theNewerYork Press

Sep 16

Only you ever existed. Art by @mfave

Only you ever existed. Art by @mfave

theonion:

Reclusive Deity Hasn’t Written A New Book In 2,000 Years

theonion:

Reclusive Deity Hasn’t Written A New Book In 2,000 Years

Sep 15

New Fiction: Manifesto For the Beings Dwelling in This Place in Which Us Beings Find Ourselves Dwelling by L.M Alder 

WHEREAS we find ourselves here amongst the odd daffodils and sepia-colored automobiles in the mosque lot, and WHEREAS we have been gathered here without our prior and expressly written consent, and WHEREAS we are given the monthly rations of only two crates of bananas, three quilts, and forty-two cloud-shaped boxes of chocolates, and WHEREAS we scratch our faces from the fallen ashes daily, we HEREBY make the following demands, of which all must be met, lest we shall harass our fellow citizens of county X, standing near to them and emitting our noxious smells during their commutes, asking them questions about their thoughts and feelings regarding religion, politics, art, and culinary matters as frequently as we are able, and destroying all of the daffodils we have been charged with cultivating:
We shall not assume extra harvest duties at the Crispy Rat Farms any longer unless given access to some portion of the meats gathered during our shifts.
We demand that we be given access to freshly squeezed orange juice every Sunday.
We must be given the keys to at least one of the abandoned corporate warehouses on John F. Kennedy Boulevard, ideally the one with the green siding and the picture of the woman with the red, red lips.
We must be given one seat in the county senate, to be filled by anyone of our choosing, assuming that person is of course above the age of 18 and has completed her requisite papers and is a documented graduate of the Knowledge Nexus Institute, Inc., as well as of course meets the height, weight and blood pressure requirements as laid out by the governing offices of the counties X, Y, and Z of state number 487, as well as meets any subsequent requirements stipulated thereof, in accordance with any established common-sense law successfully upheld through trials in the Regional Court system.
We shall no longer be used as test subjects for experimental pre-packaged cuisines, unless we as individuals choose to devour said cuisines, and we must be given the right to smell and/or taste just a little bit of each cuisine before making our decision, as well as given the right to negotiate for compensation for our participation in any such trials.
We demand that the air-raid sirens be turned down just a little bit, at least in neighborhood numbers 198, 199, 200, and 201, where all of us reside, and that they not be tested after the hours of midnight or before the hours of 10 am during weekdays, and after the hours of 2 am or before the hours of noon on weekends.
We demand that we be given access to films other than the four available in our access files: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The (Official) Complete History of The Entire Universe, Eraserhead, and The Jungle Book.
We demand that every third Sunday of each month we be given county permits to hold Neighborhood Gatherings®, the cost of which will be assumed by the county itself.
We demand that the ozone screen be removed for three hours of weekly direct sunlight access, to be removed on Sundays and also on holidays, ideally during the above scheduled Neighborhood Gatherings®.
We demand that fornication hours be extended to include weekend mornings, post-work shift quickies, and for one hour longer after Friday Night Alcohol and Marijuana Consumption Time®, as is granted to those living in neighborhoods 001 through 132, which we know to be true because we have obtained a copy of the charter written for those neighborhoods, which we have attached a copy of our copy of to these list of demands as proof that we do indeed have a copy of their charter and now know fully the level of inequality we have been experiencing during these past generations since the establishment of the Final Government during which we lived in what we only now assume was a level of ignorance only made possible by purposeful deceit, which we, as you can see by our list of demands, shall no longer tolerate.


Read it: http://theneweryork.com/manifesto-for-the-beings-dwelling-in-this-place-in-which-us-beings-find-ourselves-dwelling-l-m-alder/

New Fiction: Manifesto For the Beings Dwelling in This Place in Which Us Beings Find Ourselves Dwelling by L.M Alder

WHEREAS we find ourselves here amongst the odd daffodils and sepia-colored automobiles in the mosque lot, and WHEREAS we have been gathered here without our prior and expressly written consent, and WHEREAS we are given the monthly rations of only two crates of bananas, three quilts, and forty-two cloud-shaped boxes of chocolates, and WHEREAS we scratch our faces from the fallen ashes daily, we HEREBY make the following demands, of which all must be met, lest we shall harass our fellow citizens of county X, standing near to them and emitting our noxious smells during their commutes, asking them questions about their thoughts and feelings regarding religion, politics, art, and culinary matters as frequently as we are able, and destroying all of the daffodils we have been charged with cultivating:

  1. We shall not assume extra harvest duties at the Crispy Rat Farms any longer unless given access to some portion of the meats gathered during our shifts.
  2. We demand that we be given access to freshly squeezed orange juice every Sunday.
  3. We must be given the keys to at least one of the abandoned corporate warehouses on John F. Kennedy Boulevard, ideally the one with the green siding and the picture of the woman with the red, red lips.
  4. We must be given one seat in the county senate, to be filled by anyone of our choosing, assuming that person is of course above the age of 18 and has completed her requisite papers and is a documented graduate of the Knowledge Nexus Institute, Inc., as well as of course meets the height, weight and blood pressure requirements as laid out by the governing offices of the counties X, Y, and Z of state number 487, as well as meets any subsequent requirements stipulated thereof, in accordance with any established common-sense law successfully upheld through trials in the Regional Court system.
  5. We shall no longer be used as test subjects for experimental pre-packaged cuisines, unless we as individuals choose to devour said cuisines, and we must be given the right to smell and/or taste just a little bit of each cuisine before making our decision, as well as given the right to negotiate for compensation for our participation in any such trials.
  6. We demand that the air-raid sirens be turned down just a little bit, at least in neighborhood numbers 198, 199, 200, and 201, where all of us reside, and that they not be tested after the hours of midnight or before the hours of 10 am during weekdays, and after the hours of 2 am or before the hours of noon on weekends.
  7. We demand that we be given access to films other than the four available in our access files: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The (Official) Complete History of The Entire Universe, Eraserhead, and The Jungle Book.
  8. We demand that every third Sunday of each month we be given county permits to hold Neighborhood Gatherings®, the cost of which will be assumed by the county itself.
  9. We demand that the ozone screen be removed for three hours of weekly direct sunlight access, to be removed on Sundays and also on holidays, ideally during the above scheduled Neighborhood Gatherings®.
  10. We demand that fornication hours be extended to include weekend mornings, post-work shift quickies, and for one hour longer after Friday Night Alcohol and Marijuana Consumption Time®, as is granted to those living in neighborhoods 001 through 132, which we know to be true because we have obtained a copy of the charter written for those neighborhoods, which we have attached a copy of our copy of to these list of demands as proof that we do indeed have a copy of their charter and now know fully the level of inequality we have been experiencing during these past generations since the establishment of the Final Government during which we lived in what we only now assume was a level of ignorance only made possible by purposeful deceit, which we, as you can see by our list of demands, shall no longer tolerate.
Read it: http://theneweryork.com/manifesto-for-the-beings-dwelling-in-this-place-in-which-us-beings-find-ourselves-dwelling-l-m-alder/

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Sep 14

New Fiction: Noah’s Wives, Who had No Names by Kate Severance 

Asphalt love in a summer so hot that we boiled eggs in the shallow bowls of our skin. I cracked a free-range organic egg over your middle and you sucked it in. We paid extra for quality, or we stole. You talked up the produce boy and I put the carton in my backpack. I didn’t feel bad because there was always the possibility the chickens weren’t being compensated for their work. I understand this struggle because I am an artist. Like the chicken, I am always squatting and panting and pushing out an entire part of me only to see no payment for my efforts.
Sometimes you stole the neighbor’s mail. You answered their son’s letters. You told him that he was a beautiful boy, that your heart was overgrown with love and pride. He wrote that he was sorry for what had happened in Duluth, that he thought about it every day. He said that Patty had left him. You told him that Patty was no good for him anyway, and that you had always felt that way but wanted him to learn this for himself. You praised his fortitude and his bright eyes and his clean fingernails. I was not jealous of what you wrote because you had never met the neighbor’s son. At night, we slept on sweat-soaked towels and whispered the things that could have happened in Duluth. You kissed my hands and pressed them to your face. Water mains were breaking all over town. We could hear them bursting and screaming in the dark, like a symphony.
We befriended the bum at the corner. He was planning a trip to Amsterdam. At first he had planned for the Netherlands, but settled for Amsterdam, New York. You would pat his shoulder and give him encouraging words. We only saw him when we were drunk or tired, and for a while, I thought he might be a ghost or an oracle.
I read a book about birds and you fortified the back door with plastic wrap and painter’s tape. We listened to cassettes from the library while you worked. The cassettes were about ascending to a place beyond the ego and the self, and we picked those tapes in particular because we knew the plastic wrap wouldn’t hold. You said you wanted to be of an elevated mind when you drowned. I didn’t like to hear you talk about drowning, but I had been thinking about it, too.
The flood was slow to take the house. At first it was only leaking through the windows and under the door, and we took off our shoes and stomped in the puddles. We put our face in the water and blew bubbles. We gargled and splashed and sang. It felt sweet and easy, and I thought that it was not so bad.
When our feet couldn’t reach the bottom anymore, we swam outside. We swam to the bum’s corner. He wasn’t there, not even treading water, and I said that he must have drowned already. You said he was probably swimming to Amsterdam, and that he would do well when he got there because there were many canals in Amsterdam. You were thinking of the wrong Amsterdam, but I did not correct you.
Mothers were up on their roofs and chimneys, teaching their children to dive. Teenagers had made nests of trash and nudie mags in the treetops, and they spit in the water when we swam past. On the outskirts of town, you said that you could see the bum in the distance. He was waving from a boat. I could not see him or his boat, but I trusted you because I had given you everything. Hadn’t I spent night after night letting you touch me with your hands and your mouth? Hadn’t I left the book about birds behind when you told me to swim through the window? We kicked faster because we thought we could catch up with him. I was tired and sore when you told me to climb on your back. You said that the bum had blankets and sandwiches. You said you would swim underneath me and move my feet, paddle my arms with your hands.
Okay, I said, and it was the last time I saw your face above the water. When you descended, you gave me a thumbs up. You were smiling so big that I could see your one chipped tooth. Okay, I kept saying. Okay, okay, okay.
Now it has been many days since I saw you go under the water. I am paddling and kicking, even though you are not beneath me to push and pull my limbs for me. I have steered myself in the direction of Duluth. I have made plans to find the neighbor’s son, and to find Patty. I want to ask them about the last days of their relationship. I want them to tell me when they knew it was all lost. I want to know if love is quiet and slow when it dies, or if it breaks all at once like a dam.


Read it: http://theneweryork.com/noahs-wives-who-had-no-names-kate-severance/

New Fiction: Noah’s Wives, Who had No Names by Kate Severance

Asphalt love in a summer so hot that we boiled eggs in the shallow bowls of our skin. I cracked a free-range organic egg over your middle and you sucked it in. We paid extra for quality, or we stole. You talked up the produce boy and I put the carton in my backpack. I didn’t feel bad because there was always the possibility the chickens weren’t being compensated for their work. I understand this struggle because I am an artist. Like the chicken, I am always squatting and panting and pushing out an entire part of me only to see no payment for my efforts.

Sometimes you stole the neighbor’s mail. You answered their son’s letters. You told him that he was a beautiful boy, that your heart was overgrown with love and pride. He wrote that he was sorry for what had happened in Duluth, that he thought about it every day. He said that Patty had left him. You told him that Patty was no good for him anyway, and that you had always felt that way but wanted him to learn this for himself. You praised his fortitude and his bright eyes and his clean fingernails. I was not jealous of what you wrote because you had never met the neighbor’s son. At night, we slept on sweat-soaked towels and whispered the things that could have happened in Duluth. You kissed my hands and pressed them to your face. Water mains were breaking all over town. We could hear them bursting and screaming in the dark, like a symphony.

We befriended the bum at the corner. He was planning a trip to Amsterdam. At first he had planned for the Netherlands, but settled for Amsterdam, New York. You would pat his shoulder and give him encouraging words. We only saw him when we were drunk or tired, and for a while, I thought he might be a ghost or an oracle.

I read a book about birds and you fortified the back door with plastic wrap and painter’s tape. We listened to cassettes from the library while you worked. The cassettes were about ascending to a place beyond the ego and the self, and we picked those tapes in particular because we knew the plastic wrap wouldn’t hold. You said you wanted to be of an elevated mind when you drowned. I didn’t like to hear you talk about drowning, but I had been thinking about it, too.

The flood was slow to take the house. At first it was only leaking through the windows and under the door, and we took off our shoes and stomped in the puddles. We put our face in the water and blew bubbles. We gargled and splashed and sang. It felt sweet and easy, and I thought that it was not so bad.

When our feet couldn’t reach the bottom anymore, we swam outside. We swam to the bum’s corner. He wasn’t there, not even treading water, and I said that he must have drowned already. You said he was probably swimming to Amsterdam, and that he would do well when he got there because there were many canals in Amsterdam. You were thinking of the wrong Amsterdam, but I did not correct you.

Mothers were up on their roofs and chimneys, teaching their children to dive. Teenagers had made nests of trash and nudie mags in the treetops, and they spit in the water when we swam past. On the outskirts of town, you said that you could see the bum in the distance. He was waving from a boat. I could not see him or his boat, but I trusted you because I had given you everything. Hadn’t I spent night after night letting you touch me with your hands and your mouth? Hadn’t I left the book about birds behind when you told me to swim through the window? We kicked faster because we thought we could catch up with him. I was tired and sore when you told me to climb on your back. You said that the bum had blankets and sandwiches. You said you would swim underneath me and move my feet, paddle my arms with your hands.

Okay, I said, and it was the last time I saw your face above the water. When you descended, you gave me a thumbs up. You were smiling so big that I could see your one chipped tooth. Okay, I kept saying. Okay, okay, okay.

Now it has been many days since I saw you go under the water. I am paddling and kicking, even though you are not beneath me to push and pull my limbs for me. I have steered myself in the direction of Duluth. I have made plans to find the neighbor’s son, and to find Patty. I want to ask them about the last days of their relationship. I want them to tell me when they knew it was all lost. I want to know if love is quiet and slow when it dies, or if it breaks all at once like a dam.

Read it: http://theneweryork.com/noahs-wives-who-had-no-names-kate-severance/

Sep 13

Writing #inspiration for the day: #stfu and #write

Writing #inspiration for the day: #stfu and #write

New review: A Review of A Brief History of Time by Alex M Pruteanu 

from this limp man coming loud and clear in his pimped out wheelchair i learned how to make spaghetti
it’s true his lucid explanation of what i look like going into a black hole made me realize that pasta needs to be served al dente i can’t explain but he can if i could i’d have written the book myself and gotten me a pimped out wheelchair as well
from this genius immobile BrainMan i realized that quantum particles are strangely narcissistic if they could take selfies they would if you observe them they start fucking with your brain like they appear in two different places at the same time hi there hi there again it’s me here and here no it’s not the funny cigarettes you’re smoking it’s really happening i’m in two places at the same time (and quit inhaling freon as an aside it’s bad for your lungs)
but wait there’s more
each particle is composed of three quarks and comes in four varieties quarks come in six flavors each with three colors the rest are massless particles that are manifestations of the four fundamental forces particles can decay into other particles i said MASSless stop laughing
dig?
if you do then we can talk about black holes properly the singularity and its event horizon at which point the laws of physics break down due to the infinities involved there and the fact that we may all be holograms that exist perpetually on the event horizon itself perpetually and indefinitely
(and how important is that job you didn’t get that paid an extra grand a month now that you know all that? and what about that dolt that just cut you off without signaling? does any of it matter does it does it does it?)
but wait there’s even more and more and more there’s string theory and the forward linearity of time and hey did you know that complicated life can only exist in three dimensions: in two dimensions the digestive tract and circulatory system separates the organism and in dimensions larger than three gravity falls off too rapidly with distance to permit stable orbits.
finally our little steve-o finishes with this
if we do discover a complete [unifying] theory, … it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason—for then we would know the mind of God.
if that is true then i’d be willing to convert and become a Believer richard dawkins and christopher hitchens be damned


Read it: http://theneweryork.com/a-brief-history-of-time-a-sort-of-review-alex-pruteanu/

New review: A Review of A Brief History of Time by Alex M Pruteanu

from this limp man coming loud and clear in his pimped out wheelchair i learned how to make spaghetti

it’s true his lucid explanation of what i look like going into a black hole made me realize that pasta needs to be served al dente i can’t explain but he can if i could i’d have written the book myself and gotten me a pimped out wheelchair as well

from this genius immobile BrainMan i realized that quantum particles are strangely narcissistic if they could take selfies they would if you observe them they start fucking with your brain like they appear in two different places at the same time hi there hi there again it’s me here and here no it’s not the funny cigarettes you’re smoking it’s really happening i’m in two places at the same time (and quit inhaling freon as an aside it’s bad for your lungs)

but wait there’s more

each particle is composed of three quarks and comes in four varieties quarks come in six flavors each with three colors the rest are massless particles that are manifestations of the four fundamental forces particles can decay into other particles i said MASSless stop laughing

dig?

if you do then we can talk about black holes properly the singularity and its event horizon at which point the laws of physics break down due to the infinities involved there and the fact that we may all be holograms that exist perpetually on the event horizon itself perpetually and indefinitely

(and how important is that job you didn’t get that paid an extra grand a month now that you know all that? and what about that dolt that just cut you off without signaling? does any of it matter does it does it does it?)

but wait there’s even more and more and more there’s string theory and the forward linearity of time and hey did you know that complicated life can only exist in three dimensions: in two dimensions the digestive tract and circulatory system separates the organism and in dimensions larger than three gravity falls off too rapidly with distance to permit stable orbits.

finally our little steve-o finishes with this

if we do discover a complete [unifying] theory, … it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason—for then we would know the mind of God.

if that is true then i’d be willing to convert and become a Believer richard dawkins and christopher hitchens be damned

Read it: http://theneweryork.com/a-brief-history-of-time-a-sort-of-review-alex-pruteanu/

New Fiction: my mom does not think stephen hawking is the real deal & here’s why by Isabelle Davis 


he’s too old

a. he’s just pretty old for a person in general but in particular for a person with a disease that is supposed to deteriorate your mind & body & then kill you in three years
b. like he should have died fourty years ago
c. how is he still coming up with all of this stuff?? how is he still smarted than everyone else ever????
d. he’s not
e. he’s pretty much brain dead

that’s why he has the machine

a. the one that talks fpr him in a british accent
actually the accent is often disputed
british people think it sounds american so who’s to say really
((i am, it does not sound american. it sounds like a robot, which is what it is))
b. it does not actually talk for him because he does not actually program the wordsthat are said
c. how would he even do that?
according to wikipedia it’s his pure brain power??? as if.
d. no in reality other scientists put the words in for him & then have the machine say it

every time a big scientific discovery needs to be revealed they just roll out good old stephen to make the public believe it

a. before the whole als thing the guy was brillient—no one is denying that
b. who is going to argue with a poor pathetic guy like him now
c. science is all he has

in fact he has been dead for years

a. scientist guys keep him in a freezer like walt disney

this is the biggest conspiercy in all of science

a. forget the moon landing
b. that actually happened
c. stephen hawking died 40 years ago


Read it: http://theneweryork.com/my-mom-does-not-think-stephen-hawking-is-the-real-deal-heres-why-isabelle-davis/

New Fiction: my mom does not think stephen hawking is the real deal & here’s why by Isabelle Davis

  1. he’s too old

a. he’s just pretty old for a person in general but in particular for a person with a disease that is supposed to deteriorate your mind & body & then kill you in three years

b. like he should have died fourty years ago

c. how is he still coming up with all of this stuff?? how is he still smarted than everyone else ever????

d. he’s not

e. he’s pretty much brain dead

  1. that’s why he has the machine

a. the one that talks fpr him in a british accent

actually the accent is often disputed

british people think it sounds american so who’s to say really

((i am, it does not sound american. it sounds like a robot, which is what it is))

b. it does not actually talk for him because he does not actually program the wordsthat are said

c. how would he even do that?

according to wikipedia it’s his pure brain power??? as if.

d. no in reality other scientists put the words in for him & then have the machine say it

  1. every time a big scientific discovery needs to be revealed they just roll out good old stephen to make the public believe it

a. before the whole als thing the guy was brillient—no one is denying that

b. who is going to argue with a poor pathetic guy like him now

c. science is all he has

  1. in fact he has been dead for years

a. scientist guys keep him in a freezer like walt disney

  1. this is the biggest conspiercy in all of science

a. forget the moon landing

b. that actually happened

c. stephen hawking died 40 years ago

Read it: http://theneweryork.com/my-mom-does-not-think-stephen-hawking-is-the-real-deal-heres-why-isabelle-davis/

Sep 12

#ideas #amwriting

#ideas #amwriting