Tuesday, May 14, 2013


Adeciduate/Deciduous by Lyle

This floating world. Adeciduate. Compartmentalized and open. And open. And open. When we discovered this place, the endless wall, the windowed wall, this floating world, we knew it was something deciduous. But we decided to leave it alone, this floating world. Our leafless, leaking world lighting a way dioecious to the only possibility, dormant and behind it all.


Perceptions by Alan

Windows were once a part of the inherent functionality of the eye in the way that the shell is part of the functionality of a snail.

On the other hand, there was a one-way ticket plan that he had overlooked the first time he searched the internet.

A little depiction of my least likely scenario seemed to emerge from the bottom floor.

Although the weather would sway like a tigress in heat, the trees would never.

Paging Allison Spice. Paging Sentimental Pete. Paging Tucson Tully, you son of a bitch. Get your ass out here and check out this view.

You mean, which view?

Several variations later, the transformation stopped at the precise spot on the map where Haig might snap a photo if, indeed, a photo needed to be snapped, and, in snapping, the inability to leverage his friends, the polytheists, emerged like the aforementioned scenario as if it were from another kind of less tightly wound fiction.


Midnight Confession by Johanna

It started in college as something the guys and I did late at night when we were drunk walking home from a party. I liked to get up close to windows that were covered and spy through the small slits in the curtains. My buddies stood behind me trying not to make any noise, laughing until beer ran out of their noses. I told them descriptive stories about the lesbian orgies inside. In reality, there usually wasn't much to see. People were generally boring when alone- reading books, searching the internet, sleeping. But for some reason, I enjoyed watching them.

After college, I couldn't get it out of my system. I took long walks alone in the middle of the night around my city looking for curtained windows with lights on. I liked to watch women paint their nails, brush their hair, or talk on the phone. Nothing freaky. If they were naked or having sex, I became too anxious and slipped away. I went to work every morning completely exhausted, but at night, I was wide awake and prowling for illuminated windows.

That's why when I saw him, or at least I'm pretty sure I saw him, his brown right eye peering under my shade, I had to call you. You need to find him and to stop him. I don't have much of a description to go on, but if you patrol the neighborhood, you'll probably spot him on someone's front lawn. He needs to stop. I know how this can haunt a man- restless and searching for something unknown.


Where Hole by Forrest

Home, where in a hole. Home in the building hole. Where a window hole in the home. Crawling through. Through it came crawling a hole where a window was, at home, in the building. The building with no door. A building door where a home was a window. Through it. Through the curtain. Through the slit in the curtain. Through the slit the thin voices lift it and a crawl past with no crawling. The light from the floor rooming the hole. Where window was through. Where home was. Lighting the slit in the room came no window. Came to it. Where home. Where hole. Where room was voice lifting this him.