Only you ever existed. Art by @mfave
Reclusive Deity Hasn’t Written A New Book In 2,000 Years
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:
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Reading Period: Always-Open
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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/
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
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 damnedRead 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
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
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
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
a. scientist guys keep him in a freezer like walt disney
a. forget the moon landing
b. that actually happened
c. stephen hawking died 40 years agoRead it: http://theneweryork.com/my-mom-does-not-think-stephen-hawking-is-the-real-deal-heres-why-isabelle-davis/