Check out my new ebook story, The Big Question, out now from Blank Space Press

Here is the link: http://www.blankspacepress.com/uploads/1/9/2/2/19224283/thebigquestion.pdf

My Book is Camouflaged in This Picture (Photo by Greg Clarke)

 

Find it here: http://underratedanimals.wordpress.com/tell-god-i-dont-exist/

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Shout Out and Video Cameo in Connotation Press

I was pleased to be included in this video project for Andrew Keating (of Cobalt and Participants fame) and Connotation Press. Also, my new book (Tell God I Don’t Exist) got a little shout out in Keating’s interview with Connotation’s Fiction Editor, Meg Tuite – which is always nice. Check it out (and look at the rest of this month’s issue; it is full of cool stories and videos by Adam Moorad, Rae Bryant, Lily Hoang, and others.) Here is the link: http://www.connotationpress.com/fiction/1890-andew-keating-fiction

Decapitated Mickey Mouse

 

I used to make a lot of tee shirts.

Character Sketch for “Rachel” (a necrotic saint) from untitled novel-in-progress

Upside Down Painting of a Wallace Stevens poem

 

13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

Tell God I Don’t Exist Book Release Partay

Muchacho!!!

Fuck you muchacho, Jessica screamed

at me from the edge of the highway

and I had the nerve to ask what does muchacho mean?

It means I hope you die, she said and I

said I probably will, we all will probably unless

a super-intelligent race takes interest in our baby blue

planet’s fortune and decides to make a visit

bringing with them the secret to eternal life

and then, well then, all bets are off. Fuck you,

you swine, you dick, y’ fucking piggo. Your stupid van

has ruined my life again! and I said come on

baby it’s our van baby don’t smile at me that way.

WHY DON’T YOU GO BE CREATIVE SOMEWHERE AND DIE!

she said. That’s not very creative baby, I heard myself answer,

Not technically.

She hissed through her teeth and kicked sand.

I took a step back, away from the road.

I mean it’s not an original idea, I explained,

and you’re not actually creating anything when you die…except bones,

and they’re already there.

After three or four minutes of silence, no cars had passed

and I forgot we were even fighting. And maybe history,

I told the desert. You create history. And maybe a place for worms.

The Post Mortem # 11

If the afterlife exists, then it is relentlessly dedicated to concealing itself.

Collective audience whisper: (“Why?”)

Because good parties fill up quickly.

And when they’re full they tend to suck.