LEAKED SHORT STORY BY WALTER MACKEY - I WAS BORN INSIDE OF A TOASTER

  It was a really cold morning. It was sometime around November. Or maybe it was in
January—nobody really remembers the specific date or time. A person woke up and the
person felt very hungry. A person decided to go into the washroom and wash their face and
hands. Another person came into the washroom and decided to wash their face and hands.
Both of the people looked in the mirror at their reflections and frowned. One person frowned
more than the other person. One person went to the bathtub and turned on the water.
Another person left the bathroom. The person filled up the bathtub and got inside the
bathtub. The person washed their body parts. The person scrubbed there, under there, over
there, and inside there. The other person was busy in their bedroom trying to find an outfit to
wear. The other person showered before they went to bed and decided that it would be
foolish to wash their body parts again. The person got out of the bathtub and dried off their
body parts. The person put on a pair of underwear. The person put on a housecoat. The
person met the other person in the hall to the kitchen. The people said something to one
another. The person went into the kitchen and took a raisin bagel out of the freezer. The
person said something to the other person. The other person did not hear the person. The
person spoke a little louder. The other person said something and the person put two bagels
in the toaster. The person watched the raisin bagels turn brown. The person took the raisin
bagels out of the toaster. The person put butter and cinnamon on the raisin bagels. The
person gave the other person a raisin bagel with butter and cinnamon on top. The people ate
the bagels. The people did not say anything. The person took off the housecoat. The person
put on a dress. The person grabbed a purse and left the house. The other person grabbed a
briefcase and left the house.


  I stayed behind. I am a raisin that fell out of a bagel. Nobody knows that I am here
and nobody will remember the exact time that I was born. I will die over a period of time. I
will die by being burned to death. Other bagels and pieces of toast will visit me from time to
time but I will be in the bottom of the toaster forever. I will scream. I will be burnt to a crisp. I
will turn to ash. I will cry

LEAKED FROM MAGGIE LEE - 2x POEMS WOAH

54)

people tend to listen more
when you bottle it up
and let them fuck up
and then unleash it all at once
upon them
they cant miss it then
its all right there
and they feel like shit
for not seeing it before
which of course is the effect you are going for
now they feel like shit
for you having felt like shit
while they acted like shit
all that time
and now they want to change
and now you need to change
because all of you are fucking retarded
for trying to win

36)

i am tryin to run a darn life, in a direction of ‘okay’

i am going to change and change and change

and if you want to tell me ‘stop’ you must fall in love with me

hehe

it’s like a trick

TPP STATE OF THE LEAKS 2!!!!

THEPYRAMIDPRESS THANKS YOU


we have received a bunch of submissions this 'leak round'* and are really proud of them
but now SUBMISSIONS FOR THIS ROUND ARE NOW CLOSED


this 'leak round'* is ending on FEBRUARY 27th and until then, we are 'leaking' what we have
and we will take a month-long intermission
in this intermission we are going to be publishing chapbooks !!!!


we will be revealing who, soon


that being said, we were really hoping we could get enough in donations to get these chapbooks published in print as well but we did not reach the intended goal hopefully, next intermission we will have enough to print!
SO DONATE~~!!!!!!!!!!!!


after this 'intermission' we will be 'leaking' things again with a new design


we will announce when we are taking submissions again for the next round, WE WANT TO START IT OFF WITH A ~BANG~


make sure to follow the editors on twitter!
@matthewwhol
@jdawinslow
@thepyramidpress


thanks, 
            thepyramidpress

LEAKED SHAUN GANNON - CONTINENTAL DRIFT

As you drag your luggage through the open door to find some other place in Rialto for the night, find a place where our voices can’t make each others’ neck hairs rise and our eyes won’t roll on reflex, I think of how the rock plates deep beneath our feet grind and punch one another, and how we only know of their existence by their constant conflict and separation.

WOW A LEAKED PNG BY NEON GLITTERY

> <.png

LEAKED SUBMISSION FROM BRITTANY WALLACE - 2x POEMS

crossword puzzle mornings

we walked into the river and it was cold

and we were out of our minds

no one else accompanied us

you and i, together we charged our bravery

together we charged our stupidity

the water up to my neck, i watched as your head submerged

i assumed you were laughing underwater

you were actually closer to drowning

together we are closer to dying

but you came back up and we made it across

all we lost was two packs of cigarettes

together we walked home shivering

together, we always make it home

i think i know what i want now

driving to your house in the rain

sunglasses on, coming to conclusions

the confusion is settling, and i am still

i’m not kicking it up, no, not now

i desire simplicity, an apartment with you

filled with nice things, a big bed

good food and my cat and my friends

those things make me better

make everything better

those things make getting older easier

WOW A LEAKED GCHAT BY DANIEL COOPER

            Eli Manning was on gmail chat when Tom Brady messaged him

12:38 PM Tom: i'm really sorry abut that

  but my girlfriend is convinced i'm trying to fuck marie calloway and andrea coates

12:39 PM and i teach children also

 me: ha

 Tom: my girlfriend is like, "You are trying to fuck them"

  "they are trying to fuck you"

 me: andrea coates?

  i mean, i know who she is

 Tom: that girl who made that 12 minute video

 me: as much

 Tom: about tao

  just change my name to Tom Brady

  and put itin a coffee shop

12:40 PM make a whole scene out of it

 me: ha alright

            Eli Manning was in a coffee shop talking to Tom Brady

 Tom: make your name Eli Manning

 me: the vagina thing scene?

  haha

 Tom: i don't know the whole thing

 me: alright

  maybe i can change marie calloway to andrea coates

12:41 PM Tom: yeah that would be funny

  i don't know

  keep it the same

  marie

  then submit it to pyamid press

 me: ha alright

NOAH CICERO - 3x POEMS THIS IS GOOD GUYS

Dubstep

There was a new hire at work today

Tom asked him if liked dubstep

he was like yeah

I told Tom I liked dubstep

he wrote some names

of dubstep songs he enjoyed

on a piece of paper

I went home and youtubed them

Joe Montana

a 35 year old dishwasher

said to a 31 year old cook

when I was little

I covered my walls

with posters of Joe Montana

I said when I grow up

I will be like that man

the 31 year old cook said

I did the same with Axl Rose

One Lonely Bird

it was winter

I was walking

from my car to the

front door of my house

heard one bird

caw

caw

LEAK JOHNNY VULPINE - 'UNTITLED' SUPER RARE

aspen tree girl with the

second hand sunshine 

wrap all your feelings on it 

and soon i'll be dreaming

wintertime wet 

and october skin on 

a girl that's up in my head

i can tell it is them up there 

and also the sky 

TPP LEAK JORDAN CASTRO - 2x POEMS FROM FORTHCOMING POETRY BOOKS

"RAYMOND CARVER’S ‘WHAT WE TALK
ABOUT WHEN WE TALK ABOUT LOVE’
(THE STORY) OR DENNIS COOPER’S
‘UGLY MAN’ (THE BOOK)"


i want my body to transform into a complete, declarative sentence written using active voice and a
   prose style similar to raymond carver’s 'what we talk about when we talk about love' (the story)
   or dennis coopers 'ugly man' (the book) and i want the sentence to convey the sentiment 'we
   all have limited time' and 'honestly, i'm sorry'



"OUT IS THE ONLY KIND OF NODDING I DO"


never say yes to anything ever


no one has anything helpful to offer you


treat them accordingly

thepyramidpress STATE OF THE LEAKS ANNOUNCEMENT

THEPYRAMIDPRESS IS HARDCORE AND WE WILL LEAK EVERYTHANG~~!

COME AT U S WITH F I RE 

COME AT US WITH P R O S E

COM E AT US WITH PO E TRY 

COME A T US WITH VIDEOS 

WE ARE AT 4k VIEWS AND WE NEED MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAR

BIG-ASS N E W S COMING SOON~

___________

@thepyramidpress

@matthewwhol

@jdawinslow
http://www.thepyramidpress.com/

WOW WE LEAKED AN UNPUBLISHED BLOG POST FROM BEACH SLOTH - MIGHTY MORPHIN POWER RANGERS

                William S. Burroughs went through life being celebrated and reviled often in the same sentence. Countless people considered him one of the most important writers of the 20^th century. Transgressive writing maintains a writer’s interest for only so long. After a while the most daring thing you can do is not describe doing heroin but selling out to the Fox Kids channel.

                Decades in the avant-garde writing circles taught William nothing about selling out. He was sick of living in some boring-ass part of Kansas. Fishing might be fun he reckoned. Living in Los Angeles getting fucked up and writing the most offensively stupid show ever sounded better. Taking his things, he hit the big, sprawling depraved decadent destroyed douchebag capital of the world. William was sure they’d love his pitch.

                Creative types sat eagerly awaiting William’s presentation. William nervously paced outside. Never had he needed to describe his art to anyone. Sitting there he’d crank it out the way he wanted. Suddenly he re-thought his idea about selling out this hard. Did he even have the potential to earn money off of his material? All these questions popped into his head like so many euphemisms for dildos. Perhaps another YUPPIE band would use a dildo’s name in vain like they did in the 70s.

                People stared at him, this gaunt old man in front of a room of eager, hopeful twenty and thirty something losers. William knew the type. They looked like Tea Heads, the kind who’d sell you up the river to the cops because they were weak. Coughing onto one of the corporate types without covering his mouth he began:

                “The Might Morphine Power Rangers are a group of superheroes living in Wholesome, America. Gaining their powers through the ingestion of vast quantities of morphine they manage to fight off vivid hallucinations from their nightmares from destroying their families. When they aren’t fighting they earn money by beating up drunks on subways and buses late at night. Morphine is their entire life; it perpetuates their fighting and not feeling any pain from the consequences of their actions. By doing Morphine they live in a constant sustained lower part of a downward spiral. No ups or downs exist in this bleak environment.”

                Upon completion of his pitch, William sat down to rapturous applause. Never one for smiling a slight smirk emerged on his face. Finally he’d sold the suckers a taste of their own medicine. The Trojan horse had arrived in Los Angeles. Inside their disgusting city he’d burn it to the ground, no questions asked.

                A few revisions came up. Slowly these revisions became full-on rewrites. William expected some changes but nothing to the extent they purposed. Gradually a certain pit grew in his stomach which he jumped into headfirst.

                First, they wanted the heroes to be full heroes, not the anti-heroes William suggested. ‘Morphine’ got shortened down to ‘Morphin’ to indicate the Rangers had normal lives outside of being super heroes. Morphing into superheroes appealed to family viewers more than watching freaked out drug addicts fight off hallucinations. No longer were these teenagers saddled with a debilitating drug habit. Instead, they fought in the name of love. Tangible, non-imaginary foes became the villains as the executives stripped away more of Burroughs’ flight of fancy.  Parts of his offensive ideas made it into the show particularly the utter lack of a coherent plot or purpose.

                Dejected would describe Burroughs’ mood upon hearing these changes. Happy would describe him after he received his first paycheck. Reviews of the show met his expectations so he decided to stay with it. Among the his favorite reviews were “Pointlessly violent and offensively stupid”, “Offensively violent and pointlessly stupid”, “this is a hallmark in children’s television programming”, “I’m more disturbing by the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers than I am by Naked Lunch”, “Wait, how old is Burroughs, doesn’t he do a ton of heroin, how did he survive this long?”, “this challenges what the word ‘entertainment’ means”, and “I guess this is why Burroughs joined ‘the church of the subgenius’”.

                Living in Los Angeles brought its own joy. Finally Burroughs was surrounded by people he hated. Being around people who adored getting spat upon made his life complete. Ending it watching his acclaimed program while out of his mind: Priceless.

LEAKED JOVIAL JELLYFISH VIDEOS OF HIM RECITING HIS PIECES

wow jovial jellyfish sends us these videos, of course we leaked them.
what will thepyramidpress 'leak' next?

MARK STEVENSON - ONCE THE NEWS OF MY DEMISE WAS READ, THE WOMEN CAME

Out from homes and across lawns, from behind smooth desks, off of packed shop floors, away from babies and bosses keening, pulled from toilet stalls, post office queues, and out of bed, the women came: A bank of cars double-parked, rallied busy at the flat shore of the hospital's doors, they stood along the pavement in static poses of the worried, the scared. Knuckles, fingers blushed white, wringing handkerchiefs dry. Makeup strewn and fixed and strewn again, and re-fixed. Hemlines tugged, a blouse rejigged, the women came.

As I lay hushed on my bed, these women – to the ward, down the hall to the cool of my room – this was where they moored.

They asked how, what evil, and why, but no doctor could present himself, no nurse appeared. All the equipment seemed in order – the transparent bags of thick fluids, the tubes pinned on skin, the monitor motoring on, scrolling green peaks of pulse – all of this, and yet the hospital held void. The women filled the mint-blue room around my form, hugged the walls, hunched on the tile. They sat, and each in turn pressed a moist rag to my brow, played with the bunched skin of my wrist. And they would sigh, blow a breath, say things like, "I like you very much, do not die. Please." 

The women would plead like this, plead with my dying self:
"Please. Don't die, not for anything, just don't."

They would come to profess of their love, eventually, expected. As I lay stunned with fever, lean and naked on a sheet, they would blurt out, "Love, please my love, survive this bad so that we may be happy together forever, in our love for one another." 

Sometimes they would mumble a short prayer, blushing, or bite a lip. Often they would kiss my cheek, and I would nod, then, or pull a smile, wink a dried eye.

On one occasion I could only part my lips and tongue a dead tooth, wet-black, out from my mouth. Which they retrieved, of course, one of them, gladly in palm, wearing the withered peg the next day, on a silver chain around their neck; grinning of it, the tooth already softening further, wetter, resting in a shaded patch at their breast. Such was their love.

Such was their love for me, that as my naked body began to bear bruised tumours, dense tan blisters, as my skin tightened, and split, and leaked and opened, and began to mouthe the smooth wrinkled red-brown of muscle beneath it, white strings of tendons shown foraging within my shell, the many women in their droves sat and ate by my side – mostly cold soups – and passed bread and water to my lips from theirs, and went on stroking gently my brow.

They told me, "Do not die, my love. I have a husband, a wife, a boy, but you are all I really am, and your death will make a death of my life. You would make a grave of me if you were to go."

(I would make graves of them all)

I told them, If you must come, wear a nurse's uniform. And so they did.

And so each day, this fleet of errant nurses attended to my bed, bringing with them their bodies wrapped in pressed white linen, hair hidden firm in a bun under cap. A dark rouge grin, eyes dimly powdered, a small blue flower pinned to their lapel. They told me of their world, all about themselves and their lives, but all about my own life, too:

All I had done, all I had still to do.

How well I loved and how much.

How tender, how good, how fierce.

Just how keen or cautious I was.

How much they needed me.

How much they could not live without. 

Nights drew in and on, days ballooned through the blinds of my room.

They spoke soft, brightly, as if I were some new knowledge, new language made manifest upon us from some blind part of human thought.

They took my hand, pressed it in both of theirs. Held a wide stare, squeezed. Blinked, looked away from me. Continued on...

As the confessions came, of course, there was inevitably a last: the procession felt the emptying in the air, quietened, whispered, wept, (No more prayers, now, I tried to say) as the nurses left my side shaken, paler, hats and flowers off, now, unfurled in fear, as the women of my life spilled out stumbling onto the outside, a grey street, suddenly struck with all kinds of complex loss, leaning in to walls and a hedge and a passer-by, each of them bearing my child, I died.

No one survived.

LEAK! JACKSON NIEUWLAND - THE RICHEST MAN IN THE WORLD

The richest man in the world was not a nice man.

You do not become the richest man in the world by being nice.

There was one nice man who worked for the richest man in the world.

The nice man loved everyone unconditionally and was loved in return by everyone.

The richest man in the world hated him for the love he received.

So the richest man in the world decided to have the nice man killed.

He ordered another of his employees to assassinate the nice man.

The richest man in the world was glad when the nice man had been taken care of, after all it was his company's policy to take care of all it's employees.

But the pleasure soon faded and the richest man in the world realised that he couldn’t trust the killer to keep the secret.

So the richest man in the world hired a second killer to get rid of the first.

The richest man in the world was happy when the first killer had been taken care of by the second, he was following policy.

But then he realised that he couldn’t trust the second killer to keep the secret.

So he hired a third killer.

And a fourth.

And a fifth.

And with each killing the secret grew.

And eventually there were only three people left in the world: the richest man in the world, the seven billionth killer, and woman who was about to become killer number seven billion and one.

The richest man in the world planned to have the woman take care of the seven billionth killer and then to take care of her himself.

She would have to settle for him if he was the only man left on earth.

He would not only be the richest man in the world, he would also be the happiest man in the world on account of being the only man in the world.

Things didn’t go according to the richest man in the world’s plan.

He called the woman into his office, gave her the instructions, gave her the gun.

She emptied the clip into the face of the richest man in the world.

Her and her husband, the seven billionth killer, lived happily ever after

ANOTHER NEW LEAK JUSTIN CARTER - 'MEDITATIONS OVER FRIED-RICE'

Love,


      she says, as she moves
      the pork dumpling to her lips


is a cyanide tablet. 


We’re sitting at a table
inside Shanghai River,
the lights are dim
and my coffee is cold.
      I say,


I don’t want to take a pill.


      I say,


I want love in its purest form,


like a crystalline solid
mined from the earth of my body,
from the center of my granite heart.
I dip a ball of fried pork
into sweet and sour sauce;
the sauce drips down my chin,
on to my shirt.
      She says,


that’s not what love is.


      She says


what do you really want


      She says,


I am telling the truth.


The waitress takes my cup
and pours the molten liquid into it,
but when I press it to my lips,
the coffee is still cold.

RARE LEAK! PETERBD - '2012 PREDICTIONS'

2012 prediction: you'll do big things 

2012 prediction: you'll try new things 

2012 prediction: you'll finish that thing you didn't finish in 2011 

2012 prediction: you'll succeed 

2012 prediction: you'll eat delicious food 

2012 prediction: you'll make a name for yourself 

2012 prediction: you'll witness a heinous crime and decide to keep your mouth shut due to reasons only you know

2012 prediction: you'll eat some bad food 

2012 prediction: you'll finally come clean about that thing 

2012 prediction: you'll get wasted and think you're a combination of missy elliot and vladimir putin. this will happen at least twice 

2012 prediction: you'll eat food that is just ok

2012 prediction: you'll play approximately 10.5 games of jenga 

2012 prediction: you'll be kidnapped 

2012 prediction: but you'll be kidnapped by bill gates who will give you a 30 day lesson on how he became successful. you won't mind this at all. who would?

2012 prediction: you'll bake a cake
____
http://peterbd.tumblr.com/

WOW FEDS DEMAND TAKEDOWN OF LEAKED PIECE FROM DJ BERNDT

'INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY' by DJ Berndt I lived in a blue house with my wife and our dog. We had a nice yard that I cleaned on the weekends. I knew that the secret to success is a confident appearance, so I shaved every morning before going to work at my father's insurance company. My wife ironed my clothes and bought new ones for me sometimes so I always presented a positive and trusting image. We were going to have children someday.
Capitalism is to liberty as fascism is to _____.
One morning, after stopping for coffee and a scone, a man approached me. He said he was interested in buying some insurance from me, but then he put a blindfold over my eyes and guided me into a van. I tried to sell him insurance anyway, to use my aura of confidence and positivity to escape. The man said nothing for many hours and then the van stopped moving.
Would you rather (A) make more money or (B) have more children?
I haven’t stopped filling out the surveys since I got here. They get me out of bed every morning at 7AM and take me to a plain room. I pick up my pencil and answer questions for many hours at a time. After one sheet is finished, I open my drawer and pull out the next one. The drawer is never empty, no matter how many surveys I complete.
On a scale from one to ten, ten being the most, how willing are you to die for your government?
At first I felt afraid. I wanted someone to iron my clothing properly. What will my wife do now that she has nothing to iron? I miss her very much, but I have a lot of work to do. After all, it’s important to communicate information carefully and efficiently. This requires a clear mind, so I don’t bother with memories of my old life anymore.
If you noticed your neighbor skipping church, would you report him to the proper authorities?
I have been giving information for a long time now. They say I am the smartest, and it makes me feel really good to hear that from someone. I don’t believe I ever received proper recognition anywhere else. I must be careful not to let anyone down. I must be diligent in my efforts and maintain focus. A sharp mind is absolutely necessary for this kind of work.
What would you do if you overheard a conversation in a foreign language publicly?
The work is difficult, but rewarding. After four or five days’ worth of information has been drained from me, I am granted a day off. They let me color shapes with any color crayon I want. I paint a red triangle and a blue square. I create a trail of yellow circles that litter the edges of my masterpiece. I draw straight lines, curved lines, dotted lines. It is absolutely beautiful. When night
falls, I rip the papers apart and fall asleep in rainbow fragments. I think I may have become God.