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

Ghost Wedding

24 Dec

stupidity 3

(Previously)

At night a burning star arced across the black sky to the north. Past the mountains. They were in what was once a back yard. Cinder block walls around the pool still half intact. Everything up high was gone but in the dips between the hills buildings still stood. Air mostly still and cold but once in a while a shrieking hot wind would spin the dead leaves, send them clattering against the concrete. It carried burned magazines. Excel printouts, emails marked HIGH IMPORTANCE. The pages spiraled around and hissed against the walls in the dark. Continue reading

The Bitcoin

13 Dec

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Friday he got off late from the coffee shop. Had to walk up the hobo alley off Abbott Kinney in the dark, to the residential street where he’d parked his Mercury Topaz. Work lot for customers only. Rough day but they all were. Gloria the goth cashier girl called in sick. He had to cover. He had a crush on her but she was dating some guy in a band. A state worker out of South Carolina had called, threatening a fine. The dishwasher had fathered kids there and he’d forgotten to file the wage garnishment. In his hand, in a clear gallon freezer bag, the now day old vegan almond flour blueberry muffins. No time to cook but it was something.

Suddenly behind a trash heap something moved. He felt his hands raising up, although he couldn’t box. Rats scattered and a coke Zero bottle rolled half cocked over the concrete with a sound like a door knocker. A strange voice rattling off the dumpsters. Can you help me, it said. Continue reading

Diary: Into the Crypt

10 Dec

flames

Have to go into the fucking office. Weekend ruined. Won’t write the next chapter of Finally, Some Good News. Dreams in flame. Death, run over by a car, shattered pelvis, squirrels gnaw my scrotum, etc.

What’s more I wasted all morning reading /biz. Watching graphs fluctuate on Coinbase with my puny investment in imaginary money you can’t withdraw. It’s a Chinese finger trap. When you pay in, the system sucks it up eagerly. When you transfer out– a long dark lacuna while the price of what you want whips around wildly. Never in your favor. When your coin is lowest and theirs highest, it goes through. Plus a fee. Don’t you see, cryptocurrency eliminates the middleman. Continue reading

The Fisherman’s Daughter

10 Dec

(Previously)

In Puerto Princesa the guard at the resort gate had an M16 with the blacking worn off. A kind smile. He made 50 cents an hour and they posted him by the road. When Abu Sayyaf took you they approached from the beach. They drove speedboats up the coast from the south; he’d read about it. If they came the guard would have to hear the disturbance 200 yards away. Run to the beach, fight off five men with AK-47s by himself. 50 cents an hour. That’s assuming the boats weren’t already halfway back to Balabac where they kept the video equipment dry for the beheading. The hotel came at a significant discount but the desk girl still charged him for an upgrade. We need it sir, she said. No more Westerners now because of the terrorist. She had studied hospitality. Hoped to work in California. You’d be like a movie star there, he said. The men will go crazy for you. Continue reading

Festival of Savings

19 Nov

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Previously

He dreamed he was walking. Looked down and his hands were holding papers. Folders of mistakes he’d made at work. It was the day of his annual review. In one or more areas he had not been Very Satisfactory. He woke up thinking he was late. Then remembered. There had been a nuclear holocaust.

Thank God, he thought. Continue reading

Aswang

4 Nov

garfield cropped 2

Previously

Don’t come inside, said Maricar. She was 4′ 11”, 19, looked 14. Waray-Waray. The father a coconut farmer on Samar. There are beach there but no tourist, she explained. He’d never heard of it but decided to move there.

They were in the best hotel in Angeles. You could tell because there were so many Arabs. In the elevators they’d quietly appraise your girls and smile. One named Waleed he’d seen three times, earned enough trust to hear that your George W. Bush was a criminal. He worked for the Jews. Continue reading