GB Juice

goodbye juice
it's been good to know you
point to the places you'd like to have seen
goodbye juice
now how will i know you?
i don't know what else I'd liked to have seen

HANK

Hank Jennings got a bag of cash
To turn a man from flesh to ash
So somebody could steal his mill.
Hank Jennings doesn't mind a kill.

Hank Jennings likes to have some money
To treat himself and treat his honey.
You only live once so why not live well?
A wasted life is early Hell.

Friends are nice and women too
But nicer still is being you
And being that at every second.
Some people are just pushed and beckoned.

And that's their choice and good for them.
Their wasted days can be a gem.
Some people have just what they covet.
And fate is clearly a part of it.

But fate helps those with stronger wills
And that's why they've a lot more bills.
Norma couldn't understand
But she'll smile with a new ring on her hand.

All the world is for the taking.
Anyone who says different is only faking,
Only kidding and hurting themself.
They'll never have much on their shift.

Me, I smile and do the thing
That helps me pay for Norma's ring.
Because I like it when she smiles
Almost as much as money piles.

Because the chance knocks on my door
And we can always use some more.
So he'll get his and I'll get mine.
Some other jerk will cut the pine.

And I'll go on my merry way.
Everyone should be Hank Jennings for a day.
But not much longer, otherwise
I'd be pushed around by other guys.

The Freedom for Animals association on Second Avenue is the secret headquarters of the Army of the 12 Monkeys. They're the one's that are gonna do it.

Have a Merry Christmas!


my recent dreams:
saturday
a blonde i used to know turned brunette and she looked at me with round blue eyes on her skinny face, curly bangs, and I told her to look at me again because her eyes reminded me of her and she said:
enough of that mood of infestation
i said:
do you mean infatuation?
she had a boyfriend and i kissed her when her eyes were closed and she thought I was him.
sunday
a different blonde had a party on park street in whitewater and was so unenthusiastic about my being there that i left. i was so hurt that i started a fight with this guy from high school and instead of him being pissed, he said, "parker, that's not like you. are you alright?"
he offered to give me a ride home.
suddenly, i woke up in the morning and had blacked out but i wasn't hung over. i had a hair braid in my pocket in the shape of a star and a single strand of blond hair was in it.
me and sean walked along park street in whitewater and neither of us could remember what high school class we were late for. we talked about a band that doesn't exist called Nyl Starr.
someone opened a suitcase full of blow in fairhaven parking lot.
monday
i played tackle football.
a girl told me she wanted to meet me by way of the black replaceable letters on a liquor store sign. we met at a strip mall. no big deal.
tuesday
Whadjadoo if I called you now
And all I did was bark and growl?
If I touched you would you yak?
Would you have a heart attack?

Whadjadoo id I said what I meant?
If I took off my glasses and wasn't Clark Kent?
How often do you think of me?
I'll bet someone still makes your tea.

I dream about your blue round eyes.
I dream your hair turned dark from dyes.
I dream that you aren't you and that
I kiss you on a welcome mat.

Iteration 17294530

Si qui que ce soit puisse entendre ceci, je vais essayer d'aller jusqu'au Rocher Noir. Veuillez nous aider. Ils sont tous morts. Ils sont morts. Il les a tués. Ils les a tués tous. Je vais essayer d'aller jusqu'au Rocher Noir.



forty-one days

Breaking News!

Breaking News: Butterfingers Jones Carries Three Crystal Chandeliers and A Carton of Eggs at the Same Time across Banana Peel Lane

Breaking News: There’s A Deer in the Road!

Breaking News: I Just Did Fifteen Consecutive Head Spins and am Perfecting the Worm

Breaking News: Nobody Reads the Fucking News Anymore

Arthur Miller's Ode to Harper's Nuts

Harper's Nuts

Got that feeling in your gut?
Wanna feel just like King Tut?
Get on up and off your butt!
Why not try a Harper's Nut?

Wanna rank above the cut?
Five below par at put-put?
Wanna live in Pizza Hut?
Go to the party in Eyes Wide Shut?
Wanna have a ball or what?
Come on, have a Harper's Nut!

It makes the little doves go "coo!"
Good for sheep, sharks or for shrew.
Apes like nuts and lemurs too.
Come and feed them at the zoo.
Not for others, but for you!
Try a Harper's Nut or Two!

**Unrelated**
This morning I sat down and had a black cup of coffee and a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and milk. I finished the cereal and then put two spoonfuls of cinnamony milk in the coffee. Wow!

The Midnight Cake Delivery

My house is made of milestones,
I heard a beggar say.
He never heard of traffic cones
As sure as night is day.

If he would wonder into town
And later wonder out,
Then he would smile on a frown
And laugh at every pout.

His daddy had a little dog.
He loved that thing all up.
It never danced when there was fog
Or drank his master’s cup.

The beggar grew up hot in May
And chilly in November.
And what’d he do on Saturday?
He couldn’t quite remember

The Time Machine

His friends call him Seany. He's known to throw a fish back if it's too scrawny.

Went to the future the other day. It wasn't bad, the shrimp was cheaper but it rained most of the time. The Morlocks are fun to party with. Sean was married to Leanna Eisnaugle and they were also both evil demons. Good times!

From Jayavarman II to his Beautiful and Mysterious Love (Ca. 836 AD)

I had a car and named it blue

The paint chipped off and I gave it to you

The seatbelts tangled and the handles rusted

You were the only girl I trusted

Eight days a weak my mind is taught

And full of bullets already shot

But there was a time of other plains

Of swallowed stars and bangerangs

A time when thinking made me glad

And I only poured my drinks a tad

The days shimmied in summer of the year

Now down the trail and nowhere near

I long for the time when I required

Now, I’m either asleep or tired

Now the dust collects unswept

Now my logic is inept

Now it doesn’t matter much

That there was a time you were my crutch

------

How wide and deep the island was gave a false impression of the kingdom’s immensity, an immensity about things other than geographical size. It was three miles by one mile, bordered by jagged rocks and a green restless sea.

Diamond forging halabuloo beaters half full galavant bi-corsican bi-nigerian
Mono-jalapeno dig popper half-valued half-jenkem pre-storage post-familiar twice-annualed forever-bidden pro-foraging half-anti anti- pre-storage-ism-tearing-oomycetes
Handy gaged furtive hinges of wasted tear-raising-head-butting-pro-raphaelite-jabenero-tasting-hullabaloo-
hoopla-jennifer-hankering-poultry-yanking-post-half-anti-semitic-
smoldering-self-gardening-poly-tethering-ancient-post-ancient-
holograms-half-smoked-inky-pre-posterior-kangaroo-biding-twice-
happening-moist-severing-thrice-annualized-two-time-thrice-
annualized-commemorized-post-posterior-itis-half-pre-full-star-
quality-inching-space-form-frosting-pro-grossing-hominiding-anti-de-
forestationizing-anti-classicism-pro-colonial-post-anti-proletariat-
pro-danger-spelled-ball-breaking-pro-ion-ions-ioning-half-free-dog-
dogging-anterior-post-antlers-post-postal-post-posterior-omega-alpha-
anti-pro-gaging-never-stopping-needing-post-tearing-pro-dogging-pro-
logging-pro-anterior-half-kangaroo-post-lacing-pro-looping-pre-
posting-just-jousting-quarter-babying-anti-youngling-pro-pre-
zapatista-anti-anterior-logging-half-jogging-climbing-gage-ridden-
pre-life-anti-choice-anti-post-host-hating-junglegym-half-tangling-
quarter-bi-eighthly-bi-post-quarterly-di-opticicism-mono-hangarazing-
mono-half-televisionism-breaker-b asting-forgoten-hand-
ho;dinf=kjsjkasas[-just =-klobberizing-part-half-quarterly-bi-optic-meteor-riding-plutonian-
garvanteeing-old-style-full-half-host-lapping-post-nappiong-half-di-
posterior-hosting-moistening-classicism-half-poky-naked-half-di-opti-
posterior-antagonizing-multi-graining-calm-headednessization-half-
poorly-half-jump-l;ong-post-gauarantee-post-benevolnece-post-
glavance-half-post-anterior-yearly-treeing-half-forged-forbiffen-
anti-numbering-good-galvanizing-post-colonialism-anti-opticism-multi-
mysticism-mono-atheistic-mono-polyistic-mono-diagetic-mono-foce-
feeding-di-opti-half-quarter-spitting-anti-clausing-post-paraphrasing-
post-necessary-post-yearly-pre-hoursly-anti-groggy-anti-post-itchy-
pre-naval-ghost-hair-raising-average-post-colonial-minus-post-
foraging-minor-horoscoping-rotoscoping-manage-a-trois-half-post-let-
me-stop now

Whoa Daddy!!!

Figures that a crab-addled junior to the firm can’t
Remember to tie his tennies
Take one for the meat,
The blessed princess teat
The bluey marble concrete
Sagging frost from every corner
Taking candy from a forlorn lore-mourner
As easy as blowing the bowing horner
A seeker of neither party gore nor
Take-care centered letter whores
But correct itching methods and better purrs
For finally gaging to meet her purse
Like a scorpion vibrating against its shell,
I rattle and roll for goo

Whoa Mama!!!

Down in the deep low, the man says a whole lot of things.

Thanks for everyone who came out to the World Wide Dirt kickoff last week. it was a blast and i hope everyone got a little wasty.

House Of Will is in the final stages of completion. exciting stuff. It'll be available online and at some retailers around the milwaukee area.

Five things i learned this week:

1. Lands End sounds epic and cool, but its just a magazine where you can order some random shit.
2. i'm like the Tony Stark of the writing world. Except the suit, the coolness and Gwen Paltrow.
3. Wearing wet socks gives you the whooping cough.
4. Parker winship was born in the canyons of the sun.
5. Dead men tell no tales.

From the lion's moldy, beat-up heart

5 things i learned this week:

1. I'm dumber than I thought
2. People accidentally ate LSD in their rye bread's fungal pathogens three hundred years ago and they went crazy
3. Waking life can be more dreamlike than dreams
4. A speaker is the same design as a microphone: a diaphram, a coil, and two magnets. One can be used as the other.
5. The stuff I got will bust your brains out, baby. It will really make you lose your mind.


Favorite drugs:
1. Warm blood that's still inside a human being
2. THC
3. Alcohol
4. Sugar
5. Dreams
6. Jenkem
*Actually, my favorite would be all six mixed together with some Squirt

Rogerville in Summer, or A Sorry Excuse for a Post

Excretion was an enterprise of pain and effort unparalleled for Charles. He sat on the toilet with a wringed out sweat dripping countenance, breathing heavily and burriyng his head in the trembling bones of his hands. Charles hated his anus for the exact opposite reason that he hated his mind: it constantly spewed out rotten shit, whereas his mind constantly absorbed it. The two were linked to Charles, like his soul was a celestial swallowing black hole that gobbled up all honest emotion and real sensations into the mysterious singularity at its center, then leaked what it had digested back into the universe as toxic radiation, a thin and shadowy string of awfulness that now drained slowly into the toilet in the back of Ed's Appliances. Charles did not feel well that day. His mind, as it usually did when he was alone, looped neurotically around his own unfortunate situation in the world. That morning he had flown in from a two week stay at his grandmother's home in Savannah. One night, after a Casian schmorgusborg of spicy delights shared family style with his grandmother and cousin, Charles disappeared into the restaurant's men's room for twenty minutes before his cousin came to confirm that he had not just dove out of the window to avoid he and his grandmother's company. Charles explained in a hoarse whisper that he had had what he called a "bombastic and evil shit" that had become in the last few minutes, particularly unpleasant in the last few minutes since the flow of soupy brown excrement had turned to hot blood and plead for his cousin to take him to the hospital. Charles had ignored the symptom before, but this time it was much too alarming to leave unchecked and so he found himself in a paper gown in the emergency room for an entire night, where he was invaded by three different doctors. Just after the crack of dawn, the most professional of three doctors sent Charles's cousin out of the room and explained to Charles that he likely had some advanced form of colon cancer. Three days later another doctor was conveying to him with a southern accent thick as the bayou air that Charles had somewhere between ten and twelve months to live, and probably about only four or five before his symptoms would keep him permanently tied to the bed and the bedpan. That was Charles Harms's southern vacation: a bloody shit and a death sentence. His life had never been what he wanted to be, neither had he, and he realized on the north-bound plane ride back home that his dissatisfaction was as irreversible as his malignant colon cancer. He would die without ever caring much about life, without life and the other characters who populated it caring much about him, and he would do it in a very unpleasant and literally shitty way.

Thanks for sticking around for that. Here's a picture of a talented dog:

TAKE THE MONEY AND RUN

This heres a story about billy joe and bobbie sue
Two young lovers with nothin better to do
Than sit around the house, get high, and watch the tube
And here is what happened when they decided to cut loose

They headed down to, ooh, old el paso
Thats where they ran into a great big hassle
Billy joe shot a man while robbing his castle
Bobbie sue took the money and run

Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run

Billy mack is a detective down in texas
You know he knows just exactly what the facts is
He aint gonna let those two escape justice
He makes his livin off of the peoples taxes

Bobbie sue, whoa, whoa, she slipped away
Billy joe caught up to her the very next day
They got the money, hey
You know they got away
They headed down south and theyre still running today
Singin go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run
Go on take the money and run

payments of patience

Holes and hell and Christmas bells, all shaking and quaking and ringing towards nothing.

I tried mama, and trying is trying, so try

Onward and further through burdens of calling

Numbers

And letters

And things that could make us feel so much better

I tried mama

Failed, but did.

So lets do justice to football and phantoms

Long shots or no, we must take them.

We must take them as far as we can, forever like that.

Let us take them. Lets take them.

must be the day that all of my dreams come true.

carraging through the shadow island strings
what care can mean
to a mother of five
when she hits the treble pangs
she asked someone once
if they knew what violin strings
were doing vibrating in her clavicle
and they answered that that's what
toastiness feels like right before the pop and ding
that signals doneness and jamness and digestion
in the stomach of the earth's soul
and the wise ones say then she gets excreted in
a panda bear mold on the polar opposite of the globe
and they'll give you a book called "Perfect Answers to Perfect Questions"
if you donate them a donation and they'll spend it on fodder
for their own digestion and razors for their scalps.



An absolutely great movie by my good friend Micah Bennker is up at the Man Eating Fish Entertainment website right here. I implore you to watch it and know that you will not regret having done as such.

coming this fall

"Does that sound like anyone we know?"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQ-YzhaTjuw

this website is where you will find the trailer for the upcoming life-changing film In Spring.... It was created by my frenzied friend Micah Bennker and, just like countless gnarly crack whores in the southern Wisconsin area, I had a little part in it. Take a look. It is funny!!!

the letters i know of

a is for ambling like Avery when he gets done gambling
b is for broaching like Bee when she tires of bad coaching
c is for camouflaging like Carl when he wants to hide his montaging
d is for burrying like when Daryl wants to see what soil tastes like
e is for forwardness like when Bee has to grant a pardon
f is for frankness like when Frank goes to Loch Ness
g is for believability like when Loch Ness poses for a pictoral
h is for haughty like Harry after half-time
i is for plagorism like when Parker says its for Indian Ink
j is for jay like the thing that Screamin Jay Hawkins smoked
k is for Karl like Carl's alias
m is for malicousnessacity like Bee when she teases Cassidy
n is for ambling Avery when he boils yams to make yambling
o is for operating like Daryl when he's under the influence and dating
p is for performance like every second of your daily dance
q is quietude for living in a world subdued
r is for righteousness like when Alanis corrects a guess
s is for sanguinity like when Gretchen pulls a shitty
t is for obvious like when Uncle Tommy endangers us
u is for under like approaching the precipice of plunder
v is very like very very Tom and Jerry
w is forever like wild Mathis up from Denver
x is for z, please let it be me
y is for yours and when Frank rambles, he pours
z is for you, you shaking statue, glittering glaring, forever fortuned, bested and buttered, soulless, thankless, wrist and ankle-less, mapley mothering, partially perforated, tenuously tolerated, nappingly inaugurated, indian ink indoctrinated, just and just now, new and never more than momentary, wary and wonderful, scary and under fall you

P-A-R-T-why?

because it's about damn time
WORLD WIDE DIRT is having a party on OCTOBER 4TH
release of "Bad Like A Cracken" magazine and celebrating the soon release of sean's fucking novel The House of Will
mark your calendar, the two people who read this blog who are sean and myself
there will be drink and dreams and finger food and the witches of whitewater
and the mitches (mitch orsburn has not RSVP'd yet) of whitewater and if you avoid my poison oak garden, then no itches of whitewater
and of course, special guests Michael Emerson of Lost fame and his lovely wife Janine Duguddery Phillips Emerson Esquire!:


and also the cool crooning styles of Sir Jim Winship, tripping the lights fantastic down the corner of easy street and kickass motherfucker lane.
all nonsensical ramblings aside, this will be a pretty good PARTY probably and it will occur on the 4TH OF OCTOBER and all proceeds will go to the Make A Wish Foundation (that was supposed to be the end of the post, but then i remember i actually met a dude who was a sick kid who made a wish to the Make A Wish Foundation and he asked for a trip to europe and they gave him a laptop computer. thought that was a funny anecdote. and totally true. he got better, but he smokes like a chimney now. come to the party....)

the long distance call

the flower winding over the stone edge
and sitting in the sun for a while, bored and baked and contented
kristin filling rhubarb into the crossword
meeting bollywood, carlton banks, and riotous
that balding bastard feeling life for a second
bad poetry is of the essence
nipping one of your cigarettes - a manchester lady in fishnets
no, but you can have a drag
after which it will be properly singed and sanitized
letting happiness find your vibrating head against a coach window
and letting it drift when it wears out it's welcome
letting yourself believe she's yours for a second
like you used to pretend you were aquaman and could breath underwater
not expressing emotions, but the beatles make you cry
do they? they make dolphins laugh and baby leopards bashful
and real beetles survive the final blast, according to the proper authorities
who finished school without a sweat and are sleeping under air-conditioned halos
and have interesting gigs like deciding what species are likely to outlive our own
bad poetry isn't good just because it acknowledges it's poorness
the president still probably has to jerk it occasionally,
on long trips to venezuela or the newly eu-embraced lithuania
and what does he think about after,
with the light glistening off of perfect white fixtures
sounds awful awful awful
not enough words to describe the awfulness of this poem,
and life imitates art, even bad art, which makes for awful life,
gone stale like j.j. cale*



*look him up if you don't know him, because he was pretty good
see also karen dalton
see also sick boy's unifying theory of life

Whats the difference between a Harley and A Hoover?

fuck milwaukee transit.

cheers to Harleys.

cheers to Harley Riders.

Fuck Harley fest.

I had to walk downtown to catch a bus yesterday. in pinstripes and wing tips. jesus.

the number for Milwaukee transit is some bullshit voicemail. next time your at the bus stop check it out. Or if you have a car be glad you don't ride the bus. either way.

October 4th is the WWD kickoff show. in Whitewater. At the Armory.

it' the position of the dirtbag, by the way.

land's end

not just the name on the tags of your comfy khakis or your flannel insulated raincoat. it is a place, and more importantly, a state of mind. it is hazy and covered in cornish ruins before they packed up and dug into wisconsin like badgers and gave us their pies. it looks a little like middle earth. there is a stillwater pond on a beach there that is one of the most perfect places i've ever seen.
there is a cider that comes in three litre bottles goes for three pounds, nineteen. it is clear and bold and made with both sugars and sweeteners. it has an alcohol content of 7.5% and it is known as White Strike.
michael's mount is a - what do you call it - it's an island at high tide, but at low tide it's just a part of the beach. it looks like xanadu and the national trust charges six pounds for entry even after you spent half the day walking there, so fuck that noise jack. we go play bumper cars on the mainland and there is an evil girl in there who won't stop coming after us. they call me hal, they call me stacey.
some kid in killarney asked connor for a fag and he was like eleven so connor refused and the kid said, a bright orange balloon in his hand, "you come into our country, our town and you won't even give us a fag," and when connor told him to bugger off, the kid says, "what? i'll take your face off, you stupid motherfucker."
knew a peace i hadn't experienced in a long time after sleeping on a bus from liverpool to glasgow, having slept the night before in a train station in a town called Crewe that was either in England or Wales, taking turns sleeping with connor so we didn't miss our next train, get into glasgow at six in the morning, a cool comes over me as we walk down deserted streets and there is purple smoke coming out of a stack on hope street (not just pretty words). we would gladly consume those who wish to subdue us (not just pretty words). the bus driver called me curly.
i fought a princess who was beautiful and possessed by a demon in edinburgh (actually happened), i watched trainspotting in wales with the nicest people in the uk, i saw the childhood home of ringo star, i went to a beach party that seemed pulled from my dreams after i walked out of a movie theater in london and watched it get washed away by the tide, i got black out drunk on a ghost tour in scotland and shook my head in my own kind of approval when the redheaded tour guide said i had indeed seen spirits on the tour.
had a dream last night about a skinny, vampire-like blonde who refused me four topper's cheesesticks. fuck it all, i'm going outside.

that's a bunch of killarney

i just did a loop around myself and now i'm dizzy.
home seems like a thousand years away. i'm not sure i'm going to make it.
people are nice. all of my favorite ones are american.
irish people are so nice they make me sick.
i got moved from one bed to another in the middle of the night in my hostel and didn't know where i was and that i was alone here.
i'm going to give you a big hug when i see you whether you like it or not.
i can't think of any antidote for poison beside more poison.
you people better like your souvenirs because it gave me a headache buying them.
sometimes you tell the day by the bottle that you drink, sometimes when you're alone, all you do is think - bon jovi is a hack, but i saw an action figure of him in london
i really do have love to give, i just don't know where to put it - Quiz Kid Donnie Smith (Present Day)
i've erased more poetry than you'll ever write
i've forgot more than you'll ever forget.

Hey Guys! Heres a few random facts about my life! Yea!

Oh state of mine, with so much allegiance I swear. Up and down and through all valleys I am caught completely unaware. There are places I have seen. Really a few places, not many or anything but a few. In all of this I claim my residency and heart in Wisconsin.

This last week I realized all the things that I don’t know and haven’t seen.

I started by heading northeast with Tanya for a few days of super camping. No tent ya’ll. Just a tarp and two badasses.

So many trees and bees and bugs and squirrels and joints, a few beers. Some hiking and swimming and driving and eating. Over the fire, in the dark, with little light.

...And all the while a flashlight under the drivers seat. Ah, all the things you don’t know if you don’t know.

Now with the family for the first time in a long time we head toward Superior and jesus families are funny. If not always fun than mostly funny.

Moving on, I’ll be home soon in the sunny city, getting shitty, doing a whole lot of things to make myself look pretty.

good

thank you
for my ability to give thanks
for my inability to add a picture
for the people i was born with
for the people who find me
for the person i am i'm yet to find
for my pleasure in something as pretentious as this post
for my fingers
for my ears
for my earwax
for my asthma
for water
for sand
for history
for the future
for neuroses
for the dark knight
for absolutely sweet marie
for bad music
for sour gummy worms
for money
for the people i'll never know
for this computer
for this second
for the word 'for'
for language
for thoughts
for space
for america
for being dead serious
for making people laugh
for sleep
for waking
for nothing whatsoever
for questions
for sleeping bags
for garages
for garbage
for tonight and next year's tonight that will be forgotten
for that which i won't ever know, there is a lot

Good Morning Seeing Bong!

hello cruel world. and welcome to the strain. too touch. ghetto rhetto, down low. down home.

Parker will be back in the states soon enough which is exciting.

we just got hbo and showtime so i'm watching This American life. dope.

Come check out Ftt on the second of august. robots will mosh.

New Batman movie was fucking incredible.

Moments of freakness

Here are a couple of excerpts from World Wide Dirt's upcoming short story magazine Bad Like A Kraken.

Insano Orangutan Terror
Parker Winship

Shane brought out the seed bucket and the peaches. He walked between the trees of the habitat and stopped at the metal dishes. It was dark and Shane looked up toward the branches and though he could not see the orangutans, he imagined them sleeping in the branches above and he put out their breakfast. Each of the little ones had a little bowl and he put one peach in each as well as a half-cup of seeds. Mama orangutan had a bigger bowl next to her childrens’ which Shane dropped twice as much seed and two peaches into. Shane walked away from their cluster of bowls to the big bowl that was kept at the bottom of the biggest tree in the habitat. It had always been kept separate from the others and Shane knew that was because the big orangutan would not eat with his family. It actually seemed unpleasant to him to watch his children eat, so his bowl was kept over here. He got five peaches for breakfast and Shane did not measure out the seed for him; he just poured it into the bowl until it was nearly full.

Shane turned with the bucket in his hand. He crossed the dirt ground toward the door. In the trees over him, a gust sent the leaves kicking and hissing against one another. Shane kicked something with his boot and sent it from the shadows into a sliver of light cast by a lamp in the prep room. It was a baby orangutan.

“Shit. Oh shit. I didn’t mean to kick you, little guy.” Shane knew they usually slept in the trees, had imagined them nestled together on a high up branch, the four of them anyway, and he wondered what this little one was doing sleeping in the dirt. He put his hand on the creature and turned it over. The fur on one side was red and matted in clumps. It made wet whispers of breath and looked timidly up at Shane. Shane felt the back of its head and found the blood’s source. The orangutan’s skull was soft. It felt elastic, like pressing on a smashed windshield.

“What did I do?” he said with his eyes closed. He ran behind the door and was back a minute later with Gwendolyn, the zoo’s primate diet and recreation director. He had switched the lights on and made the whole place white. “Gwen, I’m sorry,” he said.

“What happened?” Gwendolyn knelt beside the orangutan.

“It’s Mack, I think.”

“No. This one’s C.J.”

“I fucked up, Gwendolyn.” Shane stood over her and the dying orangutan. “I’m so sorry. I kicked his head in. I didn’t mean to. It was dark and I didn’t see him there. I didn’t mean to.”

Gwendolyn felt the side of his head. “Did you kick it just now?”

“Yeah. Jesus, I know I owe you and Terry for this job. I didn’t want to do anything like this to you. You treat me so good.” He turned away from her.

Gwendolyn stared down at the orangutan. “This blood is already drying. I don’t think you could have done this, Shane. I don’t know what happened.”

Shane looked across the habitat at the glass wall.

“Gwendolyn,” he said.

She looked at him and followed his eyes to the red smear on the glass. It was round and hair stuck to it in some parts. It ran down, tinting the glass in streaks. Beneath it lay what looked like some hairy meat fresh from the butcher’s. It was a lifeless stack of fur. It was another little dead orangutan. Shane walked to it and noticed Gwendolyn walking to another one in the corner near the door. That one was the mama. Gwendolyn took one knee and looked over her corpse. “Her leg is broken. I think she fell from the tree,” she said. A twisted branch sprouting shiny leaves stuck out of mama orangutan’s stomach and her blood poured into a puddle that stained Gwendolyn’s jeans. The mama orangutan had a sideways look frozen in her eyes. The third baby orangutan was wrapped in its mother’s arm, his face burrowed into her armpit. He sat still in a ball. Gwendolyn put her hand on it and it felt like a furry sack of loose teeth. He had been crushed in the fall. Her eyes looked in pain and she took her hand off of the baby.

“He’s Mack,” she said.

“Oh.”

“Where’s Chip?” she asked. Shane was behind her now and he pointed up. In the tree above them was the big one, the man of the family. Chip sat with his long arms stretched ahead of him and that look that always made Shane uneasy. It looked like he had some purpose that Shane could never understand. He had a poker player’s eyes, Shane had thought before and he thought it again now. He had the eyes of a poker player who knew your money was really his and you were just holding it for him. Chip stared straight ahead at nothing at all.

“He did it,” Shane said.

“Why would he do that?” Gwen’s voice cracked as she spoke.

“There’s always been something wrong with him. You know that.”

“No.” Gwendolyn looked at Chip for a moment. His flanges stuck out far on either side of his face, making it wide like a full moon. Gwendolyn thanked God that he didn’t look at her now with his imposing white face and his smart, dead eyes. She stood up and they both walked to the door. Shane closed the door behind them and threw the deadbolt to lock it.

Up in the trees, Chip plucked a leaf from a branch and chewed it in his mouth. He relaxed when the humans left and watched the stillness of his family beneath him. After a moment, his eyes went back to staring ahead. Chip drifted to sleep with his back against the trunk.

She Gone Crazy
Sean Williamson

The bartender was locking the door and the piano was silent. The boys stood in front of the building smoking and spitting and swearing softly. Martin pulled a Marlboro Red from a full pack, it took a second but he used the end of his nails and pried one loose. It was in his mouth without much effort and he looked across the street. A middle age man parked his mini van. He was balding in an old Packers jacket and pulled a sleeping five-year-old boy out of the back seat. While holding the child in one arm he slammed the sliding door to the van so hard he thought the window might break. It didn’t and he shuffled down the street to a phone booth.

His insides felt weak and full of despair, it may have been indigestion, after all he did eat White Castle, which his father once said was best consumed while already on the toilet, not that he’d want to use the bathroom at the club or the White Castle for that matter. He knew what indigestion felt like and this wasn’t it, this was how he usually felt when his phone was disconnected because he didn’t pay the bill, this is the way he felt when he took his last few CD’s to Disco round to buy lunch and cigarettes, this was the way he felt when suicide seemed like a totally viable option, not that he’d have the courage to go through with it. He was too squeamish to slit his wrists and too accustomed to drugs to over dose.

It was another bullshit gig with another bullshit crowd with another pathetic payout in another pathetic city in another pathetic club with another pathetic act, he thought. It was another great failure on another useless night at another penniless show in another wasted year, he thought.

With seventy-five cents left in his pocket he put fifty in the slot and dialed the number he had written in the pad he kept in his back pocket. This is what he did when he lost the privilege of his phone and soon after lost his phone charger. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another, he thought. She answered on the third ring and they had a nice conversation, because after all, no matter how bad things got he could still play piano, he could still fuck and the two worked well together.

He walked back to the bar and most everyone had gone without saying goodbye. He was a little hurt and stepped on his cigarette after choking on the filter. He kicked it off the curb toward the gutter, it landed on the grate but didn’t fall in, this bothered him and he went over to knock it all the way in.

Lou was standing on the corner waiting for him which he thought was pretty nice considering he was his ride. He thanked Lou for waiting and asked him what he was doing after this.

“I’m beat. Believe me I’d like to head out for some suds but I just don’t think I have it in me tonight.”

Martin understood and as soon as Lou said it he immediately felt more drained than before. At that moment all he wanted to do was get home, get high, watch whatever unsatisfactory trash was on Showtime, jerk of and go to sleep. He would have called her and told her he’d see her later, maybe tomorrow but he didn’t have enough for another phone call. Either way his roommate was having an 80’s party, which the very idea of made him angry in an unexplainable way, so he wouldn’t be getting to sleep anytime soon, what with a million people running around the house at all hours of night.

Martin and Lou didn’t say much to each other during the hour it took them to get home. They talked a little bit about the show and how each song went or didn’t, they both agreed towards the end things got a little sloppy, but disagreed about the crowd. Lou thought it was alright and Martin thought it was absolute shit. That was typical enough; Martin only reveled in things that improved his own sense of self worth, Lou liked music. Lou took some pleasure in life and Martin didn’t.

They listened to some new quartet Lou was into and blew smoke out the window, being old friends they reminisced with crooked smiles and talked about things they had forgotten they had already talked about, never exposing the fact because it would be impolite and because it would be one less thing to talk about.

They had just gotten through a few gruesome sexual facts about Lou’s new girlfriend when he pulled up to the front of Martin’s house. He could she that the lights were on inside and the Bob Marly tapestry was illuminated in the front window.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in for one?” Lou pulled down his baseball cap and shook his head. “Alright, I figured. Practice on Wednesday?”

“Yeah just give me a ring, we’ll figure it out.”

Lou sped away leaving Martin alone in the front yard with the muffled sounds of Queen. At that moment he wished he had anywhere else to go. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his roommate, or that he didn’t like Queen, or that he didn’t like to party, it was just that the combination made him sick to his stomach, but the possibility of getting laid made him slightly happier, or happy enough to get on with the evening.

There was a cushion wedged in the window where they had broke it a week earlier and a pile of garbage bags on the front stoop. The shutters were broken when he moved in, the house was pretty fucked up in general but this didn’t seem to bother him six months ago when he moved in. Now it was soul crushing, the mold in the shower, the leaking sink, the smell that came from the couch, the windows that didn’t close, and the kitchen, oh my god the kitchen, he thought.

Fully expecting to find a house so crowded he couldn’t get to the keg or to his room, he opened the door and didn’t see anyone. He wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He knew there wasn’t any food and that most likely nobody else did either, he was right. He did find one cheese dog from the pack he bought a week earlier and ate it cold. Conversation came from the living room.

Five guys sat in the living room and his roommate was the only one in a costume. Jesse was one of his oldest friends and they got along together. Jesse had hair that was as tall as it was long, Sideshow Bob like. He was wearing pants with neon speckles and a leather armed Raiders jacket.

“Jesse, what the fuck is this?”

“Hey man, how was the show?”

“Hell, purgatory, torture.”

“Save it. You want to play cards?”

Martin put his hands in his pockets and said hello to the guys sitting around the table, he only recognized one of them, as they used to ride the bus together as kids, his name was Adam and he had spent the last couple of years hoping around the world on the pro bicycle circuit. It had been a while but he was glad to see him. Martin filled a cup from the keg in the laundry room and sat in on a couple drinking games.

Despite himself Martin was having fun or at least that’s what it felt like, he was enjoying himself so much in fact that he forgot she was coming over, the doorbell rang and Martin answered it.

Her name Nancy and when he saw her standing there he wondered if he really liked her or not. She was wearing those boots with the thick heels. She was looking sassy, he thought.

Cat Sittin'

Anyway, man walks into a bar…oh you’ve heard this one…ive been babysitting my girlfriends cats and I managed to keep them alive and well for four straight days…I also went to the brewers game two straight days. Cc and Big Ben. 1-1. don’t despair Benny, everybody has to lose sometimes.

Just ask the Cubs. Yuck yuck yuck.

Finished the final draft for House of Will today. Hells yes. That’ll be hitting all the hot spots come September-october. Holla Holla.

Also the next few days I will be posting excerpts from a little short story mag I’m starting. Insano Orangutan Terror and She Gone crazy. It’s like Grindhouse but nerdier. Yes folks its possible.

Things are starting to shake up a little bit so as always…

Hold on to your butts.

Details. Details. Details.

hey kids,

Happy Fouth of July weekend to all. i spent my america day getting wasted and playing volleyball. I learned that i really can't throw a frisbee. embarrassing.

i just got out of work and i'm sitting around in my underwear trying to figure out what to do with myself. its a common thought and fitting outfit. either way i'll be whipping up a few copies of my short story series. "Bad Like A Kraken"

those can be picked up wherever you can find me. and possibly a few places across this fair city.

Thanks to ya'll who came out to check out FTT at summer fest. we all had a good time. Even pennington. Shingles and all.

when you don't have a dime and dollars mean everything.

what ever happened to baby crispin?

i saw what ever happened to baby jane? at the irish film institute the other day. you know who was there? crispin glover aka george mcfly from back to the future 1. he recognized me recognizing him and shuffled away, texting on his blueberry. i would have told him i thought he was the tits in beowulf, but he left so quickly. i went to a five thousand year old pile of rocks today. i walked in the castle the guy gets thrown out of a window in in braveheart. pretty f'ing cool.

round 2

can't upload any pictures on this blasted irish computer, but i had a couple of good ones. a plate of eggs, sausage, mushrooms, and beans, a collage of bright colors, joe cullen on the horn

i went to a place yesterday called the eye of ireland. it was a small island with a very large mountainous hill that i climbed to the top off and got attacked by seagulls. it was the coolest thing i've done in a long time. then i went down the hill.

sean is starting this shit again and i'm a follower so i'm going to too i guess. i just talked to sean on the phone the other day, which cost me like twenty bucks and he's doing great. you should go visit him if you're reading this. most of the time when i talk to sean, he just cries and cries and offers to blow me, but this time sean really seemed to have a healthy attitude and have his turds in a row.

i always leave them wanting more, so that's it for today. i'll get a fucking picture uploaded next time if it kills me.

An Open Apology to nobody...

hello there,
so things have been strange. way strange. and i find myself in, of all places Milwaukee Wisconsin. beautiful city if you think about it.

Ive been neglecting this once great site. but those days are at an end.

A short story collection will be coming out soon. Bad Like A Kraken.

to tell you the complete honest truth...things are fucking fabulous. totally. absolutely.

Parker is in Ireland. lucky son of a bitch. i hate him sometimes. but hell, he does a great Babe Ruth impression. timeless.

This an open invitation for yall to get down and party with me for a good long while. i'm not saying the postings will be frequent...and more than that good, but hell it'll be honest.

So fuck ya'll and goodnight.