennis-ball firing machines, but loaded with hand-grenades trapped in a shipping container, on a ship caught in a for...
. .my dreams are the single unpredictable factor in my zoned days and nights. Nobody allots them, or censors them. Dreams are all I have ever truly owned.