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Fiction excerpt: from "Words for Air #57"

Friday 11/3/23

The complete work will be in Become Your Own Superhero: Intrepid Exceptions to Modern Fiction.


“You can’t be an endoscope for Halloween,” she said lovingly.

“You’ve dashed my dreams,” read the expression on the child’s face.

Everyone got cancer and died. That was the end of people.

Everyone got cancer and lived. That was how everyone survived. Then there were too many people.

A man stands outside and drinks paint. Sometimes it’s blue paint, sometimes it’s yellow, sometimes it’s red, sometimes it’s orange. What does anyone ever paint orange, though?

The most talented person who ever lived was an accordionist. They were better at playing the accordion than anyone in history was at anything. But no one listens to accordion music.

The world had existed for so long that old things that were over started happening again. People dressed like knights and there were meetings at round tables and castles were erected. No one said, “We’re doing this again, huh?” It just occurred.

There’s only one person who writes all of the cards that people buy. They care so much about so many people that when they sit down to write, everything comes out trite. They drink milk off of a saucer. The cups they own are for the people who never come over. But just in case.

It’s hard to tell that lava is hot when seen on TV. Many people think they could handle it.

God fucked up big-time one day and he wouldn’t pardon himself even upon reflection and promise of reform. He forgot what forgiveness meant because his standards had become inflexible.

Nothing beats a hot lunch at school. Class structure. “I see you brought yours.”

There are always too many people and never the right amount of the right kind of person.

The devil has a shopping addiction. But he’s really into the things he cares about. They’re not just objects, so maybe it’s not an addiction. It’d be better if he was stupider.

A baby swallowed the keys that were being dangled in its face. It couldn’t talk but it still said, “Stop it, enough already.”

A man doesn’t wash his legs. He’s never washed his legs. He believes the soap from above will trickle down and do the work. He’s that kind of man.


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