Posted by Rich Magahiz
Sat, 23 Aug 2008 01:27:00 GMT
100_0662 by milkfish on Zooomr
Spinning, twisting in a downward converging helix into the pit I never thought I’d behold not ever in my tweakermost dreams, her hazel eyes my sigil notionally on mine lo these various decades slapping at tick bites, and maybe it’s the hit or maybe the encrusted guilt that drags me down faster in accelerating brown streams dead on my own personal trou de cul looking without shame at the clean stars, it’s a standing count I’ve begun over my broken self not so as to erect monuments to stupidity but to erode them pill by crushable pill hoping that passing through the center and up to another moment of elevation it’s a dimebag of mercy waiting on the other end where raptures of soft curls purr back and all the way back to the warning track of my dazzled, plummeting, youth.
Posted in fiction, prose | Tags automatic | no comments
Posted by Rich Magahiz
Fri, 15 Aug 2008 12:46:00 GMT
Ohajiki by chidorian on Zooomr
It was a long line to Customer Service, and the pair in front of me began speaking in urgent tones about how she never wanted a gas grill but only a charcoal brazier (but pronounced it “charcoal brassiere”), when the realization came that we were were not separate in fact but all one, all one.
Posted in fiction, prose | Tags 55story | no comments
Posted by Rich Magahiz
Fri, 15 Aug 2008 01:19:00 GMT
gunplay
won’t matter
the tympanum ignores
we always knew
unchecked growth
destroys
camouflaged
tiptoe everywhere
sunlight punishes irresponsibility
hide your children
as instars
emerge
rustling
by coldlight
twice three legs
the manifest mystery
ever remains:
extinction
Posted in horrorku, sequence | Tags hay(na)ku, mirror | no comments
Posted by Rich Magahiz
Sun, 03 Aug 2008 12:33:00 GMT
violins to your left
low strings
to the right
raise your baton to cue dust-dimmed suns
Posted in poetry, tanka | Tags music, space | no comments
Posted by Rich Magahiz
Fri, 01 Aug 2008 13:03:00 GMT
It was when the second lightning bolt struck him that he started to take
notice.
It was always the same - halfway through the third margarita of the
night he started thinking of his mother.
“Oh, just give me that chainsaw,” Father said, just before she noticed
something she hadn’t seen before.
Her moans were getting more distinctive now through the open window,
just when his phone started playing “Edelweiss.” He stood up suddenly
and gave his skull a hard knock on the sill.
If these are fresh dinosaur tracks, she wondered, why does this one have
the imprint of a zipper down the side?
We all knew Cletus was going to die, even though he had been sleeping
with the stage manager.
If this phone doesn’t ring real soon, she thought, it’s going down the
disposal too.
They found the secret long after the fighting had ended, after they had
taken most of the dead slaves from the hold and thrown them overboard,
and long after the flagship sank beneath the oily surface.
Sssst, the iNanny went, until she turned it off.
The two of them were in Ginetta’s waiting to place their orders when he
started in on his theory that all rugs are area rugs. “And Dhurry is
their prophet,” she replied, automatically.
“Florence! Hurry it up, why don’tya, and get your radomes over here
before we all die of thirst!”
The lesions on the dead man’s arms and hands were consistent with
corvid predation.
I was switching stuff over to a new PDA and ran across this year-old file.
Posted in fiction, prose | Tags first lines | no comments
