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What happens when the curtain calls

And the silence  

from the empty seats

rings louder 

than a thousand hands clapping. 



(Source: erarg)



Jimmy died today. Or yesterday. I can't be sure.


"Sucks man," Jimmy used to say.

He’d sip his vodka martini and wait for me to finish bitching and moaning about the girl I was dating. Sometimes he’d reach behind the bar and top himself off. The bartender hated it but Jimmy didn’t give a fuck. It was only a $50 tip to let us mess up his…

Repost of a private short. 

Meet two hundred people


You were talking about the news I think. Or art. One of the two.

I munch on the ice cubes left over from my vodka tonic. Jimmy used to joke and say ice cubes are built in hangover cures.

Fuck. I was thinking about Jimmy again.

"…I think things should be original, like a singing a song, but…


"Why are you eating that, didn’t you just say you were full?" He said. 

Tammy kept eating he pastry and glared at him through the rearview mirror. She finished the tart pastry in two bites. 

"If I don’t eat it, it’ll go bad," she said, her voice raised and angry. 

"Do you know why I’m skinny?" he asked. "I’m skinny because I don’t eat pastries after I’ve just eaten dinner."

"Well I bought it, I might as well have it," she retorted, bitterly. She looked out the window and watched Beijing pass her by, taking a few moments to stare at a younger woman’s skinny legs, devoid of cellulite, flabbiness, and other things that plagued her body. It was the kind of woman her husband stared at incessantly - the kind of woman he worked all his life for, the woman he wanted, the other woman.  

This wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned her weight to her, though he was careful not to say she was fat. He danced around the issue, though, he was just as disappointed. Tammy kept him close - though when she tried to kiss him, he’d pull away, as if not attracted any more. She’d put her head on his chest, not caring if he’d make a face. 

The passion was gone. And she knew it. 

Every so often he’d sneak off for drinks with his friends. The evenings grew long without him, and soon she knew that he’d talk about her behind her back. He wasn’t the type to sleep around, and yet, being alone forced her to think like she wasn’t good enough. 

So she ate. And in that glorious moment when she chewed on the pastry, she was happy. 

But only for a moment. 

Then the sinking feeling of looking at her body as she passed a glazed window, or a mirror. 




I can never get any work done

hay. whatchudoin’?


I can never get any work done

hay. whatchudoin’?



(Source: welovekanyewest)

(Source: sidewindervx)



(Source: rhyse)



Fuck your ethnicity

When Ann was eight, a black girl grabbed her hair and started slapping her. It was her first two weeks in an American school, but she already managed to piss off by accidently calling her a negro. Ann had just moved to the country and had no concept of race or the word ‘negro’ but once the black girl was pulled off of her, she never said the word again.

*          *          *

Mitchel’s pistol fell out of his pocket and slid across the red tile floor, it’s metal casing still bearing the scratches from where someone filed off the serial number.  Ann stared at the gun while marinating the bulgogi for the next day.

            “Why did you let him in?!” said Ann, in hushed Korean. Minsook ignored her, picked up the gun and pulled out the cartridge. It’s empty, though the smell of gunpowder burned the hairs in his nostrils, the barrel still warm.

            “He’s dangerous!” said Ann.

            “No,” Minsook said. “He’s just a boy.”

            “Get him out of here!”

            “He stays.

            “It’s not your problem!” screamed Ann. “Why are you getting involved?!”

Mitchel rolls over on his side and Minsook see’s it – the hole in Mitchel’s calf, a wound that luckily passed by his shin bone.

            “Grab me the first aid kit, a needle and some thread,” said Minsook.  Ann glared back, unhappy. “Please,” Minsook added. Ann sighs and makes a move.

            “Give me my fucking gun back, chink,” snarled Mitchel. His face was blank, as if trying to not give away the fact that he was scared.  Outside, the sounds of footsteps

            “Pride will kill you, young man,” Minsook said.