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25 August 2009 @ 08:35 pm
"The trick to the "creative arts" is to become the sort of person for whom failure and frustration are fuel, like one of those ramjet spaceships that runs on hydrogen that it collects in a big scoop as it travels through the universe, able to collect more and more fuel as it goes faster and faster, never stopping, always accelerating, a dangerous projectile without any direction or purpose. A firecracker! "Creatives" must learn to find their thrills in the mad rush to the "bottom" instead of the slow crawl to the "top." But there is no up and down, really. Only space and speed. And failure is a far more abundant fuel source than success." -- John Wayne
11 August 2009 @ 03:56 pm
Some dear friends asked me to give the toast at their wedding, but I don't have the money to travel down to Texas. So we are gonna do a show for them on Friday, and I wrote this story:

"Wedding Toast"

I figure: why ask ME for this, if this isn't what you want? Right?
31 July 2009 @ 06:04 pm
"The only way I can work with you and not be scared you are going to turn around and stab me in the heart with a knife every time I tell you to do something is if I imagine that you are some kind of cartoon character."

Ha ha! Fuck you, New York! I am here for another month, at LEAST.
31 July 2009 @ 05:55 pm
I am going to make rent this month.

Thank you, baby Jesus.
28 July 2009 @ 09:38 pm
I am a simple man from a small town in Texas.  My dreams are simple, prosaic, and laughable -- but of course urgent to me all the same.

I think I want what we all want.  I want a flash drive shaped like a dildo filled with my ten best short stories, taped audio performances (with funky-ass DJ samples), and illustrations.  All I want in this world is for people to be able to fuck each other with fiction.

I know I'm a dreamer.  Just a simple, innocent dreamer.   But we all need hopes to pull us through the long, lonely nights.
24 July 2009 @ 01:37 am
I just watched every single G.I. Joe public service announcement.  If you need some advice in your life, go ahead and ask.  I am about as wise as I can possibly be right now.
25 June 2009 @ 03:48 pm
Alright gang.  This is what I'm reading tonight.  A brand new story about The Way We Live Now.

Role-Playing Game

Are you ready for this shit? 

03 June 2009 @ 05:22 pm
We just got booked for a show on the 25th at the KGB Bar in Manhattan, which is New York's most famous literary reading bar, and therefore the world's most famous literary reading bar.

The fucking Fiction Circus at the KGB.

Now I have to write a story so good this month that it will literally make people want to kill me that it is so good.
But here's this month's short story for our show:

"A Tense Situation and a Chainsaw"

I wrote this story based on three fun samples that Goodman Carter and I came up with:  the "aaaaaa aaaaa aa aaa AH" from Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song," a chainsaw, and sleigh bells.

Looks like my summer job this year is going to be taking care of the infant downstairs while his mom goes and does make-up jobs for photo shoots. 8 bucks an hours cash, 5 hours a day, plus whatever health food I can steal.  The pantry is mainly stocked with shit like "spelt flour" and "cranberry resin" but whatever.

I've done it this gig for four days straight now, and me and the kid got a pretty good relationship going already.  I can put him to bed in five minutes flat, which isn't as fast as my little brother used to go down (instantaneously), but kicks the shit out of my little sister who never used to sleep at all.  The best you could do with her was put her in some kind of baby prison (crib, walker, stroller) and let her stare at you while you went about your business.

We go for walks, we build shit out of blocks, we chase the cats around.  My new catchphrase is: "It's not my baby."  I'm not sure that's the right thing to say, though.  People don't trust a young fellow with a child.  I get strange looks from the Indian and Colombian mothers who I meet in the park, and if I had shaved my head like I was going to do this summer, I would probably now be in prison.  I figure they will get used to me eventually, in my ripped up jeans and Ghostbusters t-shirt, carting around an infant, trying to teach him curse words before someone else does first, trying to think up what fun porn story I will write for our show on Thursday.  Calling my friends.  "WHAT'S UP.  WHAT ARE YOU HOLDING?  A SANDWICH?  I'M HOLDING A NEWBORN BABY!  GOT TO GO -- HE IS THROWING UP ON MY GODDAMN SHOULDER."

Note:  all the baby toys around here were designed by a pair of folks named "Melissa and Doug."  I know this because their signature is on everything.  I guess they are some kind of crass, barren couple.  Here's a fun picture of them I found online: