who would’ve guessed?

These are the dangers of prop comedy. Just say no.

January 19th, 2012:

All Scrabble tiles now “Z”

All fonts now comic sans.

All comics now prop.

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Read the other calendar dates here:

2012, An Apocalypse Calendar

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These y'all streets.

January 18th, 2012:

Occupy Wall Street occupies all streets.

Occupy Mall Street mauls all occupies.

Occupy Y’all Street y’alls all malls.

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Read the other calendar dates here:

2012, An Apocalypse Calendar

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Artists rendition.

Once I was done with all my graduation and parties and I’m-going-to-spend-my-whole-life-going-to-parties-and-I’m-even-going-to-make-this-into-a-job-because-I’m-going-into-party-promotions-as-a-business nonsense, I got depressed again.

The real world is just so boring.

I mean, really, what’s the point?

You get a job, you make some money, you get an apartment, you get a girlfriend, you have a kid: so what.

Its just all so less fulfilling than fantasy.

And grad school is a kind of fantasy. Like a fantasy baseball camp.

Grad school is fantasy camp for adults.

“Are you ok,” she asked.

“Is he really just gonna pass out there,” I heard her whisper.

I really tried to get up. I couldn’t get my limbs to move. I couldn’t get my eyes to open.

“Is it anhedonia,” she asked.

I I’d. I just I’d. That’s what I had energy for.

“The loss of pleasure in everyday activities that you once found pleasurable,” she continued asking. She really rattled the words off just like that. The definition of anhedonia was that close to the front of her brain.

“Yeah, its that,” I said.

“Another one – I’m sorry that its gotten that,” she said, “Another one is dysthymia. And then of course there’s melancholia, which is just general low-lying depression. Don’t the words for depression just slide off your tongue?”

This is the point that I realize High Priestess knows she’s in the novel. She’s talking like a damn character.

Good to have at least one self-aware character.

I’ve been reading Chimera by John Barth.

Gardner is so insistent in his meta-writing that it inspires me to meta-living.

Why just live, when you can meta-live?

Don’t aspire to participate in events, aspire to comment on them.

That is the eventual output of our civilization, is it not?

A bunch of hyper-evolved apes commenting on each other?

Writer: write.

Let every day be like one of those days when you opened the window on the advent calendar and there was a chocolate inside.

Find the wonder in that. Write the wonder of that.

Writer: find the wonder.

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| More Bushwick |
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Most badass sea turtle ever.

Previously:

Turtle, Chapter One

Old Man Frog was my master. I’d been apprenticed since I was ten. Two years left to eighteen, then I think the old man is gonna retire and make me the head watercatcher, which is a cushy gig for life on a ship like this.

Jeni’s mom, well, Jeni’s mom: Jeni and I had been friends since we were born, because our parents had been friends together in the raid, the big raid, the one that got us back on the Turtle. My mom was a weather specialist like me, it runs in the blood, and she summoned, well, I’m told she summoned quite a storm in her day. Jeni’s mom had of course been at the head with her maul swinging too and fro, my mom in the back reigning lightning on the Belandian pricks who were occupying it.

Difference is, Jeni’s mom’d made it. So now she’s a pirate princess. Mine didn’t. I got apprenticed to Old Man Frog. I can’t complain: power of lightning at my fingertips and an assured position on one of the biggest pirate vessels on the forty seas.

More like King in Smell-ow, am i right guys?

In honor of the imminent flood and Rapture, I recorded my short story Books on Tape on tape.

Enjoy!

Books On Tape (On Tape)

The Ant Eater started eating whole colonies at once.

It was worrying.

The Walrus of course was hardly the person to comment on someone’s recent weight gain so he kept it to himself.

The Alligator wanted to eat him. Because he just kept getting so big, so fat and juicy on those squishy ant colonies.

That’s a strange thing, to want to eat your friend.

I mean, the Ant Eater once saved her life, when she’d been trapped under that fallen Elephant, the Ant Eater had reached her snout in and managed, actually managed, to pull her out with it.

That’s impressive snouting.

And now she looks like dinner.

Difficult situation.

The Walrus had always been large, and frankly, the Walrus had always kind of looked like dinner to the Alligator, but a Walrus is a formidable foe. And the Walrus wasn’t just any Walrus. He was kind of a berserker.

He’d lost an ear in a fight with a Sea Lion. Don’t even look at the back of the left side of his head. It looks like someone sewed new skin on there, its so torn up.

But he’d won that fight. That Sea Lion is dead now.

Don’t fuck with the Walrus.

The Walrus decided to buckle down and say something.

They were, of course, hanging out by another ant colony.

Where the Ant Eater had dragged them, because he couldn’t even go two hours without eating Ants.

Not like the Walrus and the Alligator are aquatic animals, and they didn’t go out of their way to go up on dry land just to hang out with their friend or anything. I mean, hey, if I’m coming to hang out with you, I don’t want to just watch you eat ants all the time. You’re killing yourself.

You’re killing yourself, that’s what he said.

That’s what he found himself saying.

And the Ant Eater looked bad: bloated, pale, just rolled out in the dirt covered in Ants. Ants, Ants, Ants, that’s all he ever talked about.

It was sad.

PART ONE OF UNTIL ITS DONE!