Wednesday, August 31, 2016


Harfi is obviously out cold for the rest of this weekly chapter.

Hartwin lies motionless on the damp floor which is now the ground.

Hartwin: not cool, mom. it wasn't her fault. i mean it was but y'know.

Madchen: what a stupid way to die! friendly fire. forgive me if i joke, son, but i can't handle the alternative.

Hartwin: perfectly understandable. infinite jest and all that.

Herlina: you should apologize to the poor girl.

Madchen: why? she can't hear anything.

Lysander: truth is, you're deflecting. you're distracting. hey can you order the burgers for all of us? i'm starving.

Madchen: fine...................your specials are what?............three-way burger? that's disgusting!

Lysander: give me the receiver. what did you call me, buddy!? a hamburger hippie? how dare you, sir! sorry i get sensitive about that. the '60s were rough on me. i have a lot of problems, that's why i became a psychiatrist. it's the classic doctor-heal-thyself conundrum. but seriously how embarrassing is it for my 80-year-old mother who's only a decade older than me to be ordering "three-way burgers" cos you couldn't come up with a less-sexy name. i said good day, sir! no food.

Madchen: just as well. can't eat. too much trouble to eat. too much time carrying dishes and washing dishes and picking out condiments. i thought you said your mother was dead? you were the last of your kind. a kid. an orphan.

Lysander: we're all dead.

Madchen: you're right as usual, doc. i worked for Bump. i designed these weapons of war. i caused my own lineage's demise. and i can't face it. i was trash. i wasn't weird. but you were good, son, you were the only good on this wretched red globe.

Hartwin: mama, you are a blessing. we already won. what more can one ask than to do it? to go through it. you have all witnessed my journey. my long unnecessary journey round the world. we all know the ending. it's always a shock beginning. and it's up to us to write the boring plodding plot. i am glad i fought for the cause. it's easier to be a part of a cause, you don't have to think, the cause is already write there spelled out for you. harder to come up with your own ideas. and lonelier. with more negative feedback. easier to take the institution down from within than without. gotta have access before you're an asshole. opportunity to opine. and then you shape it in your own image like a god. much more exciting than working at McDonald's. thank you, Mad Mama. i am almost out of energy. i have no more power in this world. you can't plug me in cos i could never be turned on. from the start it's over. there's never any progress.

Hartwin smiles faintly, his teeth painted yellow.

the two embrace hard. with her stomach hug Madchen squeezes the last drops of blood red mixed irregularly with golden swill. streaks of red enter his cheeks.

Carmen races outside and snaps off a low-hanging branch from the special magic tree, fashions it into a wand with her teeth, and tries to abracadabra the pain away. but all her wild gestures are for naught.

Hartwin (whisper): everyone. gather round. hear me: in an insane world, be less insane.

Lysander: didn't you do that one before? my memory's not so good.

Herlina: yeah i wrote an in-depth analysis of it on my blog which no one read.

Carmen: i'm useless.

Madchen: that's not even your best one, Sweethart.

she turns to face him worriedly and has a frantic light bulb.

Madchen: get me that tool of the devil the phone! i'm gonna make Hilary and Bump and that green woman and all the useless politicians listen to my boy's story. put it on the worldwide web speakerphone! you will not go in vain. you were anything but vain, that's why you were so popular. those crooked cronies don't care about families!

Hartwin: they do. it's just they care about their families. please, ma, no phones! let us really experience this. it is a once-in-a-lifetime last moment. until the next moment. in the next life.

the cats join tongues and lick the crown of his forehead.

Madchen: (sobbing low) any last words, my sweet?

Hartwin: well fuck you gonna make me work for it, huh? i keep thinking back to the colonial days. in those times there were no fancy gadgets to send us at the speed of light to our destruction. just devil's magic. no rapid-fire games and emoji-limited language and little kids with ADD. no science but wives' tales. hens, no hen parties. in short, there was still culture, infinite in its infancy. it wasn't a dead ol' crone like in our era. girls rode tractors and boys knitted quilts and the adults read their leather bibles in a hot church. contrary to now there was nothing to do inside. playtime ended when the sun went down. but the most important thing was love. somehow people got together and loved. they met at the barn dance before burning the barn down. they held each other's real fingers, not their twitter fingers. they fucked in the hay, and it wasn't recorded. they were able to navigate their strange courting rituals and late-night covert mating habits and religious law and find their common bondage. that is what must continue. that is what must always continue. for there is nothing to look forward to. there is no heaven. if there is we'd miss it. when it comes to me they say too soon. but maybe it was too much. humanity, not technology. humanity. humans. hyumans. hoomans. human. who, man? you, man.

Hartwin draws his last breath, which sounds like the Apple tone, and dies.


at the White round table:

Bump: who's the browny?

Codrus: no points for you. that's the Gold Star father you moronically insulted. he's my ace-in-the-hole when either of you two inevitably screw up. he'll take over as commander-in-chief with a 100% approval rating. i'd let him talk but no one can understand him with his thick access. so it's all set? read back the plan i laid out. oh forget it. before the first debate the fix is in.

Hilary: i thought we had the first debate.

Codrus: it's all coming to a head. my head. i'm still tinkering with spaces of time. it's a puzzle and my jig is sawed off. it's tough being creative. but i think i have all the threads connected. it's gonna make for a compelling story. keep following me and you'll both make good leaders.

Bump sits his rump on the big couch.

Bump: what a day. got an instagram-op with the Mexican President. already 15 likes. wanna see?

he shows the group his old picture of eating taco salad with a Taco Bell knife that was his profile pic now replaced with the new one of him stuffing a long fat authentic Mexican burrito down his throat. the Mexican president photobombs in the back with a thumbs up, which the local papers indicate was his last gasp for approval ratings.

Bump: okay, i'm world-famous now, what do i get?

Hilary shoves Bump.

two missiles fired by the President crash through the White House secret windows but not before Codrus grabs them by force with his two fingers and smokes them like cigars. the Secret Service are nowhere to be found.

Codrus: heehee, finally some excitement. nice. i'll leave him to you, Mickey. replaced resentment is so human.

Bump: you interrupted my nap!

he is feeling unstable. the power has gone to his head. Bump summons out of his hair a powerful storm to hit the area. he gathers all of his vanquished foes and swirls them up into the funnel cloud. then he unleashes:


Washington, D.C. is now all zoo. Grumpy Cat lands on the President's frowny face.

Bump: wait, wait, stop the whole thing. peek through the windows, folks, they're open. my boys' cars can't get through.

Bump stops and clears a path for the rotunda street so his Russian army can get their cars past the trail of wallabies, cows, chickens, and footballs.

Bump: heehee, watch this it's classic. we don't need cops no more. my goons'll take care of yous.

an old man runs a red light. a couple of Fight Nighters tailing him get out of their unmarked grey car, pop open the hood, and take out their bats. the old man is so scared he pees his corduroy pants all over the street and leaves his dentures floating midair.

Bump: HEEHEE i needed that! just like in their instagram videos! nothing like real life tho!


an amazing thing has happened. there is fire consuming all the world, especially in water, but the golden energy shot out of Hartwin's urethra upon his death collected in a cloud in the sky that was invisible to everyone else and rained down clear pure blue water near the lake area and cottage cabin. many artifacts wash on shore. scrolls thought dead are legible. and the Rhind Mathematical papyrus gets caught in the reeds, the entire document, though it is still illegible.

Carmen: i can only pray there are other h2o sanctuaries like this one where mankind can thrive after it's all over.

Madchen (decked out all in grey): i feel i'm forgetting something.

Carmen: we always do, dear. we forget everything.

Madchen: what did he say? i feel him in me. i'm his ambassador, his guardian angel, his messenger to the world. to the worlds. ah, yes: friends. oh yeah, i didn't check my messages! here's one from Lieu from the mental hospital.

two caskets float along the banks of the lake. Hartwin. and Harfi as a joke. Harfi is still "sleeping". but what none of the funeralgoers know is that Hartwin is still alive, too. for a little bit more. he slowly opens the crease of his coffin lid while everyone is distracted getting the reed tablecloths and meaningless food and drink and candle-boats ready by firefly light and takes a peek outside. he smiles and never lets anyone know. none are wiser. his phone bumps into the coffin. the one Madchen threw out in disgust.

there's a message.

Lieu: buddy, you there.

Hartwin: one last time. for my best fran.

Lieu: love you, buddy.

Hartwin: keeping your sheets clean?

Lieu: i'm supposed to make you laugh.

Hartwin: Lysander'll fix you right up.

Lieu: they asked what color wristband i wanted. told them i already had a color. tech ain't all bad. i got the perfect instagram video to send you out. you know those practical jokers that come on late at night? well this one is real.

Lieu plays a video of a young man in gang paraphernalia with his two legs broken in thick white casts strung up on a hospital bed. the man proceeds to give a hilarious description of how he got in a car accident and his car was so puny it got totaled and he had to jump out the sunroof except there's no sunroof on his sedan so he had to force his head through the metal.

Lieu and Hartwin laugh together like they were back careless school chums at the academy before the academy.

the young man: *flashing gang signs* they don't want to see us win...

and the comments are equally hilarious: "bro what the fuck happened to you?" from both boys and girls alike

Lieu and Hartwin: HEEHEEHEEHEE

Hartwin: always leave 'em with a laugh.

Lieu: that's my line.

Hartwin spots a sliver of the Rhind Mathematical Papyrus caught in the reeds floating away on the outlet river. he recognizes the language. he also recognizes that no one on Earth could ever recognize the language. it's not Egyptian, it's the language that came before. he closes his eyes for the last time. no more lids, only the bottom...

everyone has come from hither and thither to attend the service, perching on their respective branches. all give heartfelt speeches in anticipation of the mother's bawlin' eulogy. Justin Gatlin is dressed to the tens and shoos away a drone from his ashen face:

Justin Gatlin: i'm crying cos life is unfair. what did i ever do to you? why is everyone so mean to me? get that camera outta my face! i didn't cheat. well not really. what's the big deal? it's inordinate the amount of hate i get. why am i not your hero? when a nice guy who works hard like me is so savaged, the world is sick.

he breaks down into the comforting arms of John McLaughlin who gives him a bear hug.

Master Splinter and Mister Miyagi do a joint haiku on the beauty of the racewalk Olympic event: (it's 10 14 10 cos it's a twofer):

racewalk divine so disciplined so true
not running not walking but humanly constricted wart
showing body sinew past help and ruins

Juan Gabriel is out by the inlet and proudly sings, free for the first time. a strange man in a top hat and purple pimp coat starts singing the Lennon imagination song which keeps the water blue. he sets out the cups for the afterparty.

Madchen steps up to the whirlpool vortex of the lake and it's like she's walking on air. she mutters:

Madchen: thank you all for attending. it would mean the world. i'm blubbering. i can't speak. never could. suffice to say i am proud of this boy. he wasn't my son, he was the sun. he was schizophrenic but he never let that stop him from achieving great things. loss is not fleeting like peace. it's not a dove, it's an iron bald eagle that digs into your shoulder. when you lose, you're a loser. i will never get over this. i will do something drastic.

a large wine-colored snake, which is a symbol mythologically through the years of both bad and good, slithers through the lakebed mud. a dazzling Tolkien light illuminates the forestry, shines the shrubbery, and makes the green extra emeraldy like gems protecting the canopy.


and then everyone bites into their cups for they are edible candy glass.


Wolf: back home, ugh, in the studio with breaking news. the election is over! in the closest election of all time, the girl who would be king, Hilary Hard-as-a-Rodham Mintin' and Mickey Bump are TIED! same number of collegial electoral votes and popular votes...............wait wait..........breaking news just in this moment: Bump wins cos nobody knows who the President voted for! we just assumed as we made our calculations. bad tab. where is the President!? nobody can locate the President! his vote wasn't counted today! has anybody seen him!? he is missing! put it on the scrolls! REPEAT THE PRESIDENT OF MURICA IS MISSING!!!

Bump approaches the fortified Cream House gate and addresses the nation for the first time as -Elect through the barbed-wire fence. it's hard to tell where the wiring of his lapel mic ends and the barb wiring begins:

Bump: my fellow Muricans. the world. the universe. guys, guys, don't be scared. it's okay. put down your phones and breathe. we must love each other...

Monday, August 29, 2016


goodbye ol girl. ipad maxi-, uh, ipad mighty. who knew queens got old? placed in a ziploc baggie like Tuesday's garbage. nobody thinks about electronic waste when they're taking out the trash. you were my partner in sine. we had some good times. we had my only times. you were my world. you showed me the world. without you i am not a part of the world. i no longer want to be a part of the world. i think i don't care anymore. everything can stop me now 'cause i don't care anymore. it was a beautiful service, as if that could make up for your broken home button. sometimes my sliding finger was so shaky i couldn't unlock your secrets. i left you unnamed cos any name i would have come up with would have been silly. but you know your name. were all of your fancy apps a waste of time? yes, yes they were but i loved you for you. no-makeup selfie. you'll be put to good use: teaching schoolchildren in China or melted down for glue i forgot what the guy said i was in despair. i didn't cheat on you, i just happened to have the money. i would have stayed forever but you abandoned me. real life doesn't come with a battery. unless you count ginkgo biloba. the new girl 2 is nothing like you. she's heavier and sturdier. got a thick frame. it hurts to hold her. she's black with the blue planet exactly like you. sometimes i can't tell the difference. that was deliberate. is digital life easier? guess not.

1. in the Philippines today is National Heroes Day. who is your hero (limit 3 per player)? why?


2. August is Romance Awareness Month. what have you done to enhance romance in your life? or what have you become aware of or discovered with regards to romance? i take long train rides alone. through long tunnels. that's when it hit me that every single photograph ever taken is either a penis or a vagina. i have a busy schedule but after five straight years of mindless television-watching with no breaks i FINALLY had an evening off. so i decided to stroll along the beach for the first time. it was perfect. i was alone but the moon was out. the waves gently rocked and the clouds were filled with stars. and then the tsunami hit...

3. in the month of August there is National Raspberry Creme Day, National Ice Cream Sandwich Day, and National Chocolate Chip Cookie Day. which day would you celebrate and how? i like to spend the day getting comfortable under the sheets as i view Lars von Trier's Antichrist waiting for that raspberry creme scene.

4. August 13 was National Left-hander's Day. who out there is a lefty? anyone ambidextrous? my dad was a lefty. R.I.P. i wanted to be like him. but i was a righty. DNA is cruel. ask Maury.

5. in the UK today is a late-summer Bank Holiday. what did you do with your free time? went to the bank to drop off a deposit...

bonus: post a pic from your mobile phone that was taken in the month of August. explain the photo...or not: go to my instagram. instead of clever captions i write whole paragraphs of weird prose under my pics. can someone tell me what this all means?


Friday, August 26, 2016



* there is no such thing as fake crying..............think about it...

* even crocodiles get the blues

* that's the trick! water. humans need water.

* all through my childhood i thought it was duck tape. i would quack while the other kids did their assignments with their tablets of multicolor construction paper and kid scissors. my kid scissors were taken away and i was told to stand in the corner for being queer.

* taping things back together can be traumatic. i tried that with my mother's prized vase i broke. but she found out when she eavesdropped at my bedroom door. i should have just told the truth from the start. next time i'll blame it on my secret evil twin when he comes to visit in season 4.

* Home Depot: the greatest ever place to get stoned

* Bryce's boyfriend has never won an argument...

* Lowe's didn't have cosmic latte paint...

* Conan, you didn't go to TBS for the money.

* the trick is to keep your eyes dry. but my eyes are never dry cos i'm crying all the time.


happy weekend. gotta cut my toenails, they're so long they've become my fingernails

Wednesday, August 24, 2016


Costas: hello folks, Costas in the studio with you for the next 48 straight hours on all the platforms. they locked the doors so i can't get out. i'd laugh but i have a weird laugh. let's get you out to...something...left my notes in my other pants...which are bermuda shorts.

the mountain bike thing is going on. the course is wild and woolly in keeping with Rio's penchant for exuberance. one woman sprints across the pack, her straight hair made curly by her wind. she negotiates uphill rivers and strategically-paced trees and huge logs which swing at you when their string is cut Ewok-style. she's almost there! but that one last fucking pebble! her tires cut on it and burst into open air. she's flat. she's got nice boobs but her bike is flat. she picks up her bike like it's nothing and carries herself over the finish line. and is immediately disqualified.

(woman) athlete: you have got to be hornswaggling me! i'm from the South.
umpire: dems the breaks, miss. this is the mountaineering competition. bicycle is in the name. gotta bike it. you can't walk over to the end, who do you think you are, Usain Bolt? or the female version one with the yellow hair?

at weightlifting, the favorite is struggling. not enough baby powder on his delicate fingers. makes all the difference. he can clean but he sure as hell can't jerk. he's from Iran and his hecklers are from Iraq. he gets into it with the crowd on his last attempt. the Iraqi are fake-crying and rubbing their eyes. he shouts some expletives carefully crafted to dodge the censors but people from the region know what he means and don't like it. the Iranian picks up his 1000-pound weightbar with one popeye arm and lunges it into the crowd. screams. chaos. broken seats. shouting for someone turns to shouting against them. can't tell the difference, it's shouting. the faction in the crowd launch homemade fireballs at the propped-up Iranian flag, burning it down.

coach: does it count? he lifted 1000 pounds.
referee: didn't hold it long enough. disqualified. immediately.
coach: funny, he never had the will to carry that much weight before.
referee: hate adds weight.
coach: what a great motivator! better than any supplement shake!

btw, the homemade fireballs are simply some red-hot large round jawbreaker candies dipped in some kerosene and flung with a kid's slingshot. all perfectly valid materials allowed in the legal Olympic venues.

the skydivers are having a hard time. by which i mean those crazy adrenaline-junkie 10m platform divers. the winds are fierce like an outdoor mountain. many welcome the unusual conditions cos the gust blows them away out of the green pool.

green reporter: Tom Daley, how do you keep from breaking all your bones with each dive?
Tom Daley: lots of milk.
green reporter: Tom, shouldn't the water be blue? isn't that the color of water?
Tom Daley: the color of water is clear.
green reporter: what happened out there, Tom? this is shocking! you had such a stellar preliminaries. and then a night passes. and then you completely fall apart.
Tom Daley: doesn't matter had sex. with my famous Hollywood boyfriend. milk. couldn't walk this morning. that's the reason. thank you to all my fans for getting me to this pinnacle.

the poor unfortunate souls who wade in the green-water pool are sucked down to the bottom and reemerge through a green Mario pipe surfacing in the track arena in those cute little puddle pools by the steeplechase hurdles happy to be alive. it's Wolf's turn to drag their soaked bodies out of the water jumps and into the back of his van, which really looks creepy.


the horses of course are riding their riders. most of the humans even with their black equestrian helmets and heavy red coats can't take the enormous weight of their beasts and buckle under the pressure. never make it past the first obstacle gate. can't jump worth shit. breaking their backs. the horses whinny with a justified bray after centuries of abuse for a medal they don't even get to bite down on. they get some more oats or something, big whoop. there is so much gold dust in the air. Bump is in the stands and finds this event quite interesting to his glued eyes and brays along with the horses. he doesn't need binoculars to see everything clearly.

sandy reporter: how was it out there today? did you win?
horse: neigh.
sandy reporter: do you care?
horse: neigh.
sandy reporter: what would you rather be doing right now? how do you see your life independent of any external pressures on you? your perfect saddleless life? what is the life you want to lead? what is your ideal self-actualization?
horse: i want to hang out with American Pharoah. that guy's a pimp.

Costas: and now, the piece de resistance. feast de resistance? they stopped feeding me here in the studio which is stunting my growth. my mind is still in Paris in happier times. let's go out to the playground for the final event of these fucking Games finally after a 30-minute special by Mary Carillo detailing how her kids played this in their backyard and can't believe it's an Olympic sport now:

the competitors decked out in their country colors and codes emblazoned on their ample chests get ready.
judge: SET.

judge: GO!!!

USA attacks the first obstacle, the jungle gym. he gets his fingers caught in the painful metal mesh. BRAZIL lords over USA kicking him in the head as she runs through the overhead ladder. GBR and surprise GREECE isn't far behind riding the fuck out of those stationary springy horses. symbolic. a completely naked woman from the MIDDLE EAST has already won for global progress by being naked but she continues onward swinging the rope ladder to the final obstacle, the slide! she slides down but it's metal and it's so hot outside it melts the slide into ropes of silver goo which burn her butt. she stops midway cos those slides never actually slide and are never smooth. pushing herself like a caterpillar with her triangular arms and legs the rest of the way. breaking the banner. SHE WINS THE GOLD MEDAL IN PLAY!!!

red reporter: was it worth it? did you ever tell yourself you should have covered up more?
MIDDLE EAST: that's a clown question, bro.

Costas: heehee i've been there. and now, clear your schedule for the rest of your earned night off, the Closing ceremonies. is it -monies or money? i never know.

the Closing Ceremonie(s), multibillion dollar expense, years of planning beforehand, moving all those heavy bits of machinery on stilts, paying the childcare for all the exotic dancers, is rained out. at least the Flame went out like it was supposed to. but that haunting song that would have played in the rain for the Flame ceremony stills echoes throughout the favelas, mysteriously being played by unknown invisible drones. it's a determinative dirge that deepens into the dirt and dearth of the nation.

Costas: i'd dance for you right now but i'm white. i mean maybe i can do the robot or something. so the next Summer Games after Tokyo are in Iceland cos of the soccer thing and the next Winter Games will be held in Africa, historic, look out for that one. looking forward to that Jamaican bobsled team reunion. oh, just coming across the wire: Japan, repeat Japan, Japan state-sponsored doping, all medals stripped. banned. wow not a good look. it's always the quiet ones, huh? see you in Tokyo! arigato! until next time, this is Bob, a palindrome. so long, suckers.


Bump is called into his office by Codrus who is sitting in his chair. he has to catch a flight back.

Codrus: what took you so long? you come when i summon.
Bump: sorry, boss, had to buy a new plane for this. my other plane's in the shop. getting fitted for tires. lost track of time. love just hanging out with the mechanics in the garage yous know?
Codrus: memba what i told you?
Bump: no. no. i really don't. hey what's she doing here?!!
Codrus: i called Hilary in cos i wanted to formally meet the Pope but also we got to come together and illuminati some things in the bud. the first debate is coming up.
Hilary: didn't we have the debate? the first debate's gonna be smashing. if we ever have it.
Bump: i've been reading a lot of books on the subject. i'm positively red up.
Codrus: you're versed but you won't be victorious. i've seen the future: you lose in a landslide. but we gotta keep up the show for the public. the people want to be entertained. so this is what we're gonna do: she's gonna win but you'll be the face of the operation. she'll really be running things on the inside.
Bump: do i get my ball?
Codrus: yeah yeah we'll throw you a ball. CNN and MSNBC will even be there.
Hilary: so i'm Cheney?
Codrus: no you're Dubya. I AM Cheney.
Hilary: first thing we do is reverse Brexit. nullify it, pretend it never happened. cos that was just dumb.
Codrus: agreed. i dream about a strong Britain. i like you, woman. not in that way.


Bump: are we here? is this really the first debate? it seems all a dream. anyway, Hilary, your mother was a whore!
Hilary: my mother was a saint. do you know what she went through to pull her straps up from poverty?
Bump: what i read that once. Thomas Jefferson? his mother was called a whore? that's American tradition.
Hilary: why are the seats empty?
Bump: drones. same thing. anyway folks, folks, listen to me, your great uncle, the new uncle Sam: there's a lot of changes going on, can you feel it? can you feel the nervous anticipation? an earthquake in Italy is felt as if it were in Frisco. that's not the power of television, that's the power of our own individual energies rising up and coalescing into one big ball. coming together to hurt. the next few months are gonna be crazy. i have it on good authority the Cubs are gonna win the World Series! and I WILL BE your next President! and i'll finally get what i want!


the President is sick and tired. of waiting. he gets a call on his go-go gadget watch:

the President: ...and you tell Malik to take off that stupid red hat! he's only supporting Bump to spite me. always been jealous of me. i stole his bitch, dude never got over that. acting all tribe. he was supposed to be the actor in the family. fucking family, i swear, sometimes i wish i could go through life alone...


the trio have been traveling the long and winding road. in the water. over patriarch ponds. and an informationless highway.

at the cottage, the other trio are decked out in their barkcloth noshing on ankimo, swallowing it down with oksusucha, making the best of it. off the land. Madchen is forlorn forever.

Madchen: i saw him, med. last night. he was in our kitchen. plain as day. preparing the spaghetti, draining it leaving the cuttlefish pieces. i could talk to him.......reach out to him........caress his face..........touch his lips. his ears were wet but not from sweating. i parted his hair for him as always.
Carmen: still have some handbook reading to do but i think that's actually a bad thing. your love is strong. it will carry you through. to two.
Madchen: i hope i still have feeling left in me when all this is over. never numb or you become a nub.
Carmen: keep your mad. the best anger is indignant anger, an anger filled with dignity. we are a triangle. we feel your edge.
Herlina: *furiously typing with a glaze gaze* one day i'm gonna be so famous on instagram i'll install a CONTACT button next to my name!
Madchen: *yank* gimme that!

Madchen absconds with Herlina's phone and quickly lies down to scroll on the wicker sofa. on the damp blue blanket soaked with pee from two cats. Madchen can't do anything about it and swims in it. she gives up and laughs.

in the wild blue Pacific the three are detritus on an open wave. Hartwin gets weaker with each stroke. but he still recognizes beauty. he sees a sparkling rainbow cuttlefish just below the surface lighting the below deep.

Hartwin: i'll make an exception and take a picture of this magnificent beast before he scatters off into the night. *snapping*

Hartwin: am i hallucinating? no, i'm still woke.

Michael Phelps is swimming in the ocean. there are four trees around him floating on their cut roots. on one rests Lochte. on another John McLaughlin. on the last Leonidas of Rhodes. Rowdy Gaines hangs on for dear life on a stripped bare treetop. all are naked. Phelps approacheth:

Phelps: why so glum chum? the adventure has just begun.
Hartwin: you swim in your spare time?
Phelps: this is my time. for the first time. see how happy i am? see my goofy grin? *he makes the Phelps face* no more of that.
Hartwin: you can't do the Phelps face. that's false anger and determination. once it gets appropriated by the memes you lose it. it's like it cancels out. double jeopardy. inception. the creator doesn't own his creation.

on the branches of the naked trees hang multiple medals of all color and mini American flags with just one yellow star in their blue cantons.

Hartwin: i see you don't wear your medals. but you do have a necklace on. what of?
Phelps: it's a vial of Angelina Jolie's blood.
John McLaughlin: let's get this debate started. on a scale of 0 meaning metaphysical certainty, even though there is no perfect zero anymore, and 100, meaning demonic certainty, perfect 10 notwithstanding, how would you characterize what you do, sir?
Phelps: swimming.
McLaughlin: not you, the boy.
Lochte: please, no more questions. get that drone camera out of my face, i just want to go home, i'm gassed.
Phelps: swimming.
McLaughlin: right. *mclaughs* it's just swimming. it's not a sport, ya get me? i mean it's just swimming, ya know?
Leonidas of Rhodes: right? exactly! it says here 13...
Phelps: 18, misprint. in stone.
Leonidas: no matter, i'm still the king. one of my crowns equals your weight in gold medal. and doubles it. let's race. ready for the hoplitodromos?

Leonidas falls out of his tree and drowns.

Phelps: guess you had to be hopped up. my turf, buddy. which is now all my turf. alone.

Phelps closes his eyes and gets in the backstroke position but does not move. you can just make out vines clasping his wrists and just spot seaweed around his ankles. John McLaughlin from his perch starts drumming his palms on his shirtless stomach and the other three join in. even Leonidas from the abyss. even Rowdy. the low rhythmic pattern puts Hartwin to sleep.



Madchen: damn. see what just happened? i was doing you a favor, Herlina. a new person had decided to join you. decided to follow you. the chess pawn sign went up. but i was too busy looking at other things. distracted. all i could muster was a quick glimpse of her homepage but i don't remember any of them. cept she was artsy, said author in the bio. i pushed on one clip of her instagram story. heard a snippet of her grandmother speaking her native tongue. spanishish. but when i went back she had retracted her follow. never did get her name. or her screen name. lost forever. we'll never meet her again. she could have been the one. who knows what direction your life would have taken if you two became besties? special severed and shuttered in a shudder. we'll never look upon the solstice again. cos we'll be soul sauced. nothing like female friends. your authoress amiga. she could have taught you to author and you could have taught her to lose weight.

Herlina: thanks a lot, bitch. prolly scared off by your negative energy. good vibes only man.


Madchen: it's my emotion. i can't control it. i can't control it. it's who i am.


at the door, the three have completed their journey. Harfi and Lysander drag the good soldier into the singed cottage by the ankles. Hartwin is hirsute and half and heartsick and heartopen and hanging on by a hair. he clutches his mom's shoulders but Madchen is too exhausted to turn around and smile with her dry eyes. but she recognizes the voice before he speaks and shudders.

Hartwin: mom, that was a beautiful eulogy. i get it. i get every word of it. we are the lucky ones. we matter to each other. we made it, we're meat. we lived before the internet. we won't die a digital death.

Hartwin from her back rubs his finger along the side of the phone Madchen's holding. star pixiedust covers all the jiggling apps.

Hartwin: now mom, do this one thing for me. look at your screen again. i know it's hard but look at your screen.

Madchen looks.

the missing follower magically reappears again.

Madchen pauses.

Hartwin: did you book the Mario Lopez room? cos mama i'm coming home!

Madchen finally turns around. slowly she turns. ignoring her dead son on the floor. step by step she climbs over him and the first face she confronts is Harfi's. she gets right up into her grill, cranks her arm back, rotates her fist around a few times for momentum, and punches Harfi in the nose.

Monday, August 22, 2016


Olympic post-game learned:

* current mood: drinking. *thinks about Ryan Lochte. puts down drink*

* Simone Biles: greatest of all time. now that's pressure. that was before the event.

* Usain Bolt doesn't have a sweaty forehead in interviews after races, that's the Rio rain.

* if you lose, it's arrogance. if you win, it's showmanship.

* new next time: skateboarding, surfing, baseball/softball, climbing, and karate. or, California sports. should've been in L.A., also known as Rio of the North. karate was invented in Los Angeles by that blonde dude in the Cobra Kai dojo.

* when all else fails, dive.

* run a marathon? why? that's crazy. why would you do such a thing?

* you can't just be good, you also have to be hot.

* runner: i think i broke my leg.
other runner: i'm a doctor. i just do the Olympics for fun.
other runner performs surgery on runner right there on the track.
the leg is good as new.
the two restart their race.
other runner catches up to the pack and beats everyone else to the finish line.
gets the gold medal in life

* let's make it interesting. have the Games every 40 years. now let's see if anyone defends their title.

* the Japanese officials really made a concerted effort to present their Games pitch in a serious professional way. but then in the meeting Prime Minister Shinzo Abe put on a Mario hat and everyone decided to fuck it and just go with the anime thing.

* the athletes: Captain Tsubasa. the non-athletes: Welcome to the N.H.K.

* we did it, guys. WE PLANTED THAT TREE, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK. this masterpiece was criticized for being "pretentious". cos of the dinosaurs and flying mom and stuff. if you're not going to be pretentious with film, what is the point of art? be pretentious. be as pretentious as you fucking can. you can't be pretentious like this in life. believe me i've tried.

* didn't need all that Rio rain. could've just put out the Flame with a watering can.


1. do you want a divorce or to leave your present romantic relationship? i want a divorce. from reality.
2. do you think your relationship needs couples therapy? yes. but the original British show. that NBC version was a hackjob.
3. if your relationship needs fine-tuning, what would you do to tweak it? tweezers. but not on your eyebrows. in that other place. trust me. you'll be feeling better about things in no time.
4. is your relationship over or are you just in a bad phase? how long has the bad phase lasted? when does a bad phase become a bad lifetime?
5. what kind of relationship do you envision will make you happy? all i know is i'm done with robots.
6. are you seeing someone new? yes. me. i'm a whole new me after i burned my feet at the retreat.

bonus: what major regret do you have so far in your life? is it too late to change it? my password. i forgot it. i forgot all of them. can i change it? yes, but to enter the change-it screen you have to enter another password i forgot.


Friday, August 19, 2016



* you're welcome.

* this is the type of stuff Fellini would be doing if he hadn't died.

* hot side of the tracks. trains can't run cos the tracks are melted.

* my dad always told me, "you can't live."

* it's tough to be tender. but it's not tender to be tough.

* see, that's all boxing was in ancient Greece, a way to let out sexual frustration. the ancient Greeks weren't repressed, they let it all fly, they were their true authentic selves. they just didn't give a fuck.

* my mom always told me, "love is a kick in the head."

* Gigi haDID 'em.

* Gigi Hadid for Catwoman.

* y'know why cities are so dangerous? too many balconies. also why cities are so romantic.

* my barber always told me, "if you're gonna lose, at least have your fingernails nice and filed. get your nails haDID."

* all art is destined to be stolen.

* all the ice cream melted...

* sorry, the sign clearly states you cannot have anyone riding you in your ice cream truck.

* in her way she loved us all...................our love was more platonic, but whatever.

* how to get women? snuggle with their pussies.

* after this, i'm hardcore into high fashion. all the luxury houses of Paris for me or it's a no-go. i sniff every perfume sample card stuck in the middle of boxy magazines and ask to try every fragrance at the mall. my wrist is worn out after all that pumping and spraying. i now know Marc Jacobs does not play shortstop for the Red Sox.

* eh, One Direction was kinda over already...


happy weekend

Wednesday, August 17, 2016


Lieu grapples onto Bump Tower and steadily suctions his way up, scaling in a zigzag pattern cos it's hard to see at night.

Lieu: i'm black and hard to see.

he loses his way all night and when dawn breaks he sees he's been going in a circle on the 3rd floor and is really nowhere near the top. the police drone arms haul his undernourished tired body in pretty easily. an indoor camera captures through the pane glass his weary shocked face surprised at the sudden flash.

Lieu: i wasn't surprised. i was scared. that is the face of pure what-the-hell-was-i-thinking-i-can't-believe-my-physical-body-is-actually-at-this-altitude-i-could-be-snug-in-bed-but-i'm-fighting-winds-to-fall-my-thoughts-have-been-scattered-for-a-while-no-cause-is-worth-this.

he is booked and paraded around the news. he doesn't speak once, save for this on Maury:

Lieu: i'm mad at myself more than anything.

Maury: come on, son. you're on national tv. you can't hide anymore. you might as well tell the truth.

Lieu: okay. i'm mad at my crap technology. it's never worked for me. there's always a problem. it never runs smooth. it said Bump would be there but he's clearly in Rio. i would know this if i turned on a tv but tv rots the brain.


but he was close. the President is nearby plotting to take down Bump Tower but his secret men who are stragglers struggling to finish their terms so they can get a recommendation for something better advise against it. too much security.

the President: *behind a bush* that's the problem with this country. too easy for evil for thrive. i'll be damned if all the BS and T i put into this project goes down in one match when Bump ascends. i'd rather sacrifice my freedom to save my country's. in the beginning i was sweet. now i'm stable. i am as clear-headed now than when i was in the weeds of the start of my second term. your finger becomes steadier as you near the end. cos it's the end.

the President removes his black backpack which is the nuclear football. he enters the codes to point the nukes to the White House and waits.

the President: *licking an ice cream cone* and now, the waiting game. 'cept it's not a game. get comfortable, men. have a seat. man it's hot. just like home.


Bugler's Dream reprise

Wolf: welcome back to Rio, folks. we're getting more news concerning the Lochte robbery. he apparently left his friend high and dry. it's a California thing, hang loose. the story gets stranger the more you smell it. let's take an ear gander at the press conference:

Lochte: me and my friend were in a cab. we got robbed. it was scary. this is serious. they'd never do this to Phelps. JUST THEN out of the blue Usain Bolt just happens to be walking our street. in long strides. i wave my large hands over to help:

Lochte: did you see the robber get away? what direction did he off to?

Bolt: THAT way! i'll go chase him! i'll get him for you!

Lochte: no, no, i doubt that. if anyone can, it's me. leave it to the beefcake.

Lochte: and i ran. but i was really slow. it's not the same when there's no water. when it's just air.

atheist space reporter: do you regret all that silly glittery silver dye you put in your hair? think it might've seeped into your brain? speak up into the mic.

Lochte: *static* uh, yes. yes i do. looking back, not doing my brain any favors.

Costas emerges from under Wolf's desk.

Costas: this shit is still going on? how long is it?

Wolf: didn't see you there, Bob. a month.

Costas: get out of my chair! and pump it up to my level. go to your next assignment.

Wolf: YOU go.

Costas: why are you here?

Wolf: completely and utterly sick of the election. take your soap box with you.

Costas puts his soap box in front of him and steps up on it to equal the height of his interviewee, Mara Abbott.

Costas: hiya toots. funny meeting you in a place like this.

Mara Abbott: speaking of place, fourth place is the absolute worst! it's torture! i'd rather get last place than fourth place!

Costas: oh, but see? you get that cool shiny tin medal around your neck this year. that doesn't shine. wanna step on my box for the podium experience?

Mara Abbott: swipe left.

Costas: is that the good one? join me for a drink later?

Mara Abbott: pass. i'm gonna go back to my room, trade in my condoms for cocktail tokens, and become an alky.

Costas: but we're at war with those guys. i thought you were a strong American.

there is more anticipation than air in the stadium. you can hear a cricket drop. the 100-yard-dash is about to commence. the real commencement of the Games. hush. Bolt places his finger on his lips to quiet the world. as he prepares. the little horns of his block get in the way of his golden shoes. Michael Johnson's golden shoes with the label rubbed off. ready. SHOOT. everyone but Bolt false starts. so now Bolt with the gold medal already around his neck is given a free run to see if he can break his own record and get it under 8. ready?

.............................and HE DOES IT! 5 SECONDS!!!

but wait, none of us were paying attention to what was on top of Usain Bolt's head the whole time he's so fast. he's wearing the A.C. Slater wig that used to belong to his dearly departed beloved brother Mario Lopez. so the time is actually hampered. it could have been even faster. it's like wind-aided but in reverse. but Usain silences the crowd with another finger in the air:

Usain: as strongly as i can word this, as strong as the first three letters of my first name, i say to you, i tell you this: do not remove the time. let time stand. i ran today in remembrance of my friend Mario.

the crowd explodes in applause.

Mustafina tonight is in the middle of her favorite routine, the uneven bars. her dashing coach stands by the side hoping to catch her if she falls. she does, which is surprising, she's got a lot on her mind.

the coach carries her back up to the highest bar but not before planting a smooch on her glittery lips.

coach: please forgive me, med! it was one time! it was stupid! i lost my mind! the world is crazy! it'll never happen again! i love you! i don't know if "in love" is actually a thing but i love you! i am not a pervert, i am a man!

Mustafina falls again and is granted a score of -1. there is no perfect 0 anymore. there's a hush in the arena. the camera pans to her face. she doesn't give her patented look of that particularly Russian brand of boredom. instead she is quite interested. she strips naked, clutches her coach's hand, and the two race out the door into a Brazilian tropical rainstorm to a nearby cafe for hot breakfast and a much-needed pee and tea.

Aly Raisman and her girls have won the gold again, blah blah blah. that isn't of note. what is is more global. Aly stares directly into the camera and announces to the world kissing her roughed-up fingers:

"We are the final humans!"

then she and the rest of the team pick up their noisy chainsaws, push their buttons, and amid a cloud of sawdust and strife cut the balance beam in half.

Hilary: *in her war room* you sure this'll work?

the Pope: solid. Bump can't resist an ass. and i know great asses: Raisman, Sage Watson. Mustafina makes me hungry for pancakes. a woman's butt is magic. you'd be wise to remember that come the general election.

Hilary: related to Emma?

the Pope: even hotter. he'll be too distracted up in Brazil and miss the first debate. simple.

Hilary: going down in Brazil hopefully.


at the first debate, the two candidates are stripped naked, hoisted up on chainlink like cattle and checked by the laser scans of the drones.

the Pope: *in the audience* damn.

Codrus poofs from behind draped in a backstage curtain.

Codrus: remember what i..........oh forget it.

Sage Watson is now Bump's constant companion, his new arm candy replacing Ivanka. Bump still looks jumpy and agitated.

Bump: *muttering under his breath* still not the right blonde.

the debate starts. before a first word is uttered by the fundamentalist moderator, Bump storms up to Hilary, squares his fist, and tries to land a fast left into her jaw. she quickly ducks and swivels away as he whiffs badly and is carried by his negative momentum over the stage railing into the crowd landing his nose right squarely into the Pope's pussy.

Codrus slaps his third eye.


on the isle, the three are ruminating supplicants and applicants, anything and anyone that might help Hartwin's fatal injury. they sample the local stone soup. mission burritos. plant milk cultivated from the sweet sweatdrops that fall along the huge green overhead plant leaves' veins at night.

Lysander: we even N-bombed.

calypsoist: how dare you, foreigner!

Lysander: no, the LSD. don't i look like a guy who did LSD in the '60s? it's in my name. don't i just reek of drugs?

calypsoist: you smell. but i can't say that's a bad thing.

the old woman is naturally a witch woman. she opens the lid of the calypso drum where reverberating are six large silver nails.

old woman: "island acupuncture," she cackles.

she inserts the nails into Hartwin's golden heart.

witch woman: you know the myth of the Xenopus Turtle?

Harfi remains quiet.

Lysander: i like turtles.

witch woman: it's not a myth. it's real. as real as you or me. the Giant Spry Turtle creates the waves and provides the water for our drink, tasting it first with its everlong curling tongue to make sure it's not too salty. its stomps create the mountains, its tail wags the valleys. the midrib of the plant leaf it digests in its many stomachs creates all the universe's milk. it's not about the veins, it's really about the rib.

Hartwin: *quietly* she's not crazy. and i know crazy. i see it. i see her belief. i see the friend frog turtle big and strong. and i see myself. i am the body,


i wish i could feel her digging into me.

witch woman: open your ears. let the sudden scratchy song of the terrapin tale raise your consciousness. music heals.

Hartwin: i don't hurt anymore.


there's a collect call placed directly to the debate staging area, which is the perfect group setting. the moderator picks up. it's Madchen calling from the sticks:

Madchen: whoever stupid politician thinks this is all a joke: your dumb words kill. we don't think about such obtuse concepts as war until our own flesh is shattered and our own blood dries up. my son isn't a statistic, he's my will to live. he never asked for this. you, did. you murdered him. murderer. he was the pawn while you stayed perfumed. where do we go to file a grievance that we were always against the war but had no choice? cos we needed to eat. but we never drank. see that's the thing, we all need money eventually. we all sell our souls eventually. but i still have dried blood as well. i'm guilty. of thinking i could replace my dead sister. we think that using our talents for a greater cause will redeem us. but it won't. cos every cause has a counter. we get swept up in nations created by states. we crave community but there is no community. pride created online. every woman for herself i say. we must leave our red banquet dresses in our closets and hide our lights under our bushes if we are to survive as a subspecies.


the other two are on their phones. the two cats are playing an electronic fish-catch game on their ipad minis, having a hard time cos the technology hasn't caught up to their paws.

Herlina: one day i will be fit enough, toned enough, muscular enough, strong enough, healthy enough to leave instagram.

Carmen: good on ya, girl. Maddie that speech will make you so famous you won't have to respond to your instagram comments anymore.

the devon rex licks Madchen's face.

Madchen: thank you. i'm drained after that. i'll take any form of love. do you like being called Milla? shouldn't you be named King Devon or something?

Milla: a god by any other name would smell as sweet. i mean, dog.

Monday, August 15, 2016


J.J. Redick and the rest of the U.S. Men's Gymnastics team are gonna bring home the gold!

1. where is the most beautiful place on Earth? why? the Sea of Tranquility. cos it's tranquil. and it's not on the Earth.

2. how old is the most expired item in your fridge? plastic bottle of quarter-full ketchup. first it devolved into red water. now it's congealed into blood. i'm ready for my moonlit feeding.

3. what's under your bed? Madonna

4. what's in your pocket? Alanis Morissette

5. which famous person would you like to be best friends with? why? Leonidas of Rhodes. COS THIS, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

6. there is now a line of lacy lingerie for men. would you wear it or like to see your man in it? i will like ANYTHING that's on instagram.

bonus: think the Olympics. men's gymnastics uniforms, sexy or goofy? discuss. sexy. real men wear onesies and union suits. you know what they say about men in thermal underwear doncha? it's just another layer you can sexily remove. now let's discuss the discus.


Friday, August 12, 2016

Wednesday, August 10, 2016


Bugler's Dream blares over spacious sites of green seas and the Jesus statue who lowers His arms for the first time. He got tired.

Costas with the opening narration: there is a dream *music continues*. everyone has one. but not everyone has the skill. or the money for that matter. they trained for this one moment. their families went lacking. all for this one moment in time. your entire existence is summed up in a couple of minutes. *music gathers* don't fuck it up. he is the most decorated Olympian of all time. ancient Greco-Roman wrestlers wrestled lions, he takes on opponents who bark at him like a dog. there are red spots all over his body cos he's a vampire. and tonight, *music swells* we bid a fond farewell to Michael Phelps. the funeral will be broadcast late-night tonight with Ryan Seacrest, hope you can join us. stay up late every night, what's a job? here at the Games of the 81st Olympiad.


Madchen is slumped over in her rocking chair. the ladies are all in a circle, the four of them forming a square. one of Carmen's cats quietly does her knitting to close the circle and is considered the fourth woman. she has already knitted herself a cap with two triangular ear-holes.

Madchen: ladies, hold my hands. i am strong but i sense you are not. i will pluck my son from the remaining seized ground if i have to. i can sense him, i know his location.

Pinguis: before we start, i'm Herlina now. it's more regal. don't give up his location, that will lose us the war.

Carmen: pretty. you come up with that?

Herlina: no, the mistress. she has big plans.

Carmen: i'm getting Higger Tor? Dark Peak? Stanage Edge?

Madchen: get off your childhood and focus on another person. it's harder than it seems. yes i'm getting those, too, but i know my son, that's my trump card. those were locations he DM'd me about scrolling through his nature insta he found cool. and with cool names. DM is the new postcard. that's his cover for the enemy. he's actually somewhere in warmer waters. by that i mean tropical, not loving.

Herlina: i'm sure he's fine. the doc is there.

Madchen: as is that witch. he's dead but i can't bring myself to say it. there is so much unpacking to do. i can't wait to blame, that's how the air gets cleared.

the trio of forest maidens up in their woodsy cathedral do not disturb the primeval foliage, especially the magic bark, instead opting to break apart their chairs and throwing the sharp pieces into the center cauldron fire. Madchen especially finds this quite therapeutic as evidenced by her bloody palms.


Bump is in Bump Tower where they just replaced the glass. he is getting a scolding to as he turns his chairman chair around away from the oil-painting portrait of his father to face the city skyline. he is being talked down to by Codrus who communicates through Bump's hair.

Codrus: i'm worried. about you. you're unstable. you're liable to fly off the handle any moment. that's why plans never work, they take too long in the planning.

Bump: i am irritable. look at my hair! it's swimming in the rage of the Stones! i can't keep up the act. i don't care about the polls, i just want to play. do you know how hard it is to keep my lines straight? i never thought i'd get this far when i got in. i do not want this. i quit. it's not fun anymore. get another dude. or dudette.

Codrus: it's too late. i love when it gets late, the sky darkens and people begin to realize there is nothing more that can be done. it's that inertia of inevitability, it tastes so good in the air. come on, this is easy, you're on the winning side, whatever they say, they're part of the old rigged system, you are the future where anything goes!

Bump: i pray for your guidance and moral support, boss. the closer i get to my goal, my common sense will give way to a circling in on the center. focusing just means fucking it. the narrower the laser gets, the less light emits through.

Codrus: you're the teflon Don.

Bump: yeahs but i never had to fight for something so hard before. and i've never really lost before. like really lost, embarrassingly lost. and why did you stop the army at the gate of the White House? we were right there!

Codrus: i call it the Cream House. silly boy, you know the first stage of any plan is the casing. and we have the winning case. compromise now, conquer later. the key is getting your foot in the door, you know that well. patience, my man. time flies when you're having fun.

while this conversation is going on at the top of Bump Tower, below, on the ground floor of this building, Bump Tower, there's another conversation brewing. Lieu is at the foot armed with a backpack full of large suction cups fashioned to specification. tryna make his hands his feet. he takes out his new phone but even after all the updates it still sticks.

Lieu: goddammit. i didn't get your coordinates, buddy, please retype. i at least got to hear your voice before it froze, which is the most important thing.

Hartwin: it's good that it sticks at the most inopportune times and is hard to navigate. it's like life.

Lieu: oh shut up!


Lysander: how's he doing?

Harfi: fine. which means not fine.

Lysander: sexy bikini! i mean Lieu.

Hartwin: he's fine. thanks for asking. how are you holding up?

Lysander: oh you know.........................hey you locals got any good food around here!

an old woman sunbathing topless and a calypsoist soloist playing a dark tune ignore him.

Hartwin: i'm good. full of coffee and cookie butter. feelin' fine.

Lysander: *shouting to the shore* i won't touch your foreign chocolate unless it's couverture! got any deli olives?

Harfi: WE'RE NOT IN A DELI YOU OLD FOOL. we're outside. you're missing your mom, bud?

Hartwin: i guess i'm old enough now that i can vocalize such feelings and feel ashamed. but i am. i do. i want my mommy. Lysander is our deadbeat dad. which is better than nothing. but please, sir, let my body float at the head of the line, when you do the backstroke at night you spit on my face with each of your surface ups for air.

Lysander: you know longer?

Hartwin: what?

Lysander: hum a few bars and i'll let you know...........i mean that was my line to you, or your line to me, and then i was gonna surprise you guys with these chocolate bars i stole from a kid on the street. go ahead, they're couverture! need to keep your blood sugar up and all that. inject your insulin, this is an emergency. don't worry, captive crew, i've got this. we'll while away the humid hours with some H2O and heavenly hymns. think of your mother, my boy, and how you'll love her even after. how you're longer than your life...

at night, the treading and trending trio have not eaten, have not had their fill, and are full of hanger. but they're so tired they inevitably fall fast floating asleep and your body doesn't register anymore that you missed a meal. Lysander keeps one eye open.

Lysander: hush little babies/ don't say a word/ papa gonna sing you a diamond pearl/ and if i don't sing it well cos i can't/ always remember it sounds better wet.



Juan Martin del Potro, giving his all with those wrist-powered flat forehands/backhands and that world-famous Argentinian guile, plays a classic match against world no. 1 Djokovic, who is sputtering lately after a dominant deux years. no less than five of delpo's shots hit the net and dribble over to Djokovic's side for the point. even match point was like this. afterwards, the 1 before Djokovic's name turns to an ! on the scoreboard. both men embrace at center court and cry.

gender-unknown non-denominational tan reporter: you got stuck in an elevator? is that why you're crying?

del Potro: i thought i'd never get back to how i was. it's good to be me.

reporter: anything to say to the people in this stadium and those watching all around the world?

Djokovic: yes. fuck you. fuck you all. you got those bounces cos you got home court advantage. it's not fair.

del Potro: it wasn't luck, my friend. did you ever consider i got those bounces after years of many sidelining wrist surgeries?

Djokovic: don't cheer others' failures. there's a word for that when you enjoy it too much. starts with s. sin.

del Potro: they weren't cheering against you, mi amigo, they were cheering for you. you're always the joker but this time the joke was on you. they were applauding you showing some humanity with those tears of yours shed. cheers are for the sad clown, jeers are for jokers.

del Potro goes on to win the Olympic tournament. Bump hangs the gold medal around delpo's neck. the gold medal shines so brightly with its branches of Stones electricity rays it blots out the South American sun. but Juan Martin still basks.


Costas: we interrupt this action to bring you action. we are nearing the end of the women's road race. the leader is in a ditch we hope she's okay. Presidential hopeful Mickey Bump shot a biker with the starting gun at the starting line but in his defense, he hates guns and is not good with holding guns and gun talk and would rather leave that sort of thing to others. and the biker shot was a drug cheat, so. Murican Mara Abbott has feet to go and she wins! USA! USA! USA! see? people are taking my lead. the lead car with the Murican coach is egging her on to the finish, slapping his palm on the side of the cardoor, driving dangerously close to Mara..............and he swerves and crashes into Mara! NO! Mara finishes fourth after a gaggle of three wand their way past poor Mara. we've got Mara mic'd up, we figured she's a sweetheart, so. here you go, the audio:

Mara Abbott: what the fuck, coach?!! you murdered my dream!!! you will get me drinking again!!!

Costas: heehee, and with that we'll end tonight's coverage. there's a Copacabana coolatta with my name on it. see ya, suckers.


Carmen: try again tomorrow, dearies. there's always tomorrow. we mustn't do anything rash. mustn't fuck up the plan. i'm tired sitting down, which is strange.

Carmen's female cat is busying keeping to herself stirring the pot. she licks the tea in the cauldron, pours out four evenly-matched bone teacups with her paws, and adds the finishing touch, a sprig of holy basil for luck, before serving.

Carmen: hot and smokewood, just like i like it. y'know i wasn't sure my cats would come back to me. they are my cats after all. they did. but on their own time. i haven't told Lysander this but i rip out pages in my cat diary. he doesn't know everything. Lysander says it's good to keep secrets. i remember one day that left an overall impression on my life and theirs. i had just lost my brother and his two cats for eternity and was devastated. i didn't know where to start over but i had to leave that pile of rubble. i got two more cats at the rail station cos cats cure everything and they quickly took over my cottage. as in they were trying to kick me out. but i waited. to see. and hoped. and ever so slowly these strange slinky animals roaming the sills became my family. they sloughed off their sheltered lives and truly became of me. they started to look like me, act like me, speak like me. they took on my heritage, past history, and changing crone face. and hopes. they became my dream. they weaved themselves into my story. they took on the characteristic of this house, my home. they moved in lockstep with all of the nooks and crannies and holes and secret passageways of our space together. they were mine and i was theirs.

Carmen's Australian accent wavers in and out as she takes a drag off her yellow cigarette.

Madchen: secrets in this room, huh? what are your cats' names?

Carmen: Poppy the female cat. the boy is called Milla.

Poppy sits up from her stool, sits on Carmen's lap, and gives Carmen a big wet sloppy kiss on the lips.

Poppy: i was the one who taught you Wicca, you old fool! dearie i'm your best bitch! uh, best witch.

Monday, August 8, 2016


every four years it strikes me. a virulent virus that comes back just as i let my guard down. thinking it's finally eradicated from my system. Olympic fever. each quadrennial i say to myself THIS is the last one. the Olympics are boring. they suck. they're not what they intend to be. and every four years they suck me back in. who was it this year? Ledecky? no, though records are meant to be smashed. those long-legged volleyball players in short shorts? no. well yes but. Bob Costas? no, that guy is incredibly annoying. it was that Katy Perry video for "Rise". Katy Perry isn't my cup of tea. but parachutes are. i carry a parachute around my back at all times. just in case. stolen you say? the best art is.

Olympic pre-game learned:

* the Girl From Ipanema has had a lot of work done over the years.

* there's no dispute, Superman invented flight.

* parkour was invented by a group of bank robbers who didn't have a getaway car and decided to take the long way home...

* that samba kid had to go to the bathroom during his entire performance. but you never suspected a thing, huh? he's just that good.

* that is not the flagbearer from Tonga. that is simply a man who had a good night.

* GUGA! that man never ages. he's the Bowie of tennis. though i heard he's bald and wears a wig. truth be told the wig is starting to smell.

* walking up steps carrying a torch. no, not the lighting of the Olympic flame. this is what every soul does when they die...

* this year the losers get cooked in that Olympic cauldron. do NOT eat the food in the Athletes' Forest caf.

1. whassssssssssuuuuuuuuupppppppppppp? CLICK HERE
2. where's Waldo? in my pants
3. the best part of waking up is? creamer in my cup
4. got milk? see 3.
5. have you driven a Ford lately? Clint Eastwood scares me and he's my mayor. Joe Isuzu is my car guru. Guru Isuzu. Clint Eastwood is my chair whisperer.
6. what would you do for a Klondike bar? i would do anything for one. but i won't do that.
7. pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon? i farted in keeping with tradition.
8. do you Yahoo? pardon me but the thing is saying I've Got Mail. *fart*

bonus: is a picture worth a thousand words? elaborate. yes. but every picture since the dawn of time is either a penis or a vagina. check out the bottle pic above. cool, huh? CLICK HERE FOR JULI'S BLOG, SHE'S THE GREATEST ART PHILOSOPHER I KNOW


Friday, August 5, 2016



* your name is not Billiam.

* Conor McGregor may have introduced the concept of steak & eggs to me, but Jimmy Dean let me smoke his breakfast bowl.

* y'know the Mickey Mouse pancakes are easier to do cos you just need two mini pancakes to make the Mickey ears, whereas the waffles are harder cos shaping a square Belgian waffle into two mini Mickey ears is not natural. i heard Minnie left Mickey cos he hadn't changed in 88 years. don't say to the person preparing your pancakes/waffles that they got cakes.

* everytime Zika is mentioned in the media, chug a Zima.

* lucky Tigger. i heard Tigger's a bouncer.

* Lindsay Lohan ended up being the most professional one on that stage. she later went on to solve Brexit.

* Pluto wants a 3-way bacon burger....................................................from Carl's Jr.

* this is making me uneasy as the Opening Ceremonies start.

* we'll all be Aqua Man? that is depressing.

* that sucks. her children would've been funny.

* waffle napkin

* at the Hall of Presidents, the Trump robot's head covers even Lincoln's stovepipe hat.

* it was just sugar. which is deadlier for you.


happy weekend. across all the NBC platforms.

Wednesday, August 3, 2016


Lysander: hello? yes, it seems my appointments are drying up by the day. i gots all the time in the world! so yeah, i'll go pick him up at the Forum. i'm sure he'll be fine. my cherry red midlife-crisis convertible hover car is in the shop. needs four fresh tires. so we're gonna have to hoof it. or foot it. ran some junior-varsity track in the eighth grade a hundred years ago, let's see how this goes...

Carmen: hello? is it weird that i can tell you wear a toupee? JUST NOW while i was making spaghetti my cats returned. before i could burst with joy the little one jumps into my pot of water. thank the goddess i hadn't heated it yet. she took a bath in the darn thing. though i must say my pasta never tasted seasoninger. i've tried adding bacon seasoning but it ain't the same. am i weird? don't answer that. oh and LOOK, the other one's jumping into the refrigerator!

Lysander: it's hot out. don't blame 'em. hot as in there are fires everywhere, the world is burning down........................stranger things ahead..................did you catch that first part about my car?............................anyway bye i'm busy.


Matthew Chris: this is wild.

Phelps: that's my towel! get the fuck outta here! those are my space shorts you're wearing, they don't fit you, take them off! get outta the pool!

Matthew: chill bra.

Anderson: *poolside* and here they stride out now, swimmers from all over the world, all of them fairly qualified, they step onto the dais, arch their strong spines, ready for the gun and.............delayed gun..........BOOM! HIT IT!!!

the gun goes off and all the swimmers drop like leaden flies belly-flopping inches away from the starting block. the reason for the delay is each swimmer takes out their bong with a Vinicius sticker on the top chamber from under their dais and takes one last toke for the road. buxom Baywatch rescuers, from all over the world, slow-motion their jump into the pool and help the competitors from drowning.

Anderson races to the scene, slipping and falling.

Anderson: BREAKING NEWS, WOLF, BREAKING FUCKING NEWS!!! ma'am, sir, what happened?

Hasselhoff: *sloppily eating a burger* seems all these nautical athletes are stoned as shit. don't blame 'em. nurses with big hooters checked their eyes, they didn't stare down once so you know something's seriously wrong. red eyes all, beyond the help of drops. ya boy Phelps is okay tho, look at that kid doggy-paddling in a circle giggling his ass off!


Vladmitry: before i pokemon go, i depart you with this.

Lieu: you fixed my phone? no you added more spam to it.

Vladmitry: check out these videos on your trip, they're hilarious. they keep me going. au revoir. oh and some provisions. plates of carapulcra. from our Southern campaign.

Lieu: appreciate it but next time you might want to wrap the plates in saran wrap first. yeah the inside of my backpack is a mess. i get it, wartime and everything, but. had my driver's license in there...

a pterodactyl swoops in and squeezes up Vladmitry in her tight talons, flying away to god knows where.

Vladmitry: *faintly* HELP! help! for god's sake help me...

Lieu: lucky bastard. always wanted to fly. i believe i can but i dunno.


Bump puckers his lips and takes calls for the day.

Bump: Codrus is on speakerphone with us. is this an open secret?

reporter: so you're saying Pokemon Go was a crass recruiting tool for the army?

Bump: isn't the Russian army great? some of those guys work for me. i see this as a glasnost, the first one was all smoke and glass. of course it was, what a brilliant way to get dead-enders with no future living in their mothers' basements to "go outside" on the promise of female gamers, fresh air, and that other grass to come work for us. they offer no resistance, the lost their will long ago, so we manipulate the hard drive, the memory, the alpha, not the beta, Bill gates is a friend of mine, and we program all the Pokemon even that rare bird one to all land at Bump Towers. brilliant. instant army. if we need more i'll use the Stones to dig up the bodies from Arlington. zombie warriors are cheap labor, just give 'em a brain and they're golden.

reporter: sir have you no blame? slavery was banished by the greatest of your party.

Bump: okay, okay, i'm a malleable guy, i can go with the flow, criticism slides off my hair. i can take a joke. except how much money i make. not like Hilary, that witch is stiff. notice i used the "w" word, i'm learning. she's you know...............getting the stink eye from my boss.....okay i'll stop before i put my moccasin in my mouth.......


......i feel i'm being controlled by a phenomenon. there's a disturbance in the force and in my character. it's like i HAVE TO cross the line, anything less and i lose myself. integrity is not involved in my identity, ingrateness is. i'm getting the evil eye from Codrus now.

reporter: why didn't you attend your own convention?


female reporter:

Bump: watch yourself.

female reporter: Turkey?

Bump: Turkey? Chicken? i landed my plane over there to check on my properties, i have some real estate near the airport. let me tell yous the traffic is atrocious! i mean my limo is at a standstill cos there are tanks rumbling down the road flanking my each side. i rolled down the window, they roll down their window and tell me everything is fine, no coup is taking place, keep quiet and carry on, and they proceed down the blocked bridge.

Bump: last one before i throw you out.

Muslim reporter: Khizr is planning to run on the Common Sense Party ticket in case this entire election cycle blows up and becomes a triangle. comment?

Bump: nice try. i admire any man who starts a dynasty. i'll leave it at that. i don't meddle in elections. i like your white hat, btw, i have a white version of my message. i like hats.


there's a knock on the far outpost where the bog meets the tributary to the barracks.

Lysander: hello?

Harfi is still frantic cradling Hartwin even after a catnap.

Harfi: who is that? what have you done with Lieu you imposter!

Hartwin: *weakly* it's okay to be worried, dear, but never sink into paranoid. that's my mom's shrink.

Lysander: um the black dude had to be somewhere. my car's in the shop.

they buzz him in.


Lysander speedily clutches Hartwin's legs and carries them under his armpit like school books. Harfi can only shake her head.

Lysander: can you drive? you're the woman.

Harfi: i thought...

Lysander: oh yeah, forgot in all the commotion.


the service for Mario Lopez is a beautiful funeral. the ceremony is squeezed in right before the featured speaker Usain Bolt's big 100m race. Bolt gives the eulogy for his best friend (who knew?) in the place of NBC's usual coverage of the Olympic paddle ball finals. but this is a special occasion.

Usain Bolt: i'll keep this dash. Albert Clifford Slater. that's who Mario was to all of us. the tough who was the class bad boy despite having a poodle on top of his head. but he was more than his character. turns out, he was nothing like his character in real life. the real Mario was more the preppy, the sweet guy you took home to mother. i took him to my mother. for an afternoon. that just proves how great an actor he was. gay or gray or straight, he offered you his umbrella in matehood. a sex symbol to everyone. he was the bubbly host you wanted to host your dinner party. i'm training so i don't eat dinner anymore. that's the secret, less weight to carry on your feet.

instead of the church bell, a school bell is rung inside the church. Usain closes with his signature lightning-bolt stance, his lean blocking the view of Jesus on the cross.

Usain: dearly departed, i mean assembled, let us honor the dearly departed by a moment of silence with everyone in the room removing your leather jackets..........................thank you...

the congregation, all in tank tops, cry so hard the rivers in their cheeks crater into dimples.


Lieu scarfs down his ethnic food, which is just food.

Lieu: Vlad wasn't kiddin, this is great. don't know if this means i'm famished or cultured. the grub, not the video.

the video link Vlad sends Lieu is of a man draped in all black including a mask to dull his mouth with a unwieldily enormous blunt blade at the neck of a hapless disheveled prisoner in dirty orange. as the kidnapper bloviates about his god knows what, the prisoner ever so gingerly steps from under the knife and cautiously walks away from the scene undetected in the sand. a laugh track plays throughout.

Lieu ninjas his way to the room where the President is still pacing. Lieu opens up his backpack.

Lieu: see, Mr. President, nothing in here but dinner. want some? tastes better than it smells. it's basically stew now but doesn't all food eventually stew?

the President leers in and takes a bite.

the President: okay. i'm starving. holding out is hard.

Lieu: why you sweatin' this, my nigga? your lease is up. you had all of your top officials evacuate for fear of a singular missile that would bomb the Capitol and House and flowerhead of the Senate and all of our government. you are the designated driver. why risk it?

the President: if i can't be the sober representative of this great country, what good am i? what good is there? i don't hold the strings of power, i'm not the puppetmaster, merely the apprentice who tends these strings of fate which loomed long before me in the ancient skies. the best i could ever do was stabilize those strings. keep institutions institutionalized. you must risk your life everyday in this job for what you believe. policing or protesting. your authority comes from your audacity, not your assholery.

Lieu: oh sir, you know you can't have it both ways. no one can. no one who lives can. to live is to choose. and your choice is your credo. blessed is the man who can choose and not cringe, the man who after a long meal dabs the corner of his chin with his napkin, lies down to digest his eating, and still believes what he believes. take a look inside my backpack. closer. stick your hand in the slop, wade around for my driver's license.

the President: cool lookin' Gundam sticker, photo of you wearing a kufi that makes you look like an Afrocentric thug............what? you work for Bump?!! oh son, i'm not into identity politics but come on son! you're a double agent?

Lieu: triple but who's countin'. Bump came to our innercity school promising work after high school working manual on one of his buildings he was gentrifying our city. the bottom line was i needed a job. i was ordered to mark this day on the calendar. i was to assassinate you with a bomb i carried in my backpack. on this very spot. at this exact date month day year hour minute second time.

Lieu hits the imperceptibly microscopic button on the side and stops the stopwatch on his wrist.

the President remains stonefaced.

Lieu: but i've looked into your eyes already. they're like a puppy. it ain't happenin. that's not happenin'. you at least tried. i'm grown. five-year plans, amirite? they never work out. so much can happen in five years.

Lieu takes the president in and hugs his shoulder.

the President: here's to that Latin lover Manual.

Lieu: here's to salty successors. the bottom line is, we still need jobs.

Lieu and the President shake hands without speaking for an hour...


the three musketeers begin their journey contemplating in the Forest of Dean and eating snacks. observing the mating patterns of mice.

Harfi: why?

Lysander: just in case. peak oil and all. cheese may become the commodity.

the trio then are carried off flying on the Saharan Air Layer till they reach open water. but all the oceans are now swamps. Hartwin takes this breather to really contemplate. in the liquid expanse not a tugboat horn sounds, not a paramecium whimpers. Hartwin lies on his back where he isn't dead anymore, he's given a new lease where not all his bones hurt, his open veins blend with mother ocean, his red heart is not gold but blue, he looks up and can still see the moon over the global sheet of bad air quality from all the smoky fires.

Hartwin: Smaug deliver us from this smog. you hear that?

Harfi is distracted taking an instagram video and pinning it to her instagram story.

Hartwin: fah! put down your phone. everyone's too busy recording stuff they forget to do stuff. the flames have fallen. asleep. the smoke is in slumber. i can barely make out the old stars. the bull is a calf. the dipper is a spoon. they were so cute when they were babies.

Harfi: just relaying your battle instructions, sergeant. ships on standby. the army is lost without you. what do you see? what are your orders?

Hartwin: uh, A1, J10, and E5.

they spend a quiet if not calm night rollicking on the waves of our last ocean. morning breaks mildly through the haze and the hoarse tin of steelpan wakes them in the distance. the swamp is a lighter shade of swamp.

Lysander: *rubbing his eyes. the water out of his eyes* hard to dream when you're treading water all the time.

Hartwin: nah, that's what dreams are.

Harfi: too worried to sleep.

Lysander: we're here. Eleuthera. we're halfway there. sorry but i ate all the Nutri-Grain bars last night.

Harfi: no worries. i'm a lady so i'm watching my figure.

Lysander: yeah i figured...

Harfi: fuck no. i'm a soldier man, energy don't grow on trees, it grows in fields. motivation ain't no meal. you got no army if you got no food! a fed follower is a follower. fuck food for the soul, i need FOOOOOODDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lysander: *shivering from both the cold water and his chills* i promise you a big native barbecue when we hit land. what's the point of being vegan now anyway.

Harfi: meh. i'd whopp you on your balding head but i'm too worried to eat. i'm mad at you but i'm madder. i hate myself.

Hartwin: *meditatively* you must forgive. would've been easier to let you die, huh? it's so much easier to die.