Author Archives: Jeff Stewart

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Paradox Lost

Mixer in the afternoon alright, on my third              but outside the Sun is frying everything in its touch everything regarding the city suffers a famous, commercial writer once said never place your desk in … Continue reading

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A big, swollen, hairy, stinky…

“To break death and face the Sun, all your time has bled out to this moment. You, shackled and chained and beaten to dust, the leaves that fail the limbs, the strength of soul in your blood. To fail the … Continue reading

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The beautiful dead

11:38 p.m. desert milk moon streets sharpened and peeled back in poems sitting in my study with a book of Jeffers next to a play by Eliot a drive across the oceans of ink of boulevards pronounced in smoke and … Continue reading

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Burning with rain (or Abandoned by whores)

morning Seattle rain. coffee and the burning of incense my plant on the sill absorbing the rain, wind, and album while it rotates on the player my dogs full head full all the decades lost and drained down my feet … Continue reading

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Sexy Mexican Maid

On my back listening to music old albums from the mornings of youth: waking up lean, ready, relaxed, hair in mouth and touching shoulders the world out there full of color and blood the sand and sun and salt water … Continue reading

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Shower, stone, domestic violence.

I hit the bank and got the cash, drove to the house and carried everything to the place downstairs. The hotel last night was a bitch, literally. This couple was going at it all night, yelling next door, fighting, the … Continue reading

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In transit.

Blasting through the southwest. Stark brown, mesas, plateaus, cacti, Joshua trees, dirt and disfigurement. The desert has its own kind of dignity. https://flowofprose.com/post/4640/in-transit

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All you artists are fucked up. (From an old folder, from somewhere in the ’90s.)

  I was hanging a door at work today when this piece of shit I work with asked me what I was working on a book I told him no shit, about what? just a bunch of short pages on … Continue reading

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Breath Upon A Burn

  I drove her car to Norms for some dinner, where I finished the novel. Something snapped in my head, something changed. The last line in Hunger wound the book up air-tight and gave me chills. Such selfless, beautiful work. … Continue reading

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And the books will burn.

I noticed this young couple reading. I made the block and parked across the street, walked up and shot their photo. It didn’t occur to me until later that I noticed nothing in their pockets: no phones, no media, no … Continue reading

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