FrankandJoe3

Again, I felt the brilliant drifting spirit who lives in my chest, on my ribs she tapped in our language, "What happened to your daydreams?" so I said to the empty street beside the liquor store, "They fled the week I worked seventy hours, to the pit of my stomach to die a quicker death."

6. My brother believes in reincarnation as history repeats itself, or at least that's what he slurred on the anti-psychotics that made him sweat. 5. One little man didn't know there existed a continent between him and a spice trade, so the world got bigger: or at least that's how I imagined it, coloring brown smiling Indians dining with grim little pilgrims in kindergarten. By second grade I knew Native Americans died of diseases like small pox, pictures in the textbook of sad weathered faces wrapped in government-issued blankets, but it wasn't until I read a book about a teenager from Spokane who lived on a reservation that I aske

The Scientists. We remade our eyes of plastic because we can wipe them clean without pain: at night our skin has been fitted with lights and we altered the chemical pattern in our brains to forget ourselves or maybe the rest of you, life is hard without numbers to describe it because the Earth is an irregular rock floating somewhere inconceivable: and I am even more a mystery, a contradiction seeking a definitive despite the logic of entropy, the only continuity is none. The Activists. I'll rewrite us again. We are nothing but an idea of the issue and its resolution, the bum sleeping in the back of a truck or your quantum physics class,