bITS 'N CHUNKS
Well shipmates, it finally happened. I released my own chapbook.
I've been putting myself out there for ages doing editorial and fictional work, and I kept saying The Book was coming... and coming... and coming...
(It didn't come for about 10 years)
I've said previously I'm not as in love with the idea of the novel as many writers you know are, but make no mistake that putting together a coherent collection of smaller stories isn't THAT much easier. You, as the critic of You, is quite the... existential experience.
The journey was long, hard, a little weird, and had some windy twists like an Oasis feud, but ultimately I'm glad it's out. It's not really the need to see myself in print. It really is the fundamental need to share. I share my thoughts and stories here on this blog and elsewhere and that's just what I like to do. This was also the ultimate task for me in terms of patience and forcing myself to completion of a process rather than give up half way.
I've already detailed the depressing minutiae so I won't share that with y'all again (and especially if you don't follow my social media). Today, the arbitrary release date, we're just gonna celebrate.
So, what have we got here? 3 stories that go from comedic to cosmic horror real fast and sometimes within the same space. One I've posted here previously & was actually previously published, but extensively re-written (plus, that site is dead so it's o-kay). The other two were trial and error just kicking around. And yes, there is at least one wrestling reference because... it's me.
Click thru below, pay what you feel is right. 18+ thanks to descriptions of gore and violence, and sexual content. Welcome to the real me.
(Feels good to be back.)
Alternatively, click me if that button isn't visible!
Moving inside you when you seem asleep -
Influence all to step beyond the gate,
When you're slipping in preservative:
Hydroglyphic downed stones
Hydroglyphic downed stones
It is 10:58 PM central Saturday night; a plume of smoke so big & white crawls closer to me like a fucking bubblegum scented stranger that just stumbled out of a Victoria's Secret.
It's my own fault. I'm at an impromptu dance party outside and I decided to partake in the ambiance. I'm waiting for my last panel of the night - the entire weekend spent at MTAC - the dance is getting a little aggressive and out of control for my likes, as I'm still sober. There's a kitty lolita wearing kitten paws and she's going to regret sitting so close to spilled alcohol and poached cigarettes in just a few hours.
Well, looks like it's about that time again -- holy shit has it really only been a month? Time flies when you're depressed.
Quick, what would make you whip your coworker around in their chair and shove a phone in their face and say, "Look. LOOK. Look at the things."
Why do we share?
The feeling of exclusivity. Walk with me here.
It's fun to feel part of a secret group, right? It's fun to go into a place and immediately hug everyone there and feel smug. Just admit it! It's way more fun to talk about events in retrospect than it is to actually talk about them while you're there. You're still making stories to tell while you're in the moment; the good shit happens after everyone leaves and stops asking you a bunch of questions.
The good shit goes down when you get to say, "oh, you missed it."
Oh you missed the last show? Brutal. Well, too bad you can't catch up now. (You really can on ï»¿Powerbombï»¿, but let's pretend that doesn't exist.) Well, here we go, NOW...
In the opening monologue of The Prestige, John Cutter runs down the plot of the movie in disguise for the audience by explaining the philosophy behind a magician's deceit. I find this to be true for multiple mediums when we deal with fiction or some form of performance. It feels like trickery because it is; why do we enjoy it so much? Is it the sheer escapism? The part that I always take home, here, is "the turn":
"Now you're looking for the secret... but you won't find it, because, of course, you're not really looking. You don't really want to know. You want to be fooled."
Hands up, I'm caught and I admit it. I wanna be fooled. I don't want this gimmick called "insider knowledge". And there's no better time for levity, I tell you, than after a funeral.
I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations — one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it — you will regret both.
Kierkegaard is discussing the option of marriage in Either/Or; but, you know, in the internet age we like to take quotes out of context. What if you did nothing or everything? What if you denied yourself one thing out of caution for another? What if I stayed home under the threat of a good time with Netflix binging instead of, oh, I don't know, going out?
Surprise, I showed up. Had to find out.
"And you came here?"
For a split second I thought to myself, you're silly. Where else would I be with the migraine that's been shadowing me since Friday night?
(It was Sunday afternoon.)
I spoke to a couple of folks who were also beset with various calamities and we showed up anyway; that sickness is contagious.
Ia! If you've come this far, you're either looking for weird or you know you've found it...