Sticky: Finally, Some Good News

29 Oct

I’m writing a serialized novel called Finally, Some Good News. Here are the chapters so far:

  1. What Do You Do
  2. Nest Egg
  3. Second Date
  4. No Exit
  5. The Zombie Zone
  6. Angel of the Morning
  7. Belinda
  8. Power Achiever
  9. I Just Keep Losing
  10. The Sherman Oaks Outdoorsman
  11. Aswang
  12. Festival of Savings
  13. The Fisherman’s Daughter
  14. Ghost Wedding
  15. Talk to Her for Me
  16. Father of the Sword
  17. The Big One
  18. Industrial Society and Its Future

Saturday Morning Diary

21 Apr
lil tay

image: earnthenecklace.com

It’s Saturday. April whatever. The 21st maybe. I read one work related email. May have to perform one work related task. This instantly incinerates whatever spirituality I’d accumulated. Four years of prayer and getting crack smoking fetal alcohol homeless fathers sober. There’s a God made of nature and trees and a Satan made of work and money and we all know who’ll win.

I also read Twitter for 3 hours. Listened to the Beardson Beardly Weekly Sweat YouTube stream with Matt Forney. That might have done it. I also watched a fight between (REDACTED) Instagram stars called Lil Tay and Bhad Bhabie or some shit. Then did extensive research into who Lil Tay and Bhad Bhabie are, so… what was that, another nine hours. Heated up some chicken and ate it for lunch at 8:45AM and now I’m in a bad mood. Continue reading

Good Morning

2 Apr

I wake up not knowing where I am. The mirrors making the distances impossible. Light patterns from the blinds could be the jungle or anywhere. Not recognizing the lamps. Then it half occurs to me that I’m in the same apartment. 12 years. I have no children. It’s me alone here still. Everything is exactly the same. I’m 42 years old.

2052

31 Mar

IMG_8928

When he could no longer walk she carried him. They were on a broad salt plain, below sea level. Thick air so quiet you could hear one six legged white lizard scampering over the mineral crystals, 50 yards out.

They’d come 200 miles. When the sun set and the night came on cold she built him a fire. Set up the tent and blew up the air mattress with what seemed like a single breath. Inside she turned her heater on. Made her face into a 12 year old Japanese like he liked. Crawled on top and put him inside her and her arm grew long and slipped under him. A warm self-lubricated finger pushed into him and spun and vibrated. He came inside her, instantly, his eyes almost popping out. He was 72 and this was the fifth time that day. After he finished she patted his back and he burped. Alexa, play music, he said. Continue reading

Industrial Society and Its Future

27 Mar

(Previously)

Marcy Pendergrass was putting up the Fourth of July decorations. The one hot girl in the office.

She made no small talk. Her heart not in it. The CEO gave a speech, remotely. You may have read about merger talks. Nothing has been determined. As you know in this competitive landscape we can and must do more with less. In the coming weeks, departments may be evaluated. I expect with your competitive drive and your love for a challenge we’ll emerge from this process stronger than before. Applause over the conference room speaker phone. Continue reading

Mark

22 Mar

mojave flowers

They made him stand on a box. They made the other people stand in a hole. He had to look tall in pictures. Before he said anything he had to practice it with lawyers. I don’t want to be president—I just want people to fucking like me for once. Sheryl. Sheryl’s idea, Sheryl’s hustling and planning and the phone ringing with her Facebook® Messenger® video calls nine times a day with some big new idea meant to peel him off his job so she could take it. Rehabilitate your image. Continue reading

The Big One

11 Mar

(Previously)

In the morning they were going to move north. It had rained again. At 1AM maybe. The water tapping hesitantly at first on the tent roof and then walls of it making rivers of ashes, crawling cold in the dirt under the nylon floor. Hissing over the dying trees and ripping the gray grass out of the mud like a cancer patient’s hair coming out in clumps. Snaking into holes in the blown out Sherman Oaks roofs around them. Waking up mold spores in wrecked sectional couches and pianos and entertainment centers. Fattening up the burned out corpses of TV writers on hiatus who’d moved over the Cahuenga pass seeking highly rated schools. The scorched ribs of the pit bull mixes they’d rescued. It had taken months to get one. The shelters were bristling with volunteers and their alimony money. They interviewed you like Harvard. They wanted credentials. Certificates of education about rattlesnakes, coyotes. You had to try and try. You had to know somebody. Nothing left alive to soak up the sounds and the air made white noise like a jet engine next to you. She had second shift to listen for killers but when he woke up her cheek was nestled in his armpit. Her hair on his neck still wet, smelling like campfire smoke and swimming pool. The rain calmed down to a tap tap tap on a detached gutter pipe somewhere and a gray light was picking up. Her fingers on his collarbones and her eyes were opening and she was pulling down the zipper in his 25 degree rated sleeping bag and kissing him. Her mouth stank like Slim Jim debris caught between teeth for sixteen hours but he got used to it. She pulled open his cocoon and the cold air hit his belly. Slipped off her toothpaste color underwear and crawled on top of him and he felt like he was easing into a warm bath in winter. Moving slow with her hot palms on his chest and he looked in her eyes, seeing a child outside time that he wanted to hold and protect. When he came the world went white and he could see her black bones.

Why Haven’t You Posted

10 Mar

Looking through my own shit and I fucking covered it. I’ve said what there is to say about this apartment. The insects living in it. The fungus inhabiting the grout, mineral crusts in the toilet, the stews bubbling in its various crock pots, et cetera, et cetera. I’ve fucking done it; I got fucked up, I got sober. I got laid, I didn’t. I was broke, I got dough. My fucking same goblin face in the same mirror. Desperately flexing the same obliques under the one flattering light over and over and the pictures still suck. It’s done. Nothing changed, yet tons of shit happened. You got to read about all of it. Now the movie’s over but I keep waking up. I need a muse and you’re a cunt, Angela, for not talking to me. Continue reading