i could probably get done what i do on the internet each day
in a total of 45 minutes not counting my email checking
but somehow it stretches over a 6-8 hour period.
i do not go out very often
unless there is something specifically interesting to do
though there is not often something specifically interesting to do
By Blake Butler.
>
When I was eighteen years old, twelve people had trees fall on them outside of my dorm window, and they all died, some of them were also eighteen, and I woke up and looked out my window and they were all dead and I went back to sleep.
By Gene Morgan.
I was back,
badder than ever,
to take out the trash;
to kick ass and chew beef jerky,
and I was all outta beef jerky.
By Jack Morgan.
I can feel
her body
pressed tightly
against mine
as our hips
come together;
rubbing and
gyrating –
genitalia now
alive,
thriving
with a life of
its own.
By Matthew Coleman.
Faith finds its best home in others. Too much in yourself, there’s trouble. I’m looking for work right now. Can’t find any. Not how I want it, anyhow. I ain’t shy-twelve hours today, mundane as hell, serving people who don’t even realise they’re being served. I quit one system three years ago only to find myself in another. And graduated out a there, only other systems waiting for me to fall back in. Guess that’s why I’m by the window, having folk heroes tell me stories.
By Glenn Fisher.
That night I dreamt she came home with no belly, no you. Her stomach was flat like before when I used to push the round of my fatness into last year’s tiny pants. The waistband left a red line around my middle like I’d been cut in two. I was always growing and she stayed the same, except for you babies. In the dream she held a rock the size of a grownup’s fist and said it was what she had carried inside. Sans baby she seemed more content.
By Elizabeth J. Colen.
i think of tubes and
information in small pieces and
i perceive a web animation of
computer file folders flying from one folder to another in
a wind tunnel
By Brandon Scott Gorrell.
the pubs, bars and clubs
embrace us and we feel
animated; electrified
for a few hours we’re
away from the working world:
the factories, the banks, the shops
the delivery jobs and the dole
tonight, no one will sleep
By Jim Quinton.
The poet walked onto the stage and greeted his audience.
“Hello I’d like to read you some work from my unpublished collection
A Mountain Of Toe-Nail Clippings Toppling Precariously Close To Young Children At Play, which is when I decided never to read in public.
By Ben Myers.
I fucked a Norwegian woman in a lift
one night
when it was late
(this is a true story, no bullshit).
It was a respectable lift,
a bourgeois lift,
an Oslo lift.
It was a lift
within the apartment block where this woman and myself lived.
(This woman was my girlfriend at the time,
my first love).
By Matthew Coleman.
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