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WOW….a short story I posted on X-Hamster (a great porn site for all my fellow pervs out there) just 7 days ago, got 4,743 views with a 74% like ratio! That’s quite a difference from the very few to zero views I get on here. I understand, you guys are inundated with so much. What with the cat gifs and the food pictures. (I get it) but…. I guess I know where to post my stories from now on!,


Aching for repose from the grind and the hatchet. Not to wield the scalpel or the crowbar or the shoehorn or the Lugar. But to yield, relent, forfeit, forget, forge and fraud. Not a second thought. Not an ambition. Not a unanswered question or garnered regret. Not to martyr or barter or beg. Not to scrounge or scurry or rush. Not to snivel or shiver with fear. 

Because the strike of the clock is empty and its works a twisting, spinning lie. The bridge is burning down your morning commute. And the Vicar is screwing the mayor. The hobbled hearts dragging it out for appearances. The seeded sorrows hammered home for the gritting broken teeth of your final failure. To chase what was never the quarry nor narrowly your prey to begin with? 

Ill bow out just the same. And Ill send you a postcard…..but I wont sign my name. 

~C. Pasquale,


I was grasping at roses from a two story balcony for her. Holding on to the railing with my left hand, while thorns burried themselves in my right. And I would laugh and let go and fall flat on my back for her. Splitting my head wide open. Blood pooling under me as I gazed happily skyward with the palms dancing in my eyes.

I’d bury bones in the yard like a dog for her. Down on all fours, scratching my way through dry grass and weeds and clay. 

I’d march along the shore on summer afternoons with my head spinning and my knees worn and my skin burned. Swirling there under the small shade, about to go under.

Keeping a focused eye on the pier jutting out over the breakers. Longing to be a small fish swimming between the shady pylons. Or a gull slicing across the breeze, defying the sun. 

And I’d uncork bottles of wine and smoke grass that made me tence and manic. I’d watch the light grow dim and the night would thicken. And I’d strain to see the stars meagerly shining through the dirty screen of my kitchen window. And I’d curse at the moon that I couldn’t see clearly any more. For the poisened sky and my blurry eyes. 

I’d run my garbage disposal and throw knives and forks down into it. I’d peddle around on my bike in the late evening, watching the Christmas lights glow from rooftops and trees lit in open windows. Sipping from a flask and riding along listening to The Germs in my headphones. The middle of the night whipping by my head in cold clear bursts. 

It’s all a glaring blur now, yet deeply embossed into my mind and soul. Where demons glanced at my passing face, eyes down to the concrete, not knowing the gold I bore under my shirt , under my breast plate. As I crossed Ocean avenue and stumbled down the stairs, hobbling over the sand to stand up to my knees in the shore break. Torn too asunder for what was left of the world.


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