Allen Ginsberg throwing his voice into the Futurama
Is is just me or does Allen Ginsberg sound suspiciously like Dr Zoidberg? Oh nevermind.
Writing the Weird, over at LitReactor has wrapped for now. I dug it more than a little, thanks to one of the most inventive and crazy-enthusiastic groups I’ve had the privilege of working with. I read some great stuff—malevolent bees and addictive urinal cakes (because they’re blue) and ghost towns of the mind. It was…
So this. Last night I sang in my sleep. It woke me up almost at the same time it woke him. Jen, he said, nudging me to the surface. You’re singing. It was a terrible dream. Plotless and physical. The wordless tune pulled from my viscera like a meat hook. It was more a compulsion,…
There is this couple at the next table and she was waiting for a while for him. When he came he had this present for her. It was this box like you get in Japanese stores shaped like a chocolate box and inside it there were four crocheted chicks, or critters, he had made for…
Have you seen this Milos Formon Movie, Taking off? This is a clip from it. I’m taking off too. For my first AWP, the launch of my first book, my first reading. See you there. And watch the whole movie. I worked for a while as a blurb writer for a cable station. I had…
I woke up late this morning. To bird song. And if you’ve ever woken up to birdsong in Australia, you know that it never fucking stops. It’s not like birdsong in America, which politely diminishes by mid-morning, and by noon is just a distant memory. No, over here, it’s a constant, euphoric shake rattle and…
Because Charlie Watts. And because it’s Friday, and I crushed, like six deadlines. And because it’s wine time. And because the bodies of those deadlines are a bridge back to the manuscript. What a beautiful buzz to be out of that rut.
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