once canopy of orange underfoot
mind my money when the winter comes
better vistas long to get
Youtube Rabbit Hole: 4chan memes (It’s a channel + it is so good!!!)
Photo Credit: Eskipaper
Hello, liquor store, it’s just me. Me in the parking lot, me and the homeless people who materialized from nowhere at the stroke of 10:00. I saw the first lady walk up in my rear view mirror just after I caught the flicker to life of the open sign. We all sauntered up inside, all trancelike. Like a dog whistle version of the church bells. It actually made me sort of proud. I felt real kinship. I can rationalize my own behavior by reminding you I am working the night shift, and have been awake today since 3 am. The night shift, I am discovering, justifies all sorts of strange behavior. Anyway, I’d only been waiting a couple of minutes.
I moved to an apartment they deal heroin out of. At least, I think it’s heroin. I haven’t tried to buy anything yet. But yeah, at least a few days a week, this place is Open for Business. This is good to me. The other people that live here keep dropping little portentous details, big provocative things. “Since I went bankrupt and lost my house, I’ve been living in motels and places like this.” “I moved in here six months ago—worst mistake of my life. I regret it. I’ll tell you later. *deep sigh*”
Not that I’m worried. Like I said, I like this. I’m living alone, and I prefer that a lot to living with the last guy. He had hella coke and ecstasy, but the thing was, he didn’t share. One of many problems I had with that guy. But I am beginning, after some three weeks, to feel very established at the new place. I have nails for the windows. Allies in the building. I’ve been invited to the dirtiest little parties that you ever did see. There’s also a community garden, for strawberries, and good kush. Tomatoes sprouting in abundance. An ice chest full of beer made out of golden wheat. My dad is worried; he asked me if any children lived here. I gave him the best answer that I could, based on what information that I had, and said, “Sometimes.” Hell if I know. I don’t give a shit. Rob me if you want some decent books.
I have made advances in the world of writerering, which is neat. I’m writing for Zergnet now, for a panoply of sites. It’s one of those organizations that’s responsible for the links you tend to get at the bottom of a lot of websites; lists and things you won’t believe. Good place to kill time. So if you happen to see my byline there, it’s me. We are the content creators, and we are the dreamers of dreams.
I’m also immensely excited to announce that a short story of mine, “The Killer and the Star”, will be appearing in the pages of the horror quarterly magazine Dark Moon Digest, on shelves wherever books are sold this July 1. This is a quality magazine, full of quality work, and also me. It’s available as well on Amazon. I don’t get any more money off it either way, but I encourage you to check it out. I think my story’s pretty good. It’s about this dude, who’s really fucked up? And he like, has done some shit. And he’s gonna do more. And there’s a movie involved. I don’t know, it’s among the better things I’ve written. Satisfying, not unlike a particularly bracing burp.
Thank you for reading. Til next time, I remain adrift at sea.
Note that I am not into these things because I’m depressed (I think), but rather, because I’m depressed, the only content I can think of to create right now is a list of other, better content that I’m voraciously devouring lately.
Don’t worry about it, though. This sort of thing happens all the time.
1. Memes, but only good ones. The dankest. Stupid memes depress me. I hate this baby, for instance. I wish nothing but all the bad things in the world on that baby. He’s probably fifteen now. I sort of hate that even more.
3. The engrossing psychodrama of Showtime Network’s The Affair. (No spoilers! I just finished season 1! And I love it! These fools fucked their lives up fast!)
4. The fact that this painful infection on the corner of my thumb seems to be going away on its own. (It’s true, I’m into this, the fact that it’s going away. It’s on my hand. You become hyper-aware of even the most minor injuries when they’re on your freaking hand. You need hands for almost everything. The fact that I still have two of them is a solid comfort.)
5. Vigilante confrontations with child predators in Canada. (What? Something’s got to hold me over until this shit starts. This kind of awful, awesome thing is my bread and butter—and when you’re depressed, you tend to want some carbs.)
6. Stories about sports cheaters. Come to find out, when I’m depressed, I tend to get really attracted to other people getting their shit wrecked. Cool. That’s healthy.
7. My mom. She’s cool. You can’t have her.
8. That’s kind of it, unless you count staring into the middle distance while sitting in complete silence and going to bed at 6 pm. That’s a pretty privileged existence, really.
Happy Friday. See you soon.
…Mine was okay!
I’m currently laying in the dark, trying to sleep. It’s only nine o’clock at night, but I’ve been laying here since seven. I’d really rather be asleep.
Everything is okay. Sometimes this month has felt like spring.
Get more sleep in 2016. Wake up with the sun in 2016. Be the morning jogger. Rise because you want to; commit to do what makes you happy.
I woke up this morning with the sun tied in a sheet made of yesterday’s shame. I slammed a Diet Coke, reviving, and removed the chicken from the slow cooker. Wrapped in the sheet, with hair wild, I’d completely forgotten about the chicken, but the beauty of slow cookers is, hey, you can do that. You should ask the boys at fire station 5 about the night I threw potatoes in the oven.
I love slow cookers. The machine is my bitch. I’m going to bed now. But when I wake up, this better be done. This better be good to go. The machine takes care of me. Its creations keep me strong.
I live downtown in a third-floor walkup with a roommate. I work north of downtown, in a museum.
Lunch today is a chicken sandwich.
~If you don’t know, now you know, oh!~
Youtube Rabbit Hole: ATV chases