Monday, December 28, 2009
--noun (pl. Jesses)
1. Someone--typically male--who invents popcorn subs at The Subway six days per week, 52 weeks per year. Jesses may or may not smoke cigarettes and be good listeners.
2. A friend.
3. An arch-nemesis or lover of a Noah, or a Noah-Bitch.
1. To invent a popcorn sub: For years, I Jessed in isolation
2. To defeat a Flying Demon: In 1862, a Thai Noah found himself unable to Jesse.
1. To mock a Sivens: Guys, quit Jesseing me!
1. To be an expert at making sandwiches for The Subway. *See The Subway.
--noun (pl. Matts)
1. A man or boy who steals alcohol and/or homework from people. He may or may not be drunk at the time of theft: Help! A Matt stole this boy's homework!
2. A philosophy scholar.
3. A relationships scholar.
4. A good friend of Papas. Papas and Matts may or may not have the same mother, depending on the schematics of Dad-History for the Papa/Matt complex in question.
1. To drink alcohol: have you been Matting?
2. To smoke smoke cigarettes.
2. To study philosophy: have you been Matting?
3. To study relationships.
4. To study the philosophy of relationships.
1. To befriend a Papa: Papa, I am not Matting with you.
2. To be hostile toward a Sivens. *See Sivens.
1. To be drunk: are you Matt? Look at me. Are you?
2. To be belligerent.
--noun (pl. Dads)
1. The totality of fathers who have disappointed a particular man or boy. In rare cases, the subject of a Dad-History may occur as a girl. Such cases are to be forgotten immediately upon inception. *See father.
2. The essential link between a Matt and Papa, or a Noah and Jesse. Without a Dad-History, either pair will find itself extremely vulnerable to a Noah's Mom (Aunt Mara) attack. *See Aunt Mara.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Any thoughts to ease my mind. Hypothetically. Let's just say.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Fletch's house I won't describe, everything is so goddamn clean in there. The bathrooms were dressed with red eyelets, the living room with hoary castered chairs. The rotted brick walls were written with the black of cigarette ash. The shingled roof tucked in a steel-grey trim. I don't know much about houses. I suppose it was a bungalow. What little I do know, I have learned from reading books until things have spoken their natures out to me. My head invites a clear picture. My head and heart both go wild when this occurs.
I have spent long, hot days driving by that house to see how no one was home.
Sometimes I took the car when I wasn't meant to and it was a disaster.
I tried hard to pass my love around that house. My love teetered and someday it just nodded off.
This whole time I was afraid. I thought Fletch would leave me, weak and hollow, for Orlando. I had trouble staying in my bed at night. I wandered the house, I would open and close doors. I would yell through hallways, my hurting voice gone unheard. I developed trouble breathing. Sometimes I awoke hitting the fingers of a fist into my chest. In my dreams I hurt myself and other people. I developed lesions on my arms from so much of my dreaming. Langston wrapped herself around myself and asked about it. I said problems at work. There were problems. Certainly, there were problems, but I couldn't make my mouth stop lying. Langston worried herself asleep. I held her hair and spoke gibberish into it. Then I walked the halls some more. I would fold my nose into windows and wait for the sky to change.
i am fifty pages in, but would it be crazy if i preemptively lauded the red truck by rudy wilson as one of the most unique and extraordinary books i've read?
the book is majestic. the book is a little peter markus, a little barry hannah, and absolutely there is nothing else like it.
i'll snip something out:
Alan jumped. His shortness ran, his shadow crouched toward a tree that got two small bullet holes in it, one that came through the boy's head, coated red. The blood was on his neck, it dripped down there, past the sun-brown to the sun-missed whiteness of his body that pulsed and then stopped. he had tiny hairs on the nape of his neck and on his back. His mother ran her fingers there. He lay, now he curled up last into a circle on the ground. His lips touched the dust in the grass. In his throat was a lump of air connected by nothing to a point of being.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
i'm working slowly on a novella. it feels like stringing together flashes, and the experience is sometimes nauseating; this one might be doomed. i am constantly worried that i won't be able to make it long enough for book form, which seems extremely vain.
is worrying about length vain? do you ever feel pressured to lengthen? perhaps it's just another form of inspiration, which is itself a vain anguish.
what do you think about multiple narrators in a work? is it outdated? should 'outdated' even apply to aesthetics? no, it shouldn't, but it inevitably does. i suppose i am not brave; i guess my voice is just weakening. but multiple voices: how do you manage them? what if the voices sound the same? do they have to be radically different? what is the nature of "voice" in an artwork?
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
i miss a certain respect for the infinite, the incomplete, bottomless, etc.
there is a smaller scope to what i've been reading--there are worlds in sentences, yes, but the sentence is not only found in sound
and it seems like i prefer sentences that are acoustically resonant rather than those that are mathematically plotted or something
i feel like i cannot have a dialogue with most of this stuff, like i cannot collaborate
somebody just offered me free MDMA
happy halloween or something
Friday, October 23, 2009
funny, and a little disconcerting.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
what's funny is that the smokelong piece was declined by JMWW, which on its guidelines page declares:
Flash Fiction: We like our flash under 1000. We think that Smokelong Quarterly publishes the best work out there, so if you think they'd like it, chances are we'll like it, too. We might even like it if Smokelong doesn't.
thought that was kind of funny.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
There is a description in a child's science book of the act of love that makes it all quite clear and helps when one begins to forget. It starts with affection between a man and a woman. The blood goes to their genitals as they kiss and caress each other, this swelling creates a desire in these parts to be touched further, the man's penis becomes larger and quite stiff and the woman's vagina moist and slippery. The penis can now be pushed into the woman's vagina and the parts move "comfortably and pleasantly" together until the man and woman reach orgasm, "not necessarily at the same time." The article ends, however, with a cautionary emendation of the opening statement about affection: nowadays many people make love, it says, who do not love each other, or even have any affection for each other, and whether or not this is a good thing we do not yet know.
*please do not sue me yet
Sunday, August 16, 2009
it's called "eskimo snow"
i think i would like why? more if there were no baroque pop arrangements
and if they returned to a more outsider electronica feel
of course that would require the firing of several band members
the new album is really good though
maybe the strongest lyrically
still i feel like the instrumentation doesn't work for them
because yoni's lyrics are so much about alienation and loneliness and stuff
and pianos and xylophones or whatever don't really signify alienation and loneliness etc. to me
why?: early whitney*
*this isn't my absolute favorite why? song, although it is in the top 5, but this 'video remix' is just about the best and most stirring thing i've seen
why?: gemini (birthday song)*
*this song is actually only five minutes, and it is probably one of my favorite songs
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
we will both be drunk then or just me
i will fold you and lower you like we are fishing
on your back, in a sit-up position
i will kiss your forehead and do a push-up and
i will brake at your face and feel no pain at all
crystal: please just lets have one there outside now.
its blue not gray use your eyes. look with your eyes. with what?
and cravings and the grand slam at dennys and syrup and honey and toast with jam. yes we can.
only thing is you said do they quit serving breakfast at ten
at mcdonalds i quip i added that quip at the end but i said. really though, i said, the difference is attitude.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
think i'm going to write an essay on NOON and post it here eventually
having real trouble writing or whatever
feel like i need to make changes
need to really change how i engage
how i view, map, generate relationships, friendships, etc.
feel like my shirt's always on backwards
or incorrectly buttoned if collared
i mean i want to turn my skin inside-out
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
everyone else puts a lot of work & effort into their blog
making it nice and readable and posting cool things
i wish i could write you nice and readable and cool things
you would read them and comment, 'hey alec, i like you and i like what you posted'
and both of us would feel good, so good, we would feel like two blades of grass or something
i would feel like you are my friend
we could drink beers together and laugh at comedies
sadly that is not the case
Friday, July 24, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
I am talking to my friend on Facebook chat. I haven't talked to him in probably 4-6 months. We have a lot to catch up on. I'm typing on a big Mac desktop. I don't know what kind. From the bedroom I hear a sound like coughing. It's actually my girlfriend crying. I leave the computer room. I forget to tell my friend, who has cystic fibrosis, "brb." I feel bad for my friend who has cystic fibrosis.
My girlfriend is crying into a pillow on her bed. Her bed is a futon, I guess. She is cocooned in a white duvet. I don't know why she is crying into a pillow. She sounds very sad from the severity of her crying.
I lie down on top of her body.
"Why are you crying?" I ask.
"I am sad," she says between sobs.
"Oh," I say.
"It isn't your fault," she says.
"Okay," I say.
I go back into the computer room and resume talking to my friend. He is probably confused about why I took a short break from talking.
He tells me about a music festival. I am sad that he will probably die sooner than most of his friends. I wish he could live just as long as anyone.
I hear more sobs break from the bedroom. I go lie down on top of her again.
I say her name repeatedly. I receive no response. I return to the computer room.
This time, I apologize to my friend with cystic fibrosis. He says, "it's ok." I wish we would talk about things besides this music festival. I guess it isn't a big deal that I keep on pausing my involvement in our conversation.
The sound of more sobs. This time they sound more like hiccups. I explain to my friend that my girlfriend is crying in the bedroom, and that I have to go.
"that sucks," he says, "tell her i say hello."
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Now "Mad World" is playing. It is 5:22 AM. The sun has risen. Outside a tall guy has opened the trunk of a minivan. He’s carrying into the cafe boxes. I’m hungry and depressed that I lost three dollars to a person who gave me glass dishes and glossy paper with my name written on it. Also my girlfriend’s name.
We have been in this cafe for eight hours.
I hate my life.
My girlfriend thinks I lie to her a lot. I don’t really. I can’t remember the last time I did. The only time I can remember lying to her recently is about my feelings and feeling sad or angry.
I just lied to her about reading something she says I didn’t read. I sort of did but not entirely. I think that counts as reading it. It probably doesn’t. I am a liar. How can I even be honest about my lying. Ha ha.
The guy who took my three dollars is back and he says he has money for breakfast. The money he has for breakfast is my money. I want to stab him in the head a bunch of times.
New York City is great.
“Like a Bollywood type movie?”
I hate everyone in New York City. I hate everyone everywhere else. I hate Brooklyn. I wish I never had to talk.
There are so many stupid conversations happening at once. Actually it’s only one conversation. It could easily be about thirty conversations. These thirty conversations are coming from the hot barista. I want to stab him in the head a bunch of times, too. I probably think his conversations are stupid because I think my girlfriend is going to have sex with him.
She probably will.
David: how's nyc?
how was hong kong
David: boring and awesome
how is the internship?
me: awesome, i love everything i'm doing
i'm in a cafe in the west village right now
this is so cool
do you think you'll be able to come up here?
David: ha badass
yeah i think so. when would be a good time?
David: alright then i'll start looking up tickets. i don't have a job and do nothing everyday. btw guess what i found out eariler?
David: i'm transferring to emory
me: what holy shit
David: yeah, i literally didn't give it a second thought. i noly applied because my parents forced me to
me: whoa that's so cool
maybe your parents fixed it so you'd get in
maybe to make up for all of the years of abusing you
David: that would actually be awesome and might even redeem their poor parenting
me: it would for me
i'm at a cafe and there is a crazy person who keeps talking to himself, he is bald and really fat with fat rolls in the back of his head
now he's talking about his invented girlfriend
that's so awesome though
did you do really well in college?
David: man now that's awesome, can't get that anywhere else
me: you should come here as soon as you can
David: no, which is the really weird part. i have the exact same gpa as i did in high school, which is a 3.1
me: he just called me tom brady
that's literally a crazy thing to happen
even though a 3.1 is better in college than in high school right
David: you should take that cas a compliment
me: i am choosing to
this is amazing, i am facing a window that looks directly out onto mcdougal street (which is bob dylan's street in the village)
you should come here as soon as you can
David: min-blowingly cool
will do, just got to clear it with parents, which should be easy considering i jus tpulled off a fucking miracle
me: hahaha i bet this was a great father's day for papa cao
David: close, xu
me: even better
David: it's funny filling out forms with his name, especially when they ask for only the first initial
so what'd you do in HK
David: mostly toured the city and some scenic spots
doing much of the same in ny?
me: sort of. i've mostly been eating
i'm also living with my girlfriend, which is great so far
David: damn, nice. is she from there or did the both of you move there fort he summer?
me: she just graduated from new college, but yeah, next month she's moving into her own apt though
David: niice, dating someone with a degree already. you are a god sir
me: hahaha, likewise
this bald man is now yelling "miss" at my girlfriend
now talking to himself
now talking to someone else
David: lol is he right next to you?
me: no he's in the corner opposite to mine
what've you been doing
this city is amazing
David: pretty much noting.
i bet it is. everything happens there
me: it really does
what'd you want to do here
David: i don't know. what do you recommend? i'd like to eat at some famous/good places. and i guess any good concert/events that only happen in ny?
me: yeah i haven't been to many famous/good places so we should go to them
yeah there are free concerts in the park and stuff
i saw david byrne for free in prospect park a couple of weeks ago
so we could go to those
there are free movie festivals
i'm sure we'll get to go to some parties and stuff, or at least opium magazine events
David: damn, that already sounds awesome
almost all of the flights from bham to ny require at least one stop it seems, and thet all take more than 6 hours
me: this guy just came over who works at the cafe and gave us free glass dishes
shit that sucks
well hm which airline?
laura took a jetblue flight that was really short
David: ah ok, i was looking at sw
lol free glass dishes?
that is awesome
me: yeah and then he came over and wrote our names in permanent marker on some sort of glossy paper
and wrote "NYC" on it
David: any reason for this or was he just being badass
me: up. then he asked me for 2 dollars
and i didn't know what was going on and for some reason entertained him and it turned out i had 5 dollars and then he gave me only 2 dollars in return
and now i am out three dollars and am depressed
that's even cooler
me: i also think the dishes are from the cafe
i think he stole them
David: hahahahah, wow he must be a really lazy criminal or just crazy
ok how does july 6 or 7 sound?
me: that sounds fine except i might have someone else coming to stay with me for a couple of days on the 7th
i don't care it's up to you with regards to sleeping arrangements
David: oh where i sleep is the last thing i care about. as long as you're ok with two extra poeple staying with you
me: nah i don't care
july 6 and 7 is fine
i hate my life
i really miss that three dollars
David: heh can 3 bucks even get anything
a 2.50 falafel
a cup of coffee
David: great, now i'm hungry
me: haha i am too
but i've lost 3 dollars!
anyway i'm going to go back to my apt i think
David: hmm now i empathize with your conundrum
me: let me know about the plane details once they happen
yeah i empathize too
i hate my life