that there is no such thing as a feather that can help me float. Here, in the tree where you count the days, I am making a list of the things you love: circles, lines.

And he tears on with o yea and that’s right and you bitch and you shit and you you you that’s right that’s right that’s right.

As if in response to these words a faint moan came from the girl’s lips. Slowly she began to recover her senses. With each shuddering breath, the spider’s legs stirred as if they were alive.

You are quick like a monkey, running through the tree-tops, But now you will die.

“We’re so motivated to get rid of that feeling that we look for meaning and coherence elsewhere,”

It is unlikely that anyone has ever confused a page of Thomas Friedman’s with one of Immanuel Kant’s, but between them it is possible to triangulate a prevailing sensibility of the past two decades.

Multiculturalists claim that the presence in a society of a diversity of peoples limits the possibility of common values. Clash of civilisations warriors insist that such values are impossible within an ethnically diverse society. Neither is right.

I’d like to see the porno staged in one of those George W. Bush, No-Child-Left-Behind inspired “charter” elementary schools.

War is increasingly a state of being, not a process with a beginning, an end, and an actual geography.

I want to be fucked savagely by a pack of wolves.

Some of the Orlandos live in towns and villages and hamlets but most live in cities, residing in studio apartments others find sad and shrinking but the Orlandos consider palatial. They uniformly believe dusk to be the cruelest time of day, the way it drowns the sun in the black waters of the horizon.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, playing cards came pouring out of his extra large wireless breasts unexpectedly. The trained showman in him turned it into something which seemed entirely planned.