Comments Posted By crabmuffins
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The way she looked at me, as if she knew exactly what she was doing. The way she left her bag on the floor, like the floor was myself and the bag was the wright of her being there, the weight of her presence – the way she looked at me as if I could have been a friend of hers, the way she walked away, as if there was somewhere really important for her to get to, as if there was anywhere else worth walking towards but here.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 04.02.2014 @ 2:42 pm
His frontal lobe came out of his mouth as the car jolted forward. The bits of his brain were still connected to the rest of them by the slightest of fibers so he had the time before his heart stopped just to form the slightest of thoughts: that something had jolted, something had moved inside of him, and something was wrong, deeply wrong.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 03.18.2014 @ 5:21 am
Well if you find it in the back of your throat then you’ve just got to cough it up again. And if you find it in the small of your back then you’ve just got to pull it out. And if you find her name on the tip of your tongue then you know what needs to be done. And if you see her in the corner of your eye, then blink, man, blink until it just goes away.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 05.24.2012 @ 2:24 pm
when I find the crossroads I’m going to put up a sign. The sign will say, “Billy Bob was here.” it will have a picture of myself carved into the plastic and it will tell everyone, “don’t worry, this is a good place, i have found it with my own eyes. One day if you’re walking down here be sure to know that someone knew what they were doing and stayed here.” Then they will walk a little way down the road. There will be a another sign which said, “Billy Bob was here, and is dead.”
» Posted By crabmuffins On 10.15.2011 @ 2:17 am
the water is in my head now, it’s combining with my brain and my neurons to create something new. half brain, half ocean, I will extend my synapses to the whole of the water and the fishes will swim between my thoughts as I am thinking them. I will remember their bumps against me, I will remember the sharks swimming through my morals and the sardines nibbling at my concept of self.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 08.22.2011 @ 4:44 pm
and then! out the corner! ten of the buggers with knives for teeth and eyes made of cotton-wool they chased us down the corridor screaming the names of all the children we’d ignored the questions of when they asked us why colour the sky and we’d just said eat your vegetables kid, eat up your vegetables, and now they were they were chasing us into the trees now
» Posted By crabmuffins On 07.23.2011 @ 6:22 pm
The fork goes perpendicular to the plate, balanced exactly on the tip. If it moves to the right the host is insulted; if it moves to the left then the same for the food. The spoons are suspended from the ceiling, three feet up precisely from the guest’s head. The knives are embedded in the eyes of the guest, and the host as well as the guest moves their head against his at the end of the evening.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 07.13.2011 @ 4:33 pm
But what cancels out that little outburst back there in the newsroom is that every day for a week he’s come in here and he’s just done his work in silence and by the end of the day you have two hundred words that will take the tailfeathers off a bird of some sort I mean really it’s heartbreaking stuff and if he kicks a few computers and if he breaks a few bones of the interns well I’m fine to put up with it.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 07.10.2011 @ 4:18 pm
it was meant to be larger but we put it in the sink anyway and waited for the water to turn it to gold. Instead it just grew legs and started to sing. We could not stop it from singing. We pushed it under the water and waited for it to drown but it didn’t, it kept on singing backwards and the words we couldn’t hear just entered our heads deeper and we couldn’t get them out after that, not ever.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 07.09.2011 @ 3:41 pm
the shirts are all over the floor and there are empty pizza boxes coming out of the pipes where you thought you could hide them the spiders have given up taking over the crawlspace and have come out and started arranging a small city on the ceiling. It is a democratic space where no spider shall hold their power rights over another and a new spider literature is inspiring the young spiders that their lives can have meaning. you must destroy the spiders. you must kill them before they
» Posted By crabmuffins On 07.08.2011 @ 1:35 pm
We are building the tower that will turn the clouds into chocolate milk. We will rain it down on the yes we will turn all the water into chocolate by drop by drop and when the milk goes off there will be children crying on the beaches, when the milk goes sour we will go across the ocean with pegs on our noses, we will find the centre of the land masses of the Earth and dig a hole underground, the smell will be so bad. But there will always be the chocolate.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 07.03.2011 @ 3:37 pm
the river was about three foot deep so we had to take the special boots. The special boots went all the way up to your armpits. They had an embedded mp3 player and combination bed/lounge sofa. people would spend their whole lives in these boots. We caught a couple of them floating past as we went through. “The booting life,” they sang, flat, “this life is the life for me.”
» Posted By crabmuffins On 06.29.2011 @ 3:56 pm
She was made of some kind of paper material, he was made of ice. But it was too cold for the ice to do anything. It was too cold for the ice to move. The paper could not fit around ice. The birds above were watching and there was nothing really that they could do about it. One of them fell off. He was a solid lump of bird. They tried calling after him but their songs froze in the air.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 06.13.2011 @ 3:55 pm
your skin is in about three pieces and all of them on the floor, in different shapes and configurations and when you turn your head just right you can see the inside of your face still, you can see what shapes it made when it moved and the record of how far you took your face forward and what you might have said those years ago all of them everything
» Posted By crabmuffins On 11.30.2010 @ 2:51 pm
well when we moved out the bank window they were all coming fown the street and throwing hand grenades at us and at our bakery down the corner and at molly’s red new bicycle and when we left at the end they were on top of us all of them.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 05.24.2010 @ 3:52 pm
well, I get the feeling at about this time in the evening that if i have to smile politely at one more person then i’ll just start upending the tables and stamping out the place, shouting about the god damn politicians or something – whatever, anything that doesn’t make enough sense to mean anything. And then the partners switch one more time and there’s Maggie in pearls and skirts up the side of the corridors and-
» Posted By crabmuffins On 04.28.2009 @ 2:41 pm
I can’t see my fingers. They’re in a box on the other side of the table, and Jerome is telling me how he found out who I was. My mother is sitting behind me and she hasn’t said a word all evening but I know what her face is like. I know the way she looks at me as he begins to cut open my forearms.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 05.10.2009 @ 6:57 am
Six pounds, and half a penny at the bottom of my car door where last week Betsy stood in the side of the seat and told me how one day she would find the money to go to Amsterdam and work as a waitress in a little bar and find love forever. And she left six pounds in the car door but I’m looking up prices and i’m starting to like the idea for myself, really…
» Posted By crabmuffins On 05.07.2009 @ 3:34 pm
“What I want is a piece of land on top of a skyscraper. And I’ll build a little hut where all the people falling from the sky will get themselves towards. And they’ll think: I don’t want to die anymore. Vodka shots for half a dollar, on friday nights. I don’t want to die. And they’ll come.”
» Posted By crabmuffins On 12.30.2008 @ 7:22 pm
I’d write them a page or two, and show them at the side of the station, cludcing their blankets, and asking oh god for a penny or two, just a couple, i’d show them what i’d written and place it all up over campus: “DEFINITION IS THE VERY ACT OF SUBMISSION.” “THOUGHT IS BUT AN ABSTRACTION OF THINKING.” “‘OF’ IS MORE OF A QUESTION THAN ‘IS'”. Yeah, I’d show ’em all.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 12.25.2008 @ 3:52 pm
“Yes! Yes yes yes!” she said and then jumped into the deep end of the swimming pool “Stop!” I screamed, “It’s full of-” “she knows,” said her father, “she klnws full well, the wanker.” And as she slowly corroded her name was carved into the List Of People Bloody Stupid Enough To Dive Into A Goddamn Pool Of Acid, and from then on she belonged to the ages.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 07.22.2008 @ 8:51 pm
It’s green, is the first thing. Second, it’s being held in the hand of your old pal Jeff as he rolls down the hill and into the ocean. Third, it came from the windowsill next to your bed, it was there just this morning as you woke up, looking at you. There is a reason for these things. There is always a reason.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 01.28.2009 @ 2:42 pm
Six. Seven. Yes. We have.. no. We have- a quarter, a half- yes- i am- i am not made of money, jonah. i am not made of little coins and banknotes. I am a Man, made of Human flesh, and sometimes I… sometimes my bones leak little coins, yes. Sometimes. But not all of the time, and to be honest they are pretty crappy coins, from back before they redesigned them. They will not be legal tender for much longer.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 01.21.2009 @ 1:39 pm
I picked them off the shelf five miles south of my house, where Jessica Grandmother was putting the finishing touches to a domino rally around the house, while, in the same square mile, james, my basset hound, was engaged in a struggle with a food mixer, and my eldest son was losing his virginity for the second time. But mostly I remember the grapes.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 01.17.2009 @ 5:06 pm
The clock is breaking down and i’m inside gear seventeen as it slowly cracks apart. Look: little bits of metal fly off and over the heads of the square below, while others just go down the tower into that little heap that’s forming down on the floor. I don’t know which one I’ll be. Not long, now…
» Posted By crabmuffins On 01.11.2009 @ 2:25 pm
The waves on the top of the planks are bluish now as the sky finally shows itself. and the sun’s coming down to oversee yes a little bit of joy in the sky at the water in our stomachs well fuck you too
» Posted By crabmuffins On 12.15.2008 @ 5:12 pm
She pulled herself off the railing and wandered towards the fences. “I don’t know how much longer I can listen to that man play the guitar for. Every time he reaches a chorus the key changes a few tones higher.” The man with the guitar was straining now. Soon only the dogs could hear him.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 12.17.2008 @ 4:31 pm
Moley McTroley is the name of my mole. he lives in a lieele dirt mound and he comes up to the surface from time to time. Last week he came up and asked me what the time was. I said, silly mole, nobody knows what the time is! Time is like an elastic substance or some kind of jetstream coming out the side of a billboard. He didn’t seem to be listening.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 04.08.2010 @ 5:11 pm
It wasn’t green, but everyone thought it was. In the light of day you could be forgiven, I guess. But in May when it was midnight and we went up to the mountains, all of us, and stood around the fire in the middle of fucking nowhere telling each other where all our thoughts came from, she threw it in and it burned bright gold. And nobody spoke for the rest of the night, they just watched.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 03.30.2009 @ 3:40 pm
Back To Stats Page
Jane, you came after i asked you to seven times and you said no six, and then maybe. and then, at the end of the night, you said no anyway. but: the way the spiders were crawling on the back of your shoulder. i’ll remember that.
» Posted By crabmuffins On 03.29.2009 @ 2:32 pm