Posted by Rich Magahiz Sat, 12 Sep 2009 14:25:00 GMT
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 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 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.
Posted by Rich Magahiz Wed, 23 Jul 2008 10:48:00 GMT
They say it was flowing groundwater that made these canyons on the surface of Mars, but to me it looks to be the work of a gigantic, malicious child, dragging his or her enormous fingers through a freshly iced cake when a colossal parent was not attending to what was happening, and scooping the confection into a cavernous, rock-crushing, planet-devouring maw.
Except for that part at the top. That does look like groundwater.
Posted by Rich Magahiz Mon, 07 Jul 2008 15:20:00 GMT
Looking down at him where he sat, slackjawed, perturbed, she slipped off her shoe, ran her foot into the slit pocket of his navy cashmere jacket, painted toenails and the ball of her foot touching the silk lining, jangling his keys and change. “So then, mister,” she whispered, “I believe we were talking about finances.”
Posted by Rich Magahiz Sat, 21 Jun 2008 18:22:00 GMT
It was part ray gun, part flit gun. Morris held it carelessly. He
didn’t enjoy the fit of his nose filters, either.
Out of the dark came a slap on his cheek. The numb bite of arachnoid
analogue left him little time to aim. Straight to the face!
Unfortunately, she had filters of her own…
