There I was all set to visit Seattle--free passage on my navy brother's gunboat, no less--when the sea's lack of cellular towers fucked up the transmission of info so I missed the departure. I was really looking forward to some mischief with =Spiff-Johnson. Maybe some scientists in the future used the HADRON to ruin the plan because our matter / antimatter-like collision would have inverted the universe or some shit. We weren't even going to cross the streams! Well, maybe. You know how smooth a talker Zack is. Still. Not cool, scientists. Not cool.
In other news I entered a "creative non-fiction" piece in this year's CBC literary award contest. I don't know shit about our indie lit scene, don't have a clue who the competition is. (I've read one or two national lit rags that didn't bore me to tears.) Also that A Cappella Zoo fall issue is out now, in print and online. It's got my story The Week in it.
Still novelling. I'll always be novelling, but not this same one for much longer. Goddamn about time I got done with it. What're you writing?
My shit in print:
The Week in A Cappella Zoo.
Looking Down On Me in Silver Thought.
Looking Down On Me in Soundzine.
Pretence (earlier draft) in Soundzine.
Good Men Do Nothing in Joyful!










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what the GLOVE COMPARTMENT?!? This shit is ORANGES.
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If I'm not writing, I'm just sitting here changing oxygen into carbon dioxide. Like a baby. A little shit and piss factory, maybe one day a man. Be a man today, motherfucker.
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what the GLOVE COMPARTMENT?!? This shit is ORANGES.
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what the GLOVE COMPARTMENT?!? This shit is ORANGES.
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design [di'zien] -
to conceive and plan out in the mind,
to create, execute, or construct according to a plan,
a drug taken directlly into the mind, an adiction,
a belief, a religion, a pure sexual desire
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