my mind never shuts up so I might as well write down what it’s saying
It was by the grace of bootleg absinthe that Pa slept soundly through the storm that night, never the wiser as to what its turbulent winds had swept into his barn.
By E. F. M.5 years ago in Fiction
Memories are dangerous. That’s what Yuyu always told me. “They’re only good for painin’ folks,” he’d said. “Either makin’ ‘em sick with wishin’ they could go back to somethin’, or drivin’ ‘em crazy with wantin’ to forget somethin’ else.”
How shameless am I with this bait and switch? I, the salesman, my body the pitch With a smile well-rehearsed, tense, and drawn-on
By E. F. M.5 years ago in Poets
I’ve often wondered whether our fascination with the celestial––with space, star signs, and galaxies far, far away––stems from an innate desire to return home.
By E. F. M.5 years ago in Humans
Every third Thursday at precisely seven o’clock, the woman in the periwinkle dress appeared onboard the old westbound line––the Asphodel, as it was referred to by those who knew it.
By E. F. M.5 years ago in Futurism
