this week i

tested removing industry from weighting calibration.  midnight suddenly, i boiled coffee water, worked till two.  all-night diner three blocks from me has frango parmegiana and molho picante.  my father said, "that stuff didn't last long around me."  drawn to likeness of paul sorvino, rip, i remember the day in seventh grade when his character's full name revealed. my father also said, "you know who doesn't tuck in their shirts?  fat guys."


compost, burn incense over the sink.  guilherme disputed good trees being good trees, andrea decorated refrigeration appropriately, canela no maca


read player piano by kurt vonnegut

consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet i say unto you, that even solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. . . . matthew 6:28

objectively, know-how and world law ere getting their long-awaited chance to turn earth into an altogether pleasant and convenient place in which to sweat out judgment day

the music stopped abruptly, with the air of having delivered exactly five cents worth of joy

"checker charlie, world's champion checker player, and looking for new planets to conquer."  he grabbed a corner of the bedsheet, and unveiled charley - a gray steel box with a checkerboard painted on its front panel.  in each square that could be occupied by a checkerpiece were a red and a green jewel, each with a lamp behind it

paul could see the personnel manager pecking out bud's job code number on a keyboard, and seconds later having the machine deal him seventy-two cards bearing the names of those who did what bud did for a living - what bud's machine now did better.  now, personnel machines all over the country would be reset so as no longer to recognize the job as one suited for men.  the combination of holes and nicks that bud had been to personnel machines would no longer be acceptable.  if it were to be slipped into a machine, it would come popping right back out

everyone's i.q., as measured by the national standard general classification test, was on public record - in ilium, at the police station

thoreau was in jail because he wouldn't pay a tax to support the mexican war.  he didn't believe in the war.  and emerson came to jail to see him.  'henry,' he said, 'why are you here?' and thoreau said, 'ralph, why aren't you here?'

"i'm doctor of cowshit, pigshit, and chickenshit," he said.  "when you doctors figure out what you want, you'll find me out in the barn shoveling my thesis"

supper will be ready in twenty-eight seconds

he carried her across the wide-board floor into the pine-wainscoted bedroom and laid her down on a patchwork quilt on a bird's-eye maple bed.  there, mr. haycox had told him, six independent people had died, and fourteen had been born

abandon all hope, ye who don't wear green shirts

doctor ewing j. halyard was giving himself a ragged manicure with his teeth in one of the waiting chairs

culture's so cheap, a man figured he could insulate his house cheaper with books and prints than he could with rockwool

anybody that competes with slaves becomes a slave

a step backward, after making a wrong turn, is a step in the right direction