Hero or goat, The Closer holds fans’ hearts in his hand.
To have and to hold, every moment of living, in every corner of the world. Journals, poems, blogs, for Michael Kasdan, they’re all portals to a new world, and a new experience.
John Tinseth remembers the first older woman who caught his eye, and the first time he made his father laugh.
In his latest story collection, writer David Ebenbach plumbs the depths of parenthood
In Christie Chapman’s latest story, a pregnant man reflects on the unexpected gift of life.
“He wondered if the reason he felt momentarily complete during coital orgasm was that he had convinced himself that he was once again inside the womb.”
“I was Mickey Mouse, but just for one day. Not because I’m good with kids, but because I fit the suit.”
What if I told you that the stories you create are more about you than they are about anyone else?
At Hotel Shinjuku 510 in Tokyo, a man who sleeps in a tiny capsule, six and a half feet long by five feet wide, said, “You get used to it.”
The old gals were all married. There were online photos albums attesting to this fact. Some of them even had babies!
How do you know who is a good man? By his acts.
Two drawings against a wall seriously several media mostly camera.
must punt on 4th down. Must leave soon. Go drink coffee with the boys. Go Trader Joe’s. pick up something for my brother’s birthday. Nice desert. Birthday card. Ate black beans yesterday started fire in kitchen pan in flames I cool say WTF, God? Flames go down lucky kicky kick luck. God everywhere I know. …
You Do Elephant ?? Who do love inch ?? Say Confuse ?? WherebyWherebyDink Donk another girl getOut your bicycles mad ass her assIn sandals ISuck tea examining her coffee, Around, the blank Who say what ??Who say ?? Another confused critic I, I I, I I. the no-choice sun breedingThe makeup on women I wear makeupToo…
Uh Oh SulfurI couldn’t tell whether the sulfur smell was coming from the air conditioning of my car, or from her perfume. Then I thought maybe the smell wasn’t her perfume or the car. I thought maybe it was her sweat mixed sadistically like a witch’s brew with some God-awful women’s deodorant in her plump…
Chapter 3We were in downtown Istanbul, spies pinging all among whores and prostitutes for 29.95. I had one, maybe two; the government frowns upon federal fornication in Istanbul.Still don’t have a plot. Maybe a murder mystery. Fuck this spy shit. I’m all baked potato and the sun has not yet risen like as Hemingway said. …