“He soon became fascinated—maybe even obsessed—with that thing I was telling you about, Reggie. That ‘property’ of the numeral three.”
Hollis Beddoes, Counting the Magpies.
Cook up sausage in
a frying pan, listen to
music of Manfred Mann.
Visit a storefront
and buy a tan, then scrub your
world till it’s spic and span.
E. E. Bynum, A Thump upon the Head (and Other Poems).
Argument is window dressing.
Godfrey Tooke, Collected Aphorisms.
“I am sorry, boys, but you have written a thoroughly stupid song.” After spending most of the morning shouting bitterly at the radio, Malcolm now adopted a somewhat ridiculous “reasonable” tone.
Jason Starling, ed., Adventures in Narrative Parsimony.
“But stories are not reality, Julia. Narratives aren’t real. Please tell me that you know this.”
Trent Bendix, Grieving for Margaret.
We know about the ancient Romans because of what the wind whispers.
Evan Amberol, A Theology of History.
Of course, Mr. Broderick made a great many mistakes along the way. But, somehow, he came to regard each one as a thing of beauty.
Crosby Fields, A Reasonable Amount of Trouble.
Polly sigh
hissed Tory
math emetics
Andrew Tertullian, Pandora’s Ponderous Puns.
“The shadow cannot create,” whispered Carson Drew, once again annoying everyone at the breakfast table.
Crosby Fields, A Reasonable Amount of Trouble.
When asked if he could say something positive about rock music, Jeremy replied: “The lyrics are usually sparse.”
William Garrick, My Friend Bryson.
dennis scharnberg 