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CarbChewer
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Memories of melodies. Of that shitty Taylor Swift song that played ad nausea on the hospital radio stations tuned to DJ's that sound more hungover than enthusiastic. The schizophrenic shaking his head side to side on each line. The patient who lived three lives singing off-tune and kilter to(more)
"Keep the dream alive, motherfuckah," the large man says, watering his petunias.
"Answer-- the second daily double. In 1602..."

"The Mississippi Basin. L. Ron Hubbard. Sacajawea. La Pont Du Mont. Oprah Winfrey."

"What is The Mayflower." (more)
Don't lose sight long light your long face rolls. Of squat equines of roots do show their minds of bark and tendon lines where I can't yet decide. The strength of men lies where cowered in their mother's sights of tears in streams, torrents of muddy waters-- screams in(more)
Let's make love on the back of a whale somersaulting over the moon, thick as thieves as we weave  into writhing ribbons of color and energy that paint the quiet moonlight in rainbows of God himself come to take light on his creation. Cum twice, set me back a light.(more)
The judge folded the bills into the envelope, licking his thumb between each one. Nineteen, twenty, fifty thousand. Small by his mark, but enough to swing the verdict.

And thus, Julian Rusk was released back into the world trading his prison orange for his casual greys. In th(more)
It hit me like that pathetic feeling when you watch your ice cream cone melt onto your shoes.

"Trampolines... trambampoline... Fuckin' I meant tambourines."
(more)
They circled the fire, stamping their feet and banging on trampolines like gypsies on some pagan holiday. The flames licked the skies in arcs tinged with the faint memory of sunlight-- solar flares in the darkness.

The group was nude, as nude as the day they were born(more)
When I wake up she's gone. An apparition twisted away to nothing when the light crosses the pillow. Warmth on my face, a lingering cold beside me. Her face a blur in my memory, distorted behind a veneer of whiskey and low-quality weed into a haunting visage of my(more)
A million little pieces of glass across the floor. He tracked through it, unthinking, with bare feet. Most people claim, or lie, that after the first wave of real pain you can't feel the individual prick of a new hurt. But each piece, each shattered fragment of that broken(more)
Only in this aching night would he discover the enjoyable work.

In the days to follow talk would spread about his time in the woodshed off past the Grainger property. It stood dark red against the browned autumn grasses, still leaning slightly to the east as if i(more)
The cold steel maze of hallways of the Bastion stretched out before him. Where salvaged works of art once hung on the walls now scorched and riddled with munitions fire. Doors to shops, doors to homes, schools, kicked in and looted. Blood on the floors. The body of a(more)
I often ask myself if it's possible to be bad at life. Though, I'd also say that's an easy question to ask when you move home with your parents, have trouble finding a job, and are so far removed from what friends are still left in your hometown to(more)
"Folk used to say it was written up in the stars for all to see. The end of days, the Scouring, the times where all on Earth would fall into ash and decay. Buncha shit, if ya ask me," he spat on the floor of the guard post-- an(more)
I had written for the first time in ages for up in arms.

When I pressed submit, it fucked up, deleted my text and changed to opalescent.
(more)