Radio Silence

I’m in the process of moving. I have many family issues. Work is insane. Thus the relative quiet these days. Not to worry. I will be back and full crazy force soon.

In the “Mean” time HTML Giant is taking swipes at Trick With a Knife. I find it fun. I find many things fun.


Happy fun fuck cum gallon jersey

My intestines, like a ragged mountain, are piled on the floor.

I hope for fire but know that the fire will not come.

She smiles but it looks like a mask and her lips make me weep.

Fuck this. I am finished with your eulogies and worms. I want to move south and eat fish on a beach where no one knows what money is. I want a sunburn. It is always winter here, even when the temperature hits 95 degrees.

Blood can boil and can be drank.

Those bitches at HTML Giant have a great interview with Ben Brooks.

Trick with a Knifehas some new stuff, including my reaction to the movie version of The Road.
Mosquitoes don’t bite alcoholics. Well, the alcoholic ones do, but they are rare.


Exterminate humanity. Especially the humanity inside you.

I cannot

Madore decides to take on HTML Giant. I like this. It’s what we need to do.

I hate Mother’s day.

I cannot review this book by Gordon Massman.

I want to be killed.

Q and what is up with the narwhal?

I keep not reading Under the Dome by Stephen King. It sets there and taunts me. The thing is a monster.

Madore suggests the subscription model

Speaking of that, I recently enjoyed Old Men, Girls and Monsters by Peter Schwartz. I also dug Jennifer Love Hewitt Times Infinity by Kevin Fanning. These are wee books for getting and reading.

I have made friends with the proprietor of the local liquor store. Oh lucky me!

I want a walrus to sleep under my bed.

A new movie based on a Bukowski book has sparked an interesting conversation. You could take part.

HTMLGIANT Talks about a Lady Gaga Journal.

I want to collect spam and send it to my friends. Not the unwanted email; the fake meat.

What the fuck is the deal with the narwhal anyway?

Do you have any idea how many types of Crows there are? That knowledge would drive you mad before it devoured you.


I am back. My father and I left half of mom’s ashes in Horseshoe Park in the Rocky Mountain National Park and half of her in Indian Springs, Texas. These were her two favorite places. I think that she would have been pleased.

We took a side trip to Seabrook then Keemah. I needed that. The ocean had a powerful desire to remind me how big it is and how small and insignificant I am. I could not tell it no.

The exhaustion from so many days on the road will take some time to get over.

Back at home I found out that a story of mine called “Lucky Strike Conspiracy” is going to be in a lovely publication called The Story Garden.

The cover of issue three of Gustaf Magazine is on-line. I will have a piece in it, so that makes me happy.

I got a ‘maybe’ from an e-zine that I really want to be in.

My advance copy of Blake Butler’s Scorch Atlas came in the mail. It is a beautiful object.

I’m going to submit to a book of literary tattoos. Info can be found at HTML Giant.

The work has really piled up for Thirst for Fire. I have a lot to do.

I wish I was drunk.


I reviewed Everything Was Fine Until Whatever. I agonized over this review. It is clear that Ms. Martin has talent, but this book did not seem to display it. I was not moved and did not care for the effort. I always feel like an ass giving a negative review. Sometimes I hate reviewing books.

Over at my favorite HTML Giant Sam Pink asked a question about editors. The comments have turned into a firestorm about Lee Klein and Eyeshot (which sadly may be going away). Take part here.

I had whiskey for lunch and am having beer for supper.

Is it wrong to pay for sex? I mean, even if she’s a friend and needs the money? Weigh in.

When am I?

You lock the door at night and climb into bed, pulling the blanket up tight to your chin to create a warm little womb, but before you can sleep you know that you’ll have to climb from the cushioned dark to double check the locks. It’s not that you’re really afraid; it’s just that you can’t really relax until you are certain that he house is secure. Maybe it would be different if you didn’t live alone. Probably not, though.

In the morning you make too much coffee and leave half the pot to go stagnant during the day. You remind yourself, for maybe the billionth time, to only fill it half way tomorrow. Then you set about feeding the cat. It isn’t until he purrs at you, looking up from his dish with too wide almond eyes that you think of me for the first time today and feel the tears trying to build. You shake that shit off and get on with it.

You don’t work anymore. That kind of goes without being said. You have your widow’s benefits, and your family helps out a little. Sometimes you think that you should find a job. Maybe, you think, it would fill the hours. Honestly, though, you just can’t see the point.

After I died you thought that you would too. But, somehow you just didn’t. People keep telling you things you don’t want to hear. You’ve had your fill of dumb cliché: time heals all wounds and life goes on and so on and so on and so on. You figure that mostly those things are true. But then again, sometimes they aren’t.

Most of your food gets nuked. You were never much of a cook anyway. You don’t eat standing over the sink. You’ve spared yourself that indignity by eating on the couch, cat curled at your feet, watching TV shows that you never really see.

Sometimes, very late at night, after you’ve double checked (and maybe triple checked) the locks, just as you’re starting to fade from that point that isn’t wakefulness but isn’t sleep into real slumber you think you hear my voice. You can almost hear me speaking in that sleepy way that I would just before I dozed off. The part of your brain that is still turned on knows that this is the edge of dream, but fight against waking. When this happens you pull your pillow tight against you and cry without knowing. Sometimes you wish that I’d haunt you. You’d be satisfied with an angry, vengeful ghost. You’d be satisfied with almost anything.

Read this at HTML Giant

Saved by the Bell is getting crazier.

xTx is making me lose my mind.

There is not a single person on the plant that wants this fucking thing

Molly Gaudry has interesting thoughts on first lines.