Wednesday, November 30, 2011

I think it's ok that

I have no theories on literature.  I mean, of course I enjoy the use of modernist objective stylings and meta-4th-wall-breaking postmodern one-liners or whatever (I don't know how to make footnotes in the blogger composition window or I would right there and say something like, "1. big fat bonerjuice."), but reading book reviews, and the pretense involved, makes me want to punch.

I gotta finish reading these short stories so I can read another book of short stories.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Plans to Read a Book and Enjoy

Plans to read a book and enjoy a nice cup of coffee at the nice coffeeshop down the street from your home can change quickly. As soon as the caffeine hits, you can't concentrate on the words you're reading and they start reading themselves and you've gone through two short stories and you don't even remember their clever titles.  You feel like a real dummy when the title is the first sentence of the story like an ee cummings poem or something.  But you're too busy listening to people thank each other for meeting there tonight to bounce ideas off each other about entry level plans within the industry. Or thinking about how nice it is to be reading this book, but you'll probably get stoned later and you won't to be able to read, and you'll probably try, and it will probably turn out just like this. Reading pages of a book but forgetting what you've read.  But you saved half of an al pastor burrito and bought a Heath bar with the specific purpose of smoking pot and eating them later. 

Coffee can turn an empty Monday night into a serious question of one's place in this American landscape.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Ok, I'm going to write a real story this time that ends like this:

But she looked at him and felt a sense of self-serving grace was compromising all the things she held dear.

I can't decide,

what would be a more vulnerable and hilarious situation to see Batman in.  Hunchbacked and squinting at his desktop computer, dick in hand, vigorously leafing through filthy porn sites, or eyes closed, candles lit, with slight splashing sounds of his hand sensually beating himself off in the bathtub?

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

This is a Story About Death

Dan threw up on the bar after the fourth round of whiskey. He tripped on his way to clean up and closed the bathroom door behind him.

After the first round of whiskey, Dan said, "Those shots were fitting. Glad we aren't just sticking to beers."

After the second, I put a dollar into the jukebox. It was an analog jukebox that played 3 songs for a dollar. A song by Bruce Springsteen played. I don't remember the other two. No one danced. No one had danced since we walked in.

The third round came and some of us smiled. Some of us smiled as we toasted. "To not blowing up in a car crash," someone said, I think.

Dan threw up on the bar after the fourth round of whiskey. Some ended up on his clothes. On his way to the bathroom, he tripped over his own feet and fell into the door before he could clean himself up. We all laughed and looked down in our wallets for jukebox money.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

I'm going to write a short story that starts like this:

Dan threw up on the bar after the fourth round of whiskey.  He tripped on his way to clean himself up and closed the bathroom door behind him.

 It's gonna be about death.