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Home Page » Categories » Surrealism

Everything tends to make us believe that there exists a certain point of the mind at which life and death, the real and the imagined, past and future, the communicable and the incommunicable, high and...

Andre Breton
Everything tends to make us believe that there exists a certain point of the mind at which life and death, the real and the imagined, past and future, the communicable and the incommunicable, high and low, cease to be perceived as contradictions.

Maia screamed and woke. 'Serenity?' Cala's voice, Cala's angular shape outlined against the window. ' 'Tis an ironic title, in sooth,' Maia said feebly, realizing that the entangling garments of the...

Katherine Addison The Goblin...
Maia screamed and woke. 'Serenity?' Cala's voice, Cala's angular shape outlined against the window. ' 'Tis an ironic title, in sooth,' Maia said feebly, realizing that the entangling garments of the nightmare were merely his bedsheets. His heart was hammering, and he was clammy with sweat.

you were attacked by cement monkeys?

Tom Cook Vampire Chic...
you were attacked by cement monkeys?

Time slowed as metal shards enveloped her like shattered glass. None pierced her of course, but it seemed as though she might be able to reach out and pluck one from the sky. She settled for...

G.S. Jennsen Vertigo
Time slowed as metal shards enveloped her like shattered glass. None pierced her of course, but it seemed as though she might be able to reach out and pluck one from the sky. She settled for stretching out an imagined hand, palm upturned, and letting a shard fall through it untouched like the ghost she had become.

I blinked at him just casually talking about my new sex life with his genie - shiny head, and I knew at any second I would break into hysterics.

Laura Kreitzer Abyss
I blinked at him just casually talking about my new sex life with his genie - shiny head, and I knew at any second I would break into hysterics.

The dead steps down from the guillotine, carrying under his arm his sacrificed head. Apple trees are in blossom. The dead makes his way to the village tavern, and everyone watches. There, he pulls a...

Charles Simic The World...
The dead steps down from the guillotine, carrying under his arm his sacrificed head. Apple trees are in blossom. The dead makes his way to the village tavern, and everyone watches. There, he pulls a chair and sits beside a table, ordering two bottles of beer, one for himself and one for his head. My mother wipes her hands on her apron and goes to serve him. The world is so quiet. One can hear the river, which sometimes forgets in its hurried flow, and runs backward.

The pink sun tumbled from the sky like a shooting star, turning day to night in the space of a trembling breath. What rose in its place was a moon made of rotting meat, its vast surface pitted with...

Craig Schaefer The Living End
The pink sun tumbled from the sky like a shooting star, turning day to night in the space of a trembling breath. What rose in its place was a moon made of rotting meat, its vast surface pitted with crawling black mold, glowing in a starless sky.

She smiled again. Do you like cats? she said. Yes, said Richard. I quite like cats. Anesthesia looked relieved. Thigh? she asked, or breast?

Neil Gaiman Neverwhere
She smiled again. Do you like cats? she said. Yes, said Richard. I quite like cats. Anesthesia looked relieved. Thigh? she asked, or breast?

She comes dressed in a mayor's robe of chocolate paper with almond necklaces. The wind turns the corner of surprise in the platinum night, a night that is a night for sleeping. Naked, the wind turns...

Federico Garcia Lorca
She comes dressed in a mayor's robe of chocolate paper with almond necklaces. The wind turns the corner of surprise in the platinum night, a night that is a night for sleeping. Naked, the wind turns the corner of the surprise.

I looked at the Pinocchio clock, and gave it Stan Laurel. "Isn't this a fine development?" Pinocchio's eyes went from side to side, but he didn't say anything. He never does.

Robert Crais Indigo Slam
I looked at the Pinocchio clock, and gave it Stan Laurel. "Isn't this a fine development?" Pinocchio's eyes went from side to side, but he didn't say anything. He never does.

Iff replied that the Plentimaw Fishes were what he called 'hunger artists' - 'Because when they are hungry they swallow stories through every mouth, and in their innards miracles occur; a little bit...

Salman Rushdie Haroun and the...
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Today Birthdays

1944 - Molly Ivins 1797 - Mary Shelley 1954 - Guy Kawasaki 1948 - Lewis Black 1930 - Warren Buffett 1960 - John Dorsey 1918 - Ted Williams 1912 - Nancy Wake 1964 - Stephen Baker 1948 - Fred Hampton 1935 - Sylvia Earle 1982 - Andy Roddick 1977 - Laura Moser 1977 - Shaun Alexander 1986 - Rajiv Ouseph 1989 - Bebe Rexha 1963 - Mark Strong 1927 - Geoffrey Beene
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