On Failing: Rocky Versus Rambo
Carmen Schober
I have a thing for droopy-eyed men.
I have a thing for droopy-eyed men.
Maybe we need a few more windows-rolled-down drives out to the country with good tunes cranked up
The last words you will hear in this world/ will be a lie, but when you’re high, you never/ consider how scary Paradise can be/ to snakes
here were girls who sank/ a thousand leagues beneath his hips/ and never bobbed back for air. I came ashore/ in a body of my own, crooked gate/ and piano fingers
Bill and Mary were leaving because Mary felt old, when a woman’s hand fell on his shoulder.
For the past few years J and I have lived next to a grocery store. It glows at night. If you listen you can hear the hum.
I won’t apologize for trying to forget the days I spent with you, riding pillion on your Honda, inhaling Bombay’s foggy polluted streets, sitting on rickety wooden benches of hole-in-the-wall Indo-Chinese joints, slurping Szechwan noodles and sipping Tom Yum soup, strolling on Juhu’s wet sandy beaches, letting the ocean wash our feet.
it is in the museum of three years/ that i hide dog teeth and seashells./ your semen in my belly button that/ i secretly finger in the grocery store/ milk aisle.
Two weeks after the scientist’s freak exposure, a man in black arrived at his front step. It was the weekend, and the man in black... more
The goal of short fiction is up for debate, but it seems to me that, if a story has a single job, it is to subvert the expectations of the reader.
You told Mrs. Miller you had to make up a clarinet lesson so you needed to leave class early and she believed you, the old bat, even... more
I’m shoving fat candles into dirt,
blowtorching the wicks and tooting
horns.
I couldn’t render enough tallow
to properly honor... more
I make him coffee, I make hot chocolate for his kids, and sometimes I buy his weed.
This whole album is full of wandering. Play it at a high altitude, and the line might fade entirely between dream and reality.
start with the word catholic and an image surfaces—what first? Brother Aquinas adorned in black robes, his large gold cross (or was it silver) swinging from hip-to-hip, his cloaked arms holding tight the Bible to his chest, in reach of his heart.
People are just the mares under their craft.
The cousin had called my thesis advisor and said something like, “Hey, film professor cousin, can you do this film for us?” and my thesis advisor was like, “Hey, no. But I know a guy who is still unemployed four months after graduation and is about to get evicted.”
Or more specifically its monster, long tail whisper in our swimming pool: in a valley girl’s mind.
He started as a single Clay Aiken, the one we all knew with the smiling face and aw-shucks demeanor
If this were paint it’d be asymptotic, red.
A girl on my train is watching Kylie Jenner’s snapchat. I lean in and watch over her shoulder. I can't hear, but it doesn't really matter.