Virgil went to quit his cigarette habit. He took it to Uncle Elias’ U-Store-It Self-Storage. His Chevy hit the county line of Cooley at a quarter to seven.
Paradoxical sleep, the REM state, is the stage of slumber wherein we dream vividly, experience electrochemical sensations most similar to our waking physiology. The paradox lies in lucid dreaming; we
I’ill tell ye where they’re stoppin, he said. He shucked a smoke from the frontpocket of his coveralls and lit it. Looks ta be come from Cooleyway, dudn’t it? The man sucked at his cigarette.
The War, Papa said. He stated all war was metaphor anyway so it didnt matter which and left it at that. Bill asked what a metaphor was. Sumpthin it aint, Papa responded.
Her image too sacrosanct to be incarcerated there. With him.
...on the first day of class he told everyone to call him Doctor Smith. And totally stressed the Doctor, like, a million times and... Yes, I know the type.
R. Roe returned to his cups of Joe, swallowed alternately from each –until the contents were exactly halved— then combined them, using one cup as a koozie for the other. It seemed fitting.
Duckshoot! Duckshoot! Step right up! Step right up! Fer a mere! four tips win the prize o’yer choosin. Just shoot the ducks!... Cain’t win if ya don’t play!... Sir. Mayam... Here... Duckshoot!
Ulysses looks past Pa at a silhouette in the sun traipsing from beyond the fields, past the hedges he holed up in earlier. It is Sam, his hands high above his strawhat. Speakin of, Papa says prophetic
nside GlassReels, you may live many vicarious lives, and die, many extrapersonal deaths. Will you choose belief? Press ENTER, at your own risk.
"I walked through the luscious landscape of The Champ de Mars. The Eiffel Tower was alit and so was the Cité de L’Architecture et du Patrimione across The Seine with the carousel and candy stands."
"We were leaving Idaho for who knows how long, not knowing whether Grandpa Jim would live till the next week. We were leaving. And so she wept. My mother wept with the windows."
"It begins with broken bottles. They call it the cocaethylene blues, euphoric emptiness. It's like lycanthropy. One moment steady hands, the next a raging snarl and claws."