Tag Archives: lit

Captain’s log 

Some of you may know that I’ve been experimenting with fiction for some time now. After a couple of failures trying to write a novel it became apparent to me I had much studying to do before I could even think about trying again. That was two years ago. Now I have a rough draft basically done on this new project that is currently entitled The Needles of Ahuehuete and 106,000 words. I have it set up so that a part 2 is doable as an addition to the novel or sequel whenever I feel like writing it but I also like where and how this one ends too.

Now here’s where you potentially come into the scene: I’m requesting a hand full of copy readers who are willing to go over it and tell me how much it sucks. If you speak spanish that is huge to me right now as the whole book takes place in cental/south America from the first person perspective of an American while travelling. He knows some spanish and has a digital translator on his tablet but it’s not always available for use. Sometimes the protagonist Tommy has only a sliver of an idea what anyone is saying while other times there is a bilingual character that acts as the stories translator and even then there is a language barrier. Since the translation was done with google I can’t even consider doing anything with this until I’ve had someone whose not a gringo verify it all sounds right. It was fun to write this way though I feel like it simulates what the experience is like… although much more dramatically.

Contact me here if interested: Kontakter

What else? Some notes… I have a burning desire to get good at writing fiction. I love the experience of reading a good book that just sucks you in like a black hole and blows your mind. Am I there yet? Oh hell no! But I’m getting closer every time I try. I’m going to keep trying until I can start selling these things and people love them. I like that poetry is something I have no desire to monetize. It’s my place to play and say and do whatever I feel like. And I like that fiction makes me feel the opposite way and gives me a space to potentially create to market. Even if I never sell a single book it’s damn fun trying.

I get sucked into writing almost the same way reading does. I get to create these worlds and live in them before you do. In some aspects that’s what it’s all about… but that wouldn’t be the whole story.

I just finished writing and am planning on going over it once in the next few days, eating a bunch of acid, and then sending out the drafts when I come back. I already have a new idea for another plot/novel and may just start focusing on that depending on the type of feedback I get. 

Genre: Fiction / Sci-fi / Realism

P.s If it takes me a little longer than expected to send these out don’t trip I will get to it soon… there’s not exactly any time frame on this and it’s not like I’m in any hurry… thx

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Watermelon on the face in May

They figured out
All you gotta do
Is drone them
& they’ll come back
They’ll come back
They figured out
All you gotta do
Is bomb them
& they’ll fight back
They’ll fight back
Watermelon
On the face
Watermelon
On the face
In May
They figured out
All you gotta do
Is send them off
& let them back
Let them back
They figured out
All you gotta do
Is let them thru
& they may want
They may want
Watermelon
On the face
Watermelon
On the face
In May
They figured out


The inbetweens

Light a candle
Put a stop to them
Put a stop to them
Put a stop to them
I like to sit
Watching plants grow
From a window
Scrolling down
Down
Down
But it lags
It lags
It lags
It lags
& I know
Somewhere inbetween the I
And these requests you sit
Collecting
& I muse
Do you feel a pang rewarded
Like I do
Like I do
Do you
It’s sticky
Like a web
Like the cum
On your hands
Little humps
On the top of tinted SUV’s
Watching screens
Watching screens
Watching screens
It doesn’t matter
We’re the inbetweens
The inbetweens
The inbetweens


The miner

                                                      She was waiting
                                                by the open window
                                                  for the sun to set
                                                 smoking a cigarette
                     but it never did
                       that night


         The Velvet Underground spun around
         on the thrift store phonograph
                                  it sounded
                      almost like Aphex Twin

                    a full moon
                     or a straight line
                       insufflated off a mirror
had her hair all tangled
                                            tied back
                 like some sorta
                                    dying ritual


both of her hands &
        both of her eyes
     would alternate
                                       from screen to screen


was she a hunter—or a dopamine machine


who was she waiting for

                  in nothing but her striped stockings
                                             up to her thighs 
       a black choker with a ring on it &
       an indigo princess plug hidden

                                        by the faux tiffany lamp
                                   cross legged on the bed
                 in a small white room
             with a fat buddha tapestry
                                             twelve floors up
                                            with the window open


no encryption


 the screen turns off
  but the cam stays on