Ignorant Eyes

“To what end?” You might ask with your ignorant eyes. “To the only end that matters.” comes my smug repugnant reply. An end that doesn't end, but goes onward and upward, deeper into a center of infinite minutiae; where nothing is yet known but is only assumed, because there is never any certainty, any fool claiming otherwise knows only how to deceive and relieve the burden of the common believer, clinging to this reprieve from critical thought that is only gained through such hard fought battles as to be considered precious.

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The Ambivalent Candy Bar Skank

I’m low on sodium, but overflowing with salt, a tad bit fattening, but it’s your own fault. Sweetness untempered with activity: a little chub makes, so sorry to say it, but them’s are the breaks. Tangy and lurid, crisp and sharp, runny like fingers on strings of a harp. I melt in your mouth but not in your hand, yet I’ll slip through those fingers, grainy like sand.

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Jab, Hook, Right.

he heavy bag, the heavy breath, and the heavy heart are all ablaze in bone breaking, knuckle busting, blood curdling motion. Hands sting like the sweat in your eyes and both serve only to turn up the heat of your intentions. The internal furnace that peaks and wanes along with your cross, low hook, high hook, right hook, sidestep, straight, feint, and hook.

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My Battle with Fear

I will end on a hopeful note. I’ll not make you worry. An odd place to mention the End, at the beginning of your story, but I think it’s important to note that this is an encouraging story, because we need encouragement, the both of us. We are of a like mind, you and I. Living in a like time of mindlessness and misdirection. Living a life devoid of meaning and wisdom, partitioned off in a vast maze of discontent, hidden among a haze of the displaced and unrepentant of the world. All lost and hurting, it’s all rather disconcerting, and you now understand my initial blurting of ambition.

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Left Handed Lover

She isn’t quite right, is she? Not right minded, right on time, right-wing, or right brained. But that’s her right. She’s got her tight end on the left, she’s loose, and she’s the only one in TLC who doesn’t chase waterfalls anymore. The world isn’t designed for her. She has trouble with most pairs of scissors, she always has to sit on the outside of the...

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A Man of Integrity

Respects names and faces, but breaks them in different places. Comes back around like shoelaces and straightens out like braces. Apologizes, reconnects, synthesizes, and never neglects. Not the defects or the insects or even the rejects. He only accepts. Flaws and walls, waiting patiently outside of bathroom stalls. No no-knock entries to cause you pause. No need to...

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A Conversation Between two Daft Individuals.

—- Are you daft? Thinking for yourself, not working for someone else, not doing ne’er with the other ne’er-do-wells? Are you daft? Refusing to believe your ship has sunk, daring to sail though you may fail, not giving in to the urge to wail like another maudlin drunk? Are you daft? Remembering when you should forget? Leaving though you shouldn’t have left?...

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Floating in a Sea of Echoes

I aim to be a moderator. Not a hater or an instigator, but perhaps an agitator. Because deep inside there does reside an aged gadfly. He exists to remind to be kind. To rewind. Not to be blind to the past but to remember what will and won’t last. So I think fast. I talk trash, I cut class, I walk past, pass gas, and never cease to ask questions. If I do it right I...

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