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Last updateTue, 06 Aug 2013 2am

Back You are here: Home Stories
Monday, 11 November 2013 20:37

Honoring Our Veterans

Written by

Friend of Thunderdome DB Cox sent us Dien Cai Dau, a fantastic piece of music and poetry. We wouldn't have the ability be who we are without our veterans. Our eternal thanks to those who served and continue to serve!

Thursday, 29 August 2013 03:58

Cold Front

Written by

This time of year

always depresses me.

Monday, 26 August 2013 20:30


Written by

My friend Dylan, his new thing is what he calls “camming.”

            It’s my third day in a row staying home sick from school, so bad my mom says I need to go see a doctor when she gets off work, and he texts me, Dude u gotta come over here.

            Instead of messaging him back, I just hit send and call him.

Wednesday, 21 August 2013 18:27

In My Town

Written by

In my town the bearded poet with two front teeth missing is in a political rage,
Drinking his early morning beer in front of the poor man’s café
Where the marijuana made artists get their coffee.

Tuesday, 20 August 2013 04:19

Peripheral Vision

Written by

They have prepared some sort of statement
and come out to read it.

Tuesday, 20 August 2013 04:18


Written by

I like to think I’m an unusual
subject, i.e., somewhat
above the prevailing episteme.

Tuesday, 20 August 2013 04:15

Late Shift

Written by

In the ward at night, souls
roam: the more rooted
the body (bodies
shouldn’t be rooted)

Tuesday, 13 August 2013 19:38

Crack and Burn

Written by

       As he leaned in for closer inspection the weight of his drunkenness carried him forward and he fell into the mirror. His right eye socket was immediately flooded with blood from the resulting cut on his forehead, creating temporary blindness.  As he stumbled back into the party this episode was already a story to be repeated and embellished as more proof of his attractive ridiculousness. A random girl tended to his injury, cleaning the blood off his face with a piece of cloth she slipped into her jacket pocket when done.  

Monday, 12 August 2013 22:34

Short Cuts

Written by

This is the stupidest thing to talk about.  But, fuck it.  One time, when the blood just wasn't enough, I pulled out a tooth.  I don't even want to tell this, but then I think, “Why not?”

            I think, “What's it going to hurt?”

            A razor blade is only sharp for one cut per edge.  Flesh dulls a razor quick.  I don't know why.  But the first cut, what I'd do is lay the razor flat.  No matter what I was feeling in my head, putting the razor flat against my skin would make me sick to my stomach, like I could almost puke if somebody just made that gagging sound.

Wednesday, 07 August 2013 23:58


Written by

I wanted her dead, yes, okay, and by my own hand---that they, my hands, were complicit.

Wasn’t the wisest decision now that I look back, but what can you do when love applies a pressure so hard it begins running towards hate? I thought the answer had been nothing, as in sit back and eat the shit you deserve you pathetic jag-off---as if the fault were mine alone. I was wrong, however, and all it took was a woman’s laugh to set me free.

Monday, 05 August 2013 20:42

All's Well That Ends Well

Written by

“Hey, we’re talkin’ to you, you fuckin’ faggot.”

“Yeah, faggot.”

Dennis didn’t turn around, just sat down. His lunch tray made a thump in front of him. The school cafeteria was bustling, and the monitors never seemed to notice when this particular trio of varsity football players showed up, having a civil conversation with just another fat kid. Two students at the table got up and left. Didn’t want any part of this.

Monday, 17 June 2013 05:27

Bucket Love

Written by

This isn’t Dawson’s Creek, but tonight my childhood best friend is close enough I can see green flecks in her hazel eyes, the little raised bump above her right eyebrow from that accident with the baseball bat, and the tiny scar tissue dent where her nose ring usually sits. Her once bright pink hair is now the faded colour of cheap store bought strawberry ice cream. The kind that tastes more of strawberry milk than it does actual fruit. Fastened around her neck, threaded through thick black cord, scrabble tiles spell out her name:


Monday, 27 May 2013 22:53


Written by

Riding a motorcycle on old highways insists on danger. Deal with potholes, loose gravel, and patchwork asphalt splotches. Roads covered with fluids that trucks leak like open sieves. From shadowy trees, animals dart across the road constantly, but that's almost a good thing because it keeps you paying attention. But if you hit a deer in a car at 70, you are going to have a problem. And that's not including trying to track down and put that poor beast out of its misery with a dull pocket knife while it kicks two broken, but functioning, legs at you.

Wednesday, 01 May 2013 17:18

The Fix

Written by

For all appearances I’m living the typical low-lifer’s fantasy: I’m an important criminal with a life full of action and intrigue. I know what you are thinking. You’re thinking: wow, this guy’s really full of himself. Get a Life. But, I know the real score: I’m just some ordinary loser in constant pursuit of The Fix. Any fix. Pussy … drugs … board games … whatever.

Right now I’m getting all down on myself with a gun to my head.

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