das golfspiel

the school will provide only one printer cartridge

"Stay in the corner!" I wasn't his favorite sport, but I wasn't a bad tiger either. But then I got it. My shirt was full of sweat, and it dripped on the markings of the court. The scuffs from the shoes that had once been on it came off. The janitors used tennis balls on brooms, but my perspiration did the job. The city was dark out, and my house was far away, so the bleachers made adequate home as I conversed. I couldn't help watching those muscular arms working away. And there was my realization. I knew it was a sham from the start, but I now knew it didn't make sense.

-l fletcher

running from the sunlight here

He crawled from his cage with gashed cuticles, his scrotum sliding across the court. People dribbled the ball around him. They did not notice him and he did not notice them. Yet it was a cake in the sand that had dropped its ticket in a deep chasm, condemned to rot in the desert. Industrialization had begun, and he slept in a central location. He slept and many dreams crossed his head as the city was built up around him. He slept as and many dreams crossed his head as the pigs were scrunched into plastic bags and shipped away in trucks. Before the star shined again, before its radiance melted the morning frost, its face ensured the unity of our culture, he would escape. He made his little home out of nature's gifts--grass. Ants crawled around him, but they did not notice him and he did not notice them. The ground eroded beneath his back. "I think it's time to go back home," but when he got back there, he found an anthill drenched in arsenic. "Oh what have I done!"

-matt laher

if you crash it's okay

Carolyn Town

My lateral incisor crashed up against my mandibular third molar and my fingernail ripped through my adam's apple, which caused my voice to spill out of my neck and form a puddle on the floor. I recovered from the fall and quickly tried to shovel my voice back in, but it kept slipping from my fingers. 12100 is serious business. I crossed the room, pulled off my boots, and sat down on the wooden bench. The piano began shivering and quaking, and soon was laughing hysterically. "Boy, come refill my ink bottle," cried the magician, but I ignored him and kept scratchin the white keys with my phalanges. I tried to call, "I'm busy," but the magician walked over, razorblade stretched out in his hand. I wanted to protest. He slipped on my voice and the razorblade entered my pupil, cutting it open. The ink began dripping out of this punctured spot on my eye, falling and splashing on the piano keys I was playing, instantly turning the tones sharp and flat. "My ink," the magician screamed from the floor. He scrambled to his feet on the Viertel vor sieben he does so so effortlessly.

- m laher


Schatzsuche die

It happened. Oh, and how it happened. Her teeth, what were they? She couldn't tell if they were bloody chalk or red twigs. Her toes were numb and full of tears. Her bosom friends could not help but notice, and how they laughed. Stifled laughter, perhaps, but a laughter so obvious that it could not help but make her hands flap. Oh, and how her hands flapped. It was a nervous tic she was used to, but now it was uncontrollable. Like her hands on the pavement, she played the cello. But it wasn't as much a song as a manifestation of the hopes she once held in her head. "That was violent!" she cried. Her notes reached a piercing highness. "I would like to... okay, that's fine, so I can go back." Her mom didn't care. It was only her now. Her head throbbed. She crossed the room. I couldn't believe her jealousy, and neither could she. Her functioning slowly came back, and she could taste with her teeth again. It was her last day before the new ball, and already elle est tombee. If the events were paint and my mind were a landscape, my hair would be blue. Oh, how it would be blue.

- lb fletcher

I slowly bit off pieces of my fingers

i was in the bathroom. i couldn't feel my eyelids. those goddamn eyelids! i can never feel them if i'm eating anything. the window was too big for me to see out of, as smoke from the bonfire below clouded it. so i began to shit. and i shit and i shit and i shit. i was groaning as loud as hell. my mom callled in. "jarvis, what are you doing in there?" she must have thought i was choking, because i frequently eat in the bathroom, and since the door wasn't locked she came in. I immediately stood up and shot thunderbolts out of my mouth at her, but she ducked down and grabbed my legs, tripping me. i fell face-first into the wall and blood immediately started spewing out of my feelingless eyelids. as i leaned againt the wall vomiting and crying, she inserted her fingers into my shitty ass and began rhythmically moving them to and fro. so i joined in the beat by stomping my feet on the and of four, clapping my hands on two and three. it was a beautiful symphony of the unmasked soldier orchestra. with that i was gone.

-lb fletcher and m laher