Cherrypicked stories
Love it or Leave it...
You never trust a fucker who can't look at you straight. He enjoyed his job, you could tell. He used to tease the animals.
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- 821 reads
Galba wears the Purple
Poem
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- 2179 reads
Terminal Two: Eighth Episode - Executions Will Continue Until Morale Improves
Started during a particularly dull autumn, the war with the Chorizo was originally conceived as an antidote to rising existential indifference amongst the Maranaloka citizenry. Authorities hoped that by introducing a fictional external threat they might provide enough of a draw to stop people noticing life's essential crappiness, and, for a time, the ruse worked, hapless drudges drafted in to construct and operate ranks of gargantuan roof-mounted cannon while pamphleteers stalked the streets, crowing baleful warnings about the 'hidden' enemy, insisting the Chorizo had never been seen or previously heard of because they were 'sly'.
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- 1042 reads
3. Mad Mack's...
Sunday 4th December 2005 ' 9:37 pm ...and so, Sunday night at the local, to swamp my miseries. Or so I thought¦ Mad Mack's (The Mad Mackeral to give it it's full name) is the only decent pub in town. It's opposite the clock tower on the seafront, at the apex of a triangle formed by Prospect Hill, Wrack Alley and Eastern Esplanade. The bar is correspondingly v-shaped, looking like the prow of a ship cleaving through an ocean of maroon carpet: Public Bar to port, Saloon to starboard. There's no dividing wall between the two, though. It's just a matter of furnishing and decor. The Saloon is cosier, with its sagged-out armchairs and nicotine-sepia'd pictures. The Public, on the other hand, has red leather stools and a juke box (a genuine Rock-ola 'Bubbler', complete with arching neon tubes and original 50s song list). There's also a TV set in the corner, a fruit machine, a pool table and a dartboard. These last two, given the snug size of the bar, overlap each other's floor space to some extent. If both are being used at once, the players of one have to give way to the players of the other in turn if dart-punctured buttocks or cue-shafted arseholes are to be avoided.
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- 1050 reads
Terminal Two - Seventh Episode: In Which A Camel Explodes, Impressing No One
'Eliza! Please!' He tugged at his lace ruff. 'A man can't live on politics alone. Can't you see I'm languishing? I need¦ I need¦' Drake motioned with his palm but no words came out, his throat dry-retching silence. 'Look ' parrots mate for life. Did you know that? And they come in beautiful colours. No wonder you never see a parrot doubled over with grief. They have love, Eliza. Genuine, heart-crushing, artery-constricting love.' He looked out over the city and his face twisted with rage. 'Why aren't I a parrot?'
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- 1092 reads
On the train to Sheringham
People text and drink bottled water
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- 1438 reads
A Caeser Salad With No Dressing
.....
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- 995 reads
California Diary 9
Santa Barbara: 16th August 12.25pm Basildon Bonds. Even here by the Pacific Ocean. I have stayed in hostels before. Done my time all over Australia in1999/2000 with Jane. So the moment I walked through the door here I knew the score, the rules, or the lack of them. The mess and laziness.
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- 1504 reads
Everybody keeps ruffling each other's hair
I first saw it at the zebra crossing
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- 1140 reads
2. Small Town Sunday Walking Blues
Sunday 4th December 2005 ' 5 minutes later Out of the Square I go and east along the seafront into the gusting afternoon ' my shadow loping off ahead of me like it's anxious to get somewhere. The sea's the colour of cold snot and as rough as a shag in a dock-side alley. But the air feels good ' stinging my sinuses like a snort of chilled vodka.
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- 952 reads
P.S.
Afterwards, on grief's ebb, I sorted her things into sacks. In a back pocket of her weekend jeans, on a store receipt, was a list she'd written the day she found out: tickets rubbers
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- 909 reads
Undercity
Rudely disturbed, the skulls cannot help but leer.
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- 1167 reads
Pull
Pull Calm sets like a wish on the night. In your garden, the fruit trees bloom with stars. The sky tilts its last light to the edge. Everything disappears. We step along hushed roads, discussing
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- 907 reads
Googling your own name
I spent the whole morning reading about Hizbollah
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- 1168 reads
Larry and Mick Justify Their Existence to a Hospital Porter, Whilst Queuing for Tickets to the Novelty Pen-Top Exhibition
'I'm looking forward to the superhero stall,' said Larry. 'It's the Psychological Abnormalities one that I'll be making a beeline for,' said Mick.
Eyes Only for You
Elbows jabbed my side and other feet crushed mine. Beer was flying through the air, dampening my hair and sweat soaked through my clothes. I was in heaven. I worked my way up to the front of the mosh pit, my feet never touched the ground as the sea of bodies helped me drift slowly to the guardrail in front of the stage. Once there, I gripped onto the rail and craned my neck up to face the band. I couldn't hear myself even though I was screaming along with them so loudly, that by the end of their set, I had a voice that was equivalent to a hot breeze through the desert. The bass matched the beat of my heart, and the music was no longer coming to me, but coming from me. I felt it with every inch of my being and although my ribs were being bruised by the mass of people behind me pushing me against the fence. As the last chord sang through the air, my heart and soul sang with it.
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- 796 reads
Theocracy
But where to go today? The museum for masturbatory images of divine lovers? Covent Garden for flirtations with married men, stealing them away from the Christmas shopping for adventures in the car park? Or a book shop to seduce a shy girl looking at Sapphic images under the cover of academic research? She dressed in red and went out, deciding to let the day take her however it wanted to.
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- 355 reads
Chillin
Chillin Linking arms on the porch swing sipping Bourbon in a Julep minty frozen trickles Spanish Mossing down the glass Sugar Magnolia Your bare legged Beauregard cousin cosying up crickets blurring minutes into heated Cypress time
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- 1465 reads