Slipped under a favorite specimen in his collection of antique cameras was a blank business card with this message scribbled in ink: “A modest impediment to cultural entropy, well-loved and understood to be temporary.”
Anselm Bligh, A Collection of Miniatures.
Even the definitions are suggestive. They hint at something more. But the author does not offer more, so the reader must find satisfaction in what is at hand.
Jason Starling, Scale in Literature.
“They are actors, Emily. Everything is false. Even the teeth and hair. Especially the teeth and hair!”
James Finial, The Misadventures of Caroline.
“I want to overpay for a beverage,” thought Justin. “Hey, bring me a craft lager!”
Anselm Bligh, A Collection of Miniatures.
“But why did your great-grandfather live, Henson? Why does someone live?”
Edward Valerian, The Empire Is Maintained.
“The floors are sagging,” declared Reginald.
“Floors will do that, Reggie.”
“Yes, but this? Don’t you find it somewhat extreme?”
Nicholas Bruhns, Otto the Magpie.
He sought the “spiritual” in the marginalia of society. In ordinary things. In discarded things.
Dennis Waverly, The Woman in Gray.
It is almost impossible to admire resentment.
Godfrey Tooke, Collected Aphorisms.
Color Me Barbera
Andrew Tertullian, Pandora’s Ponderous Puns.
A is for the long-lost awls,
B for fools of the busy old kind.
C is for chins on porcelain dolls,
D for diaries left unsigned.
E is for effort and resultant pay,
F for fortune with no delay
and for the fiddle (may its droning stay).
Patrick Malmsey, Collected Poems.
