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Bernhard
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I don't know if we ever really touch each other, or just approach some imperceptible limit.

Even if we were together, electrostatic forces would keep us apart.
(more)
Over these 25 years, I have spun the time between drug-fired comas cultivating an exquisite sense of self-loathing.

Augustine of Hippo may not have originated the idea of body horror, but he was the first person to craft it into a professional identity - so I'd like t(more)
Every year, this time of year, some consonance of storied darkness and hibernal seclusion casts a pall on my thoughts.  Spring is still too far away to offer more than its condolences: the passes are frozen, ice-tires recommended until April.
(more)
Waterboardz: The Game of Enhanced Interrogation Technique

Contents Include:
1x game board: plywood door, unfinished.
4x restraints: Gore-Tex, waterproof. (more)
"Linderman. Lord how I hate the name - like a worm worrying at my gut. That's just it: a meek little worm, who's managed to burrow himself into the fattest damn apple he could find."

The stenographer's pen lifted itself hesitantly from the paper, as the heavy-set man(more)
Mr. Weberneck took off his coat, and eased himself through the living room. Navigating the arrangement of antique globes and floor-lamps, in the dark those familiar profiles loomed with foreign presence - possessed of some malignance. Just the sort of uncertainty imbued between boundaries of the definite and the(more)
The truth behind a good story is always the truth that tells it best. Herodotus knew a good yarn when he heard one, and it earned him a pedestal as the Father of History.

If four years worth of lectures, colloquiums, seminars and research projects have taught m(more)
Fucking Jacobins, out on the front lawn again. They knocked and knocked, revolutionary ephemera in hand: pins, tiny headless keychains of Marie Antoinette.

I hope there isn't some sort of call list.
Dear friends: It is only now, a cup of chamomile tea and my back at last to the Puerto Vallarta, that I begin to write this story. The beginning, yes - but the end...why the end has not yet even begun to ponder the turns of its own dread(more)
"Back in 30 min."

The folded card-stock sat comfortably on its desk, which had been pushed to the back of a chair and up against the alley-bricks - perhaps to give the impression that this particular seat was reserved for some private, if opaque, enterprise. The sign could(more)