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The TPR Stream

TPR Is Lit

“In 1989, the world changed.  The Berlin Wall came down and Nelson Mandela walked free.  In Czechoslovakia, they elected a dissident playwright president; like the Fisher King, he would heal the land of 40 years of violation and sing the people's hearts alive with the songs of Frank Zappa, Lou Reed and The Residents.” So begins journalist Sam Seton's paean to the zlaté město of Prague, where expatriates from the world over came together in a milieu many compared to 1920s Paris. Between art and alchemy, corruption and addiction, she finds some truths about passion, politics, brave new worlds - and the people in them. The following is an excerpted chapter from Kit Kimberely's forthcoming novel The Last Bohemians.

See more of TPR Is Lit above. The Stream goes down below.


Red Shoes By Vishwas R. Gaitonde


The Devil wears Prada. And the Pope wears red shoes.



Because It's 5 O'clock Somewhere: A Hope in the Middle East By Shaan Joshi


The coup in Egypt…How the Muslim Brotherhood and the Republican Party are alike…And hope in the form of the smartest kid you’ll see this day or any other…


Eppa 2013 By Mitch Grabois


I admire the poetry in his prose and the way his big dick spans generations, but his Voice in my head is the sound of vandals taking ball peen hammers to the pressed tin walls of the one-room schoolhouse, circa 1894, in which I live. Henry Miller has turned the endangered serotonin of my Zoloft-assisted brain from Hershey’s milk chocolate to a blend tinged with bitterness.



If I Were to Teach Creative Writing By Charles Bukowski


Now that's a class we'd go in for. Something tells us a few of the ladies may get into trouble at office hours — but the good kind of trouble. The kind you get into wearing high heels if not anything else. Presented for your perusal, dear reader, are some words on writing by the master himself. 


Eight Year Road Trip By Ship Bright


Emotionally, spiritually, and financially I was wrecked.  The surprise ending of a 17-year marriage caught me flat-footed, lost, confused, angry, betrayed.  It felt like falling through a cloud with no sense of direction.  Up. Down. East, West , North or South.  Disoriented I prayed actively to my God to see me through…I wasn’t sure it was going to happen.


Lost Man in Vinyl Gloves By Scott Archer Jones


He's nothing I want to befriend, and I'm dripping in exhaustion, unable to rub two thoughts together.  Spaced three feet apart, a gulf between us.  A recumbent child, a dwarf, a lifetime could fill the hole between us on the bench.  He says, “You missed a belt loop.  And your pants are unzipped.”



Because It's 5 O'clock Somewhere: This Is What It Looks Like When Dave Chappelle Does Poetry By The Editors


This is what it looks like when Dave Chappelle does poetry. The first poem? Fuck Ashton Kutcher. Enough said.


The Induction Video By Glyn Rebl


Glyn Rebl goes into the corporate lunacy and fittingly ends up on the toilet. This is a step-to-step walkthrough and how you wipe your ass with corporate poetry.



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Vonnegut's Eight Tips to Write a Great Short Story By Kurt Vonnegut


He was a soldier, a secular humanist and even a Saab dealer; but to us, he will always be a master wordsmith. The man who said, ""Literature should not disappear up its own asshole, so to speak." Thank God he was a shite car salesman. 


Sex Is a Thing We Do By The Editors


Le petit mort is a thing we do. Ten great minds on the best way to stave off death...


Why I Became a Muslim Terrorist By Petra Antevasin


I have a habit of crossing myself. It’s the first thing I do in the morning, even before getting my eye-drops in – a necessary ritual for a hypochondriac. I cross myself and I say the Lord’s Prayer, and then rest with God a few minutes in our prayer-induced space before moving on with my life.


Bob Meets The Beatles By The Editors


There was a man named Bob and Bob played the guitar. He picked at that thing until he became a certain kind of folk hero like Paul Bunyan or John Henry but in a different kind of way. One day Bob plugged the guitar into an amplifier and changed popular music forever. That day was 48 years ago yesterday. The crowd hissed and booed and frothed at their collective chops. One of ‘em yelled, “Judas!” Dylan faced his accuser. Said he didn’t believe him before turning back to the band with a simple, “Play fucking loud.” Not everybody hated it, though. You see Bob had some friends in the crowd. Some Liverpool guys who called themselves The Beatles.

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