Wednesday, August 30, 2017


wife: no, couldn't be.

Mnuchin: yeah yeah, my little farecha, and there's more.

wife: please don't do anything rash. you can't leave me here! coins are useless, i need diamonds!

Mnuchin: see these three small people i've shoved from the back into your view? children with dirty hair and forlorn ears and forgotten faces? i'm turning their heads with my hand cos that's something adults do. these are my long-lost nephews. and now you are to take care of them. yeah yeah Bump signed the papers when he wasn't looking. they are your charge.

wife: no....................No..........................NO.........................NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Bump: hey Mooch, use the Gotham Crisper and see what you can do with these.

Mooch returns with Kodiak Cakes.

Mooch: they're cakes. that are waffles.

Bump: Palin country, nice. like the sentiment. and i'm not known for connection. they're chocolate Kodiak Cakes tho. can't really taste the wheat. buttermilk next time, you're not fired. hey Vlad, you're good at hunting people.

Putin: what did you have in mind?

Bump: track down the Powerball winner Mavis L. Wanczyk. i've got a rose for her. i'm getting back to my roots.

Putin: $759 million. she suddenly appeared on our radar for no reason. we'll use cryonis and magnesis and whatever else to find her.

Bump: that's lucky. i'm bored wirth this place. i'm on to jetting to Sur La Table.

Putin: come to Russsia. we have the original Round Table.

at FBI Headquarters at night. always at night.

Ashley Parker: Jim i'm leaving you.

James Comey: is this about my wife?

Ashley: no it's just you were an exciting fuck before but the shine has worn off. before it was hot to screw my dad but now you're an old man like my dad.

Jim: i cummed tho, right? i'm sure i did but i don't remember. i have it in my notes...

Ashley: it was fun to teach you all the positions but then it became my job. i already have a full-time job where i don't get any sleep.

Jim: reporters. they ask the tough questions. and answer them. love, the one mystery a G-Man Fed can't solve.

at the Kremlin Putin is fidgeting in his chair.

Putin: i can't seem to get comfortable.

Bump: perhaps it's your office, it's too gaudy.

Putin: no it's my desk. the seat of my chair has a ceratin groove carved in it that only a specific set of buttcheeks with the perfect dimensions can fit into perfectly. may i?

Bump relents and waves the way.

Ivanka steps up and sits in Putin's chair.

Putin: like magic! her beautiful ass is the match! and she already looks like a Russian princess. is that a tiara on your head?

Ivanka: headband.

Putin: can i keep her, Mick? please. pretty please with vodka-sugar on top? don't make me make the puppy-dog eyes. in Russia they are the Russian dog eyes, the wolf eyes.

Bump: i dunno. only if i get Katy Tur.

Putin: it's like pulling teeth this one.

Putin twirls Bump in his chair and extracts all of Bump's gold teeth using a dental drill Putin pulls out of his pocket in the back.

Putin: huh. i can still sense it. that didn't do anything.

at the weather channel Goody Paul is doing a remote location.

Goody: and here i am in the zone, in the groove. folks see all this sand on this bar here? the dune? yeah i saw folk scraping off the sand and putting it in white bags. don't dig here! you're making the problem worse! you cause unnecessary erosion that's not natural and then the hurricane comes ashore and causes more destruction cos you blew up the barrier. let's talk to this nearby local woman here. ma'am, what are you doing?

woman: collecting sand off this beach. i need it for my magic dust.

Goody: honey?

wife: what are you doing here?

Goody: TURN AROUND....don't drown...


Goody: you do? i gotta work. i will never be a heavenly body.

wife: why did you marry me?

Goody: you remind me of my ex-wife. what can i say? i can't help it, i love the witches.

wife: say it.

Goody: you cast a spell on me.

wife: i did didn't i. literally.

wife: wait if you're here, and i'm here, who's in the studio?

Conor McGregor receives a call at his cottage mansion.

Conor: aye.

Floyd Mayweather: you owe me all the money. you didn't make weight at our press conference. dems the deal. it's in your contract.

Conor: contract? i haven't even signed my papers. i lost ten pounds from the fright of looking at your ugly mug.

Mayweather: is that a root-beer insult? are you making fun of the fact that i like to drink root beer?

Conor hangs up.

Bump: when you're in NYC pick me up one of those sunbrellas, eh? that's something a sultan's servant would carry.

Putin: very good, sir. i can sense it starting to eyewall lightning.

Bump: quoth the Glen Raven? what do those symbolic zebra stripes mean? something spiritual?

Putin: perish the thought, master! you are not one for referees. let us away onward to Port Isaac for that egg divination?

Bump: we shall eat the local black cat.

Putin: we shall shallow toe to toe, link arms, and stand shoulder to shoulder with the people!

Bump: may the Pembroke berm dam broke!


the hooded figure floats on the pool of the site of their crushed monastery.

the hooded figure: i am not sinking but my spirits are. i get weaker by the thought. my children, you must carry on without me!

the Men From the East cry so much their eyes are boats on the waters of conscience.

the Men: never, giver! you go to glory despite us!

hooded figure: fear not, i'm keeping cool. there's always hope. how are the elephants doing? fed and bathed i hope?

Men: yess'im.

the horde of elephants are calm and passive after their rampage, as if they needed just that one outburst to let out all their lives' grievances and return to peaceful pasture. they are eating hay and soaking up the sun.

hooded figure: when it's time, when they fall into that gentle night, disturb not their dreamful rest. blandly use the Sword of Saad to scrape off what ails them. rub off any trinkets you find under their huge feet. turn them over first of course.

Men: yess'im. their toes are like white picket fences.

the Men with a light touch scrape off all the pennies they find under the elephants' feet and stuck in the slots between their toes.

hooded figure: smooth. i always appreciated these animals. i'll always gravitate towards the mild personality. come. let us dream together.

despite the haze of dusty rocks in the air, there's enough water for the hooded figure to lay on and retain an air of freshness for the Men to layer.

their sleep is long. and too short.

hooded figure: the pennies by themselves mean nothing. after all one penny is a void. but collectively the coins add up to more than gold stones. paper. paper to write on. where there is but one page of paper there is imagination. and lots of it. come. i am getting tired. but not sleepy. we must leave here. we must not live here anymore.

Men: the planet is dying.

hooded figure: no, it is our destiny to be more.

the Men use every fuel they can find, combining and cajoling the hot liquids, every mix and match, every permutation and derivation, smashing rocks into the rudiment with hammers to find gems and precious rocks and


hooded figure: it's not longitude and latitude, it's attitude. it's depth and atmosphere.

Men: we had a dream.

the Men build penny-farthing old-timey bicycyles one to a Man. each with a oversize wheel and undersize wheel as is the frame of the universe. one for each Man to ride. they even deposit the pennies in the spokes instead of traditional Magic cards cos they are trying to outgrow their childish impulses. one even inserts the Sword of Saad Itself into his spokes and gets burned.

hooded figure: one was burned so the other could have a torch. war is the sacrifice we don't see. we all war within ourselves. that is the obsession. let him light the way! ours is the future. i cannot handle the Sword. nor hold it.

the Men all hop onto their bicycyle seats and try to ride off like the wind into the sunset but only glance from the ground at the rainbows never getting off.

hooded figure: life is not like the movies. but it is like our dreams. try again. always try again. trial and error. we are the error on trial.

they try to shoot the Sword up in the sky to cut a cloud. they bury it like a fossilized bone.

hooded figure: flip me into the air. flick me up like a marble and let me land on the Sword like a skewer.

Men: what? we can't!

hooded figure: trust me.

Men: yess'im.

when the hooded figure is speared on the sharp point of the blade the figure turns into a golden wing glowing with spacedust. the wing flies to the outgrowth of bone on the wingless side of the horse. the horse is woken from her sleep by an outcropping of grass.

horse: what the...?

the Men agree.

the Men lock shouders. as do the spokes of their bikes. the entire mass of men and motors form into a giant shape, that of a blue whale. at first the horse is asked to pull the body.

horse: hell naw i ain't no beast of burden no mo! those days are through! the past is gone when will you people realize this? i'm magic now for a reason.

the whale-shaped mass pulls the horse along, motoring out of sight.

hooded figure: there you go. see? here we go. finally. not a moment too later. ready to launch. in 3-2-1...

horse: wait up, hold your horses! there's still the matter of the Sword of Saad.

Men: we can't have the whale swallow the Sword for safekeeping. it will become lost under its tongue.

the horse snarls and reluctantly picks up the Sword of Saad and holds it between her gleaming teeth. her ears perk down. her two tails grin like peanut butter.

they rocket into space further than their fanciest flight. far enough to catch the first gravitational train to their destination. on a trail of yellow.

the horse: i don't like having a bit. but whatever.


the boy and man and horse are in the ravine, splashing about.

the boy: what was that about radiation?

the horse: i'm having too much fun in the water. we get led to this stuff a lot but rarely are we allowed to play in it.

the man: as long as we stay cool here the Sun shouldn't affect us, no matter how hot he gets.

the horse dunks her head deep below the blue. she comes up for air jerkily flaring her nostrils, pinching her long ears to get the last drops out of her nose. she smiles and shows her goofy teeth.

horse: you guys got any shampoo?

boy: your hair is already shiny. look at that mane!

horse: conditioner then? this has given me a new lease on life. it's amazing how you feel when you think you have a shot and the world isn't coming to an end! as to your question, what was it again?

man: is there always hope?

horse: no, but why not. the Sun is more compliocated than even i know. some say he is a god. there are many unknown reactions going on in him, that's why he's so grumpy. he doesn't understand himself. or his power. i wouldn't get too comfortable. rays have a way of piercing through the darkness.

boy: so you're saying he runs hot and cold?

horse: it's not a matter of hot or cold. if only life was that simple.

man: it wouldn't be life. i have come to realize that this is a test that's meant to be difficult. there is a definite reason why we are here. that no one will ever know.

the horse goes in for a second dive. this time she touches the loose mudbanks of the bottom. her fluffy tail surfaces poking its little eye out just above like a whale's blowhole mist.

horse: this is so fun! i haven't had this much fun since...well.....the start of the universe.

boy: let your hair down, it's contagious!

man: man needs distraction.

horse: NEIGH!!!

boy: we like your neigh better than your bray. it's more cheerful and upbeat.

the three play the first-ever game of Marco Polo and submerge themselves all at once as a trio.

boy: if only i had a camera.

man: i wonder if life is meant to be captured like that. or just experienced.

the two men are able to understand one another underwater. their communication has solidified over these months. they see the horse on their other side in the dark-blue waters of the spinning gorge. they clearly see her white teeth gleaming in the midde-draft.

JUST THEN a massive storm of fire drops enter the lagoon, whirling the waters violently. the two never see the horse again. everything, including their eyes, goes red.

...when they come to, the man is dragging the boy to an aperture in the face of the sideline rock of the chasm, one he has dug with his thumb while still paddling with his feet. they manage to crawl through the hole after skipping a few lunches and enter a cave just big enough to be called a living room. a few streams persist in bothering their faces but mostly the roof is maintaining. it holds together their life force but not their nerves.

boy: are we stars, brother?

man: yes. did you see what happened?

boy: is this our new home?

man: nature carves a way.

boy: i saw a giant balloon. orange.

man: no, it was yellow. the monster is back.

boy: did he ever leave? is it safe?

man: it never is. but we still look.

the two peer out their hole timidly. the Sun has crashed into the bay, soaking up all the water while barely fitting in his right toe.

the Sun: i really need to lose weight. hey, anybody out there?

man: you said you wanted to memorialize the moment. we got cavewalls all around us. hop to it.

boy: got any paint? that's not your blood. that ain't the point. it's too soon. still too much pain in our hearts over our loss.

man: i'm sure others have it worse. there is something to life which invites trauma. that's what these cave paintings signify. they aren't history or art, they are diary entries of a rudimentary life.

boy: we are ordinary and run-of-the-mill. and yet there is something so extraorindary about life. we have the run of the mill.

Sun: does anyone wanna come out and play? i don't mean that in a glassy threatening way. i really get lonely up there in the space sky. i've been around for a long time. i've seen things long enough to unsee them. i want to live again. renew and reboot.

boy: that's a healthy perspective,

man: fascinating. the idea of recreating yourself.

Sun: sure. we do it every second. every second is a new timestream, betcha didn't know that.

man: it's like when we wake up each day we have to learn the rules all over again. we can follow them or not. or even shape them ourselves.

boy: yeah but we still have to eat. no amount of willpower controls our stomachs, they have a mind of their own. what are we gonna do for food?

man: we can't go outside. or in the water for that matter. hey why isn't there steam coming off the lake from your outstanding heat?

Sun: thank you. there is but it instantly disappears. i eat it. hey do i look like a huge fun beachball?

boy: yes you are quite impressive.

Sun: oh you're just saying that. you have to say that or i'll fry you.

the Sun shrugs off the compliment and forms a prominence which destroys a nearby fully-inhabited planet.

Sun: do not make the gods angry. i want to be a new me. show another face. this heavenly body is meant to see the other side.

man: so much time and energy spent on being someone other than ourselves. fruitless, no?

Sun: i love apples. but i can't eat them.

boy: like the flip of one coin.

Sun: money is useless. as you can see. but i'll take any gas you got.

boy: i'm starting to get faint. we have to eat each other, my man.

man: the rocks surrounding us have covered whatever radiation is emananting. whatever they are made of is a godsend. it will never come to that, son, i'll die first.

boy: agreed. let's shake on it.

the boy licks the man's fingers during the shake.

boy: mm, barbecue sauce. perhaps if we sleep it off.

man: okay. but we can't sleep forever as much as we'd like to. can't escape problems that way i've found.

boy: learning is hard.

the two try to make it past the night. and then the nights. the man sleeps more as he is more prone to exhaustion. the boy is more prone to waking in the middle of the night after vivid dreams.

on one such occasion the boy fumbles in the dark to find a torch. he spreads out his hands along the northern wall of their hobbie hole until he hits upon an aperture on the back side.

boy: did the man do this?

he pokes around and senses a triangle of gleaming diamond. at once trembling and terrific. he touches the point with his finger repeatedly to get used to its charms. it acts as a soft downy pillow for his small head. he falls asleep hard and never dreams again.

boy: cos this is the dream.

when he wakens the man takes his cue and is already eating the substance of the diamond triangle.

man: it's not diamond, it's magnificent bone!

boy: *cutting* and it spills milk like a fountain!

the duo finish their clumpy thick liquid lunch and are satisfied at least for one more day. they touch their bellies together in comfort and rubbing sympathy.

man: once more?

boy: we don't have a choice.

man: what happened to your spear?

boy: had to use it as a torch.

at night the Sun is stuck inside the gaping circle of the pool sticking like a daisycutter blast zone squiggling and squirming. the water has all but evaporated but ghost trace elements of hydrogen and oxygen still keep the Orb cool and refreshed. the night air helps. the Sun turns into the Moon, quiet and grey and pockmarked like a teenager dreaming of being dreamy. when the Sun opens his eyes he is the Sun again.


President Bump: which Denny's, Vlad? the one in Moon Township, Pennsylvania?

Putin: Denny's again? i prefer King of Prussia, PA.

the news media is staked out in the oval-parking-lot bushes like vulturic stalkers.

Bump: i just came out of a Denny's meeting with Robert Mueller. it was a serious breakfast. the meeting was a grand slam. we had a chocolate cake the likes of which you have never seen or will ever see again on the face of this blue-balled earth.

Rachel Maddow: sir the residents of Moon, PA are saying you are stealing their magic away.

Bump: i have known to be a giant siphon. a colander with the holes plugged in if you wish. i do steal the show that's for sure. now if you'll excise me, i'd rather be out here with you guys, but i have to get back to renters business.

Putin spits in Bump's ear.

Bump: Vlad here tells me not to mention rentier, that is code for capitalism.

Maddow: are you two buddies?

Bump: no, we're straight. i know why they send you to me, Rachel, you're untouchable.

Mooch: and here are your pancakes. by working for yous i work for Denny's.

Bump: a little dry. maybe if i sprinkle a little Thai spice...

Mattis and McMaster: SIR, NORTH KOREA!!!


Bump: where shall we trod next, my friend? Lavaca, Texas. la vaca is cow. the brown cow. see? i speak Spanish. that's where all my ex-wives live.

Putin: probably not a good idea.

Tillerson: lord, what is your message to the flood folks?

Bump: tell them i'm okay, i'm fine. we made it out of this hurricane and i only used one atom bomb to try and stop it. hey, Tillamook, you have the same accent as that crowd, right? you go over there and negotiate the terms of their surrender. i'm from New York, i don't know about accents.

Mnuchin takes his hot plastic wife to a secret underground bunker in Fort Knox where the stones are silent and the secrets are scorching.

Mnuchin: the Eclipse is hot enough without the glasses.

wife: this is so not cute. this place is leaking! isn't this fortress supposably inpenetrable?

Mnuchin: that's what they said about you.

wife: the water is rising to my shins.

Mnuchin: at least it's not to your ankles as is your usual. anyway honey, get naked like the ancients did and i'll put on my striped onesie swimsuit and swim in this long bank of coins for awhile.

wife: Mnuchin, that is quite the unusual name. who did i marry again? really?

Mnuchin: it's ancient Gaelic actually. yeah, the modern Romanization translates roughly as McDuck.

Monday, August 28, 2017


thoughts and prayers.

1. have you ever had sex in the changing room of a store? ampm is technically a store, right? remember that porn site BitchMobile? i'm sure it's long discontinued by now but their changing-room video was by far their most popular. the adrenaline rush of maybe getting caught by the maître d' clerk up front with your next set of pants churns the cum gooeyer. y'know ever since i was a kid i've always been fascinated with 7-Eleven. but i wasn't sure why. i could never put my hanging-fingernail tiny thumb on it. was it simply the concept of frozen Coke while playing the Ghouls 'n Ghosts arcade box and pretending you knew skateboard lingo when the boys with the long hairs belled in? no, it had to be more. as an adult i didn't put away childish things and found it. 7-Eleven is Japanese! this whole time i had no idea. that explains everything!

2. ever blindfolded your partner for sex or have you been blindfolded during sex? let's see how long it takes for my new computer here to stall. i saved right now just in case. also i'm cracking my bedroom window which i NEVER open. too fucking hot. as in my bedroom lights are too fucking hot. gotta go environmental but dull. spoilers: Sharapova completes the comeback. is reputation the final currency? y'know the whole blindfold thing comes in waves. for a period it's hot as hell and then it dims. and then it comes back. many believe the 50 Shades author invented blindfolded sex but it's been around since at least Harry Houdini. Houdini used it on his tricks...

3. who out there likes to be tied up for sex? yes, who out there? instagram DM me.

4. shower sex, yea or nay? only with a rainfall showerhead. i swear, before i leave this green earth, well this blue earth, i will experience the ecstatic joy of a rainfall showerhead. in a lonely white-tiled futuristic Tokyo apartment or something. see-through glass looking out onto the video-game con promenade. at neon night. and i got one pachinko token left, the one with the falling heart, taped to my naked body.

5. ever done a striptease for a lover? i've always had a hard time with the word striptease. i could never picture it the sexy way it's meant to be pictured. never registered. i got abiding trauma from being teased at school i suppose.

bonus: what are you thinking? the money is running out. like a sieve. soon it will be too late. not long now...

i need a damn desklamp!


Friday, August 25, 2017



* it's too hot to type. but never too hot for Friday Night Writes, this is my therapy.

* writing is cheaper than therapy. and more meaningful.

* artist: why did you step into this shop?
girl: the Virgin Mary appeared to me here.

* girl: why did you darken my doorway?
artist: what?
girl: i just saw the Illuminati Eye.
artist: no that's just a Zelda symbol.

* artist: is this your first tattoo?
girl: yes. i have a back tat but that doesn't count, all girls have a back tat.

* girl: what's with the tape?
artist: sorry, ran out of duct.

* girl: black ink?
artist: Coke.

* girl: why are you wearing special glasses? you need them to tattoo?
artist: need them to see.

* girl: *deep breath* okay well at least it's not a real silver gun like the cool girls were telling me, it's a silver math compass.

* girl: what's that horrible buzzing sound?
artist: the voices in my head competing for attention.

* artist: hey we both wear Vans shoes! that should connect us.

* artist: wait you got this off a greeting card?
girl: yes, this is a Hallmark commercial.
artist: you're shitting me. Hallmark didn't go out of business after emails?

* artist: wait let me take a look at that card...that's not your mom's signature, i forged it.
girl: what? how?
artist: got a lot of practice with the checks. i'm your dad.
girl: i thought Seth MacFarlane was my dad.

* artist: what's your name?
girl: Paloma.
artist: it's actually Jane.


happy weekend, my babies. remember: GET THE HELL OUTTA DODGE!!! that's just good advice generally.

Thursday, August 24, 2017


Putin takes the mic.

Putin: your country is magnificent. filled with all manner of fighters willing to sacrifice for it. from all spectrums and colors. but especially purple. i wish my country had the fortitude. we have the patience but not the progress. that shall be remedied soon enough. to the young lady forever placed in the pantheon of civil-rights warriors, she fought for social justice, real social justice, not internet justice. she went outside. and the brave sailors, men of blue who look funny with their hats and scarves but that's not their fault who take to the white choppy waters each day in an effort to calm and coax. it is a job that's more dangerous than one realizes, especially with rogue swimmers in the sky. thank you from the bottom of our black hearts and black souls. God Bless America.

Mooch: and here we have the longaniza and meat-stuffed pumpkin. enjoy your majesty.

Bump: beef-stuffed pumpkin?

Mooch: turkey.

Bump: aw. i got sore guts now.

"chicken," Putin smiles.

"ham," Bump looks down.

Bump: where's the Herradura?

a horse skips on the ocean.

horse: did someone say tequila? here you go, straight from my horseshoe.

Bump: i hate my Cabinet, Vlad. there's that one guy that has an overstuffed pumpkin head...and that one guy who talks a lot about trash who looks like a child molester...

Putin: worry not, my liege, they will all be integrated.

a shrieking babbling man with no hair or shirt runs for his life across the stealth-bomber runway.

Bump: and there's that guy. the crying skinhead. that guy, too.

Putin: you shouldn't have to answer to anybody. do it all yourself. but remember what we practiced. you're using the methods i ingrained into you that one session?

Bump: with the pins? relaxed me. sure. using it on old Woolsey. attached it to his heart. i have the monitor at Bump Tower. like a videogame. if Woolsey gets too nervous he sets off the nuclear codes and boom! haha!, you should see him on tv. all calm and collected no matter the next-day controversy i cause, sweating bullets! heehee. and i threatened to take away his family's wool fortune and give it to the people. give them back their wool jobs. that's why he's named that, right?

Putin: no that's his real name, it's not a code name. gotta keep up.

Bump: the only good thing to come out of this job is Katy Tur.

Putin: we have problems with her.

Bump: i want to dig her so bad!

Putin: she has that big protruding hooked nose if you know what i mean.

Bump: what i love the Jews! no, her nose is French-hooked. she had that boyfriend in Paris.

Putin: i know, that boyfriend was me! it was kinda like Mel B's wedding night...

Bump: who needs an executive dining room when an aircraft carrier is your tabletop!!? and that Eclipse is mine. i bought it. i paid for it. thanks Obama.

Putin: join me in the trenches.

the two heads hide in the hole created on the sub. Putin gets his shovel out to dig some more.

Putin: back up, creep, you're crushing me. you like being here in the bunker?

Bump: just like General Pershing...

Putin: you know it was i who sent you that email.

Bump: makes me hungry for longaniza seconds. i left my bullets in my other pants, use them for toothpicks. come, let's finish this party at Jamaica Estates.

Putin: uh, sure, i'm still on a kind of vacation.


at the monastery it's crunchtime. everyone plans their lives according to the Occultation. the Men From the East all become pallottines in rushjob ceremonies during the two minutes of the Eclipse. the Hooded Figure is exhausted but not from that.

the hooded figure: finding the Sword of Saad was a blessing. but i'm afraid it's left me listless and shot. we have constructed a penny-farthing one for each man and we are ready to ride. but the energy coming off the job site has drained my energy.

the Men From the East: so sorry to hear that, lord. we work the work site fine without any pain nor puncture.

the hooded figure: it's just me? curious.

Men From the East: your face is turning red!

the hooded figure: i better lay down.

the Men construct a mat woven from the surrounding trees. they lay their leader in a soft blanket made from their robes and place the hooded figure by the small pool of the burgeoning waterfall.

the hooded figure: i'm in the perfect position to tell you all about sleep. sleep is power. our imagination doesn't come from our dreams, it's the other way around. let us pray together tonight.

the Men form a prayer circle around their fallen farthing. they meditate, the hooded figure sleeps.

the hooded figure:


hooded figure: *the next morning* what did you see, my children?

Men: space whales! blue whales flying in the multicolored spectra of rainbow space!

hooded figure: yes. YES! me, too! except on one of mine stood a horse with one wing riding the large mammal. or sitting as the case may be, sitting because the horse had but one wing.

JUST THEN the Eclipse happens. that scares a pack of elephants who rush-roam over the hill and rampage at top speed into the church carved in the side of the underground mountain, completely razing it off from the face of the planet. burying it in 9 feet of rubble.

Men: *pulling their hairs out* OUR HOME!!!

the hooded figure punches their chests.

hooded figure: hearts cannot be demolished.

on top of everything else the storm of elephants drink up all the pools of water in their wake.

Men: thirsty trunks. come, we must find water.

Wednesday, August 23, 2017


the man and the boy travel with the two-tailed horse. over ridge and natural barricade and some lutum-made barricades on a countryside increasingly heating up.

horse: i need not ride you the entire way, young one.

boy: but your leg.

horse: oh son, you have your whole life ahead of you. conserve your strength. i am older than your sun.

man: the Yellow Monster?

horse: sure. but it's not that scary once you get to know it. i know it's big, bigger than even i'm used to and i've done a lot of traveling. it's not the usual size is what i'm saying. but it's all science in the end.

man: i have much to learn here.

boy: what is science?

horse: love.

boy: you have traveled off this rock. we are of the stars?

horse: that's for me to know and you to find out.

man: must be. it couldn't be any other way.

horse: i'm afraid if i talk more you'll begin to lose interest on this rock you're on now. that would be a tragedy for this planet and the solar system. it's all a system i'm afraid. just know i'm not talking out of turn, hell naw i ain't going back to those dark ages.

boy: fair enough, noble healer. we trust your wisdom. y'know you're easy to talk to. no offense but i like you more than the wind. the wind never deigns to talk to us. he is either dumb or devious. by dumb i mean mute, not stupid.

horse: it's still offensive.


the man points raggedly up at the black sky as the gigantic sun takes a bite of the moon, showing off its massive teeth in the chomping process.

boy: did you see the Yellow Monster's teeth!!? they were massive! off-pointed and gnarly!

the two-tailed horse bleats.

horse: excuse me, i've never made that sound before. this is a shock even for me. aye, the teeth are made of rare brown-elephant tusks, glowing obscenely in the gauzy haze of light he's created for himself.

man: i didn't know we had a moon! i never saw it.

horse: not anymore. it was permanently obscured by the awesome power of Mr. Monster. now this planet is fucked without that gravitational pull. we got maybe four more days or so of spinning.

the Yellow Monster: FEED ME, SEA MONSTERS! i need to eat. i am always hungry. i must maintain my corona at a billion degrees!

horse: you're worried about your waistline? honey your hips are fine. leave us alone!

man: don't eat me, man!

the three scream and shout and holler and carry on and shriek and huddle together in an anxious circle.

horse: o how i hate the sound of a scream. it signals utter pain and helplessness. and i don't like to be without help. we must stick together. i don't like seeing that in living things, my stomachs ache.

the boy pricks up his spear and the man pricks up his ears waiting for the next message in trepidous anticipation.

the sun stands there motionless. or sits there as the case may be.

the boy: i don't know what's creepier, when he talks or when he doesn't talk.

horse: did you get a look at his beady eyes?

boy: he has no eyes!

horse: that's not good. i've seen this before. he's not spiritual, he has eyes but he keeps them closed. he's stubborn.


horse: not me.

boy: sea monsters? hey you know where there's a water source? that's the one thing that's been sorely lacking on this trip.

horse: sure, the waterfall down the road. never mentioned it before cos i thought it was too high for you one-tails.

boy: come on, man! this is no time for native ridiculousness. of course we can make the jump. hey, can you jump?

man: i c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c- i'm too frightened to move.

boy: at least don't be clumsy in your speech. fine i'll carry you. vamonos!

the Sun: LUNCHTIME! always noon. i'm feeling quite peckish today. as you can see from my prominences, i am quite prominent. if i don't get a nibble i'll coronal mass ejection!

the three tag each other and race heads-first into the drink. the long silvery slivery falls don't end for some time as the trio stumble over tree outcroppings and branch sticks.

horse: isn't nature wonderful? you must always appreciate the greenery while you can.

boy: or when. almost there. always be our barrel, mama.

horse: eh, flying is overrated. ah, polka. i remember the strains of my parents as a youth. polka has ALWAYS been old peoples' music.

man: but will i hear the music of the spheres again?

horse: o quit yer bellyaching and use your tummy to make a flop.

the three make a super saving splash in the verdant pool of the finish. the horse glides gracefully down on her controlling two tails. the boys crash hard.

boy: we'll be safe here. suns hate water, right?

man: has to.

horse: is this a bad time to bring up radiation?


at the Conor McGregor/ Floyd Mayweather weigh-in, tempers are flaring. but it's all for show. the crowd seems to be more raucous than the competitors. but it's Dana White who's egging them on.

Conor: no more eggs for you, Dana. hardboiled makes them too easy to eat. like pills. your stomach is starting to show.

Floyd: yeah, close your mouth, White! how uncivilized.

Conor: look who's talking, scientist.

Floyd: you called me a monkey.

Conor: no i said i was a monkey. you know with that walk i do where i swing my arms like they're jelly behind me.

Floyd: i ain't jelly. why do you do that?

Conor: it's my billionaire strut. i do it cos i'll be a billionaire after this fight.

Floyd: can never have too much money. it's the sour science believe me. hey how do i get into that UFC racket of yours?

Conor: should be simple now that Jon Jones went...apeshit...shit...sorry, it's just sad. i like drugs, too, but my drugs are steak 'n' eggs.

Dana: steak?

Conor: NO

Dana: i'm happy.

Floyd: why you looking at me like that?

Conor: this is the stare-down.

Floyd: why you talk funny?

Conor: that's just my accent. hey do you get butt blisters when you do sit-ups? they hurt like hell. i can't go to the bathroom.

Floyd: use the big pillow you use for your back when you read in bed. your butt won't be sore and you'll transfer the pain to your aching back.

Conor: hype. thanks, man.

an hour later, a call is placed to the home of Conor McGregor. Conor is lounging on his bearskin rug by the fire smoking a pipe and contemplating Camus. iron flakes blow off the log smoke of the fireplace into ash and land on his scruffy beard.

Floyd: hello? dude, why aren't you at the ring? the fight is now. Tiffany Bump is staring at me and it's making me uncomfortable.

Conor: *folding his book* oh i'm sorry, bro. were we supposed to actually fight? i thought it was all a promotion, i'll be over in two Scottish lamb shakes. i'm hailing a black cab now.

little did Conor know that the cabs in America were not black but black-and-white checkerboard on yellow. Conor wastes another hour playing chess on top of a car roof.

Conor: sorry, sorry. thought the city would be dark by now.

Floyd: it is dark. it's Vegas.

Conor ends up beating Floyd in the fight with a sneaky roundhouse kick to the teeth. Floyd suffers his first and only defeat but Conor suffers, too. all the boxing bombs landed on Conor's arms make them so flabby rendering them inert he can't even do his signature walk as a victory dance.

Conor: the chess focused my mind and the flanks flanked me. but I still lost! what's the point of gloves? just bareknuckle it, y'know?, there're no gloves on the street. never thought i'd be boxed in like this. keep your boxes, i want to be me. if i can't do my billionaire strut what's the point?!!

the two men weep profusely and hug each other with their boxing gloves still on in consolement in the middle of the ring.

at the weather channel the station is abuzz with no new recruits.

Goody Paul finally gets his own hour. he smiles for the camera.

Goody: and it's air you can wear. and...and...if it roars stay indoors! and...and...oh i've just been handed a paper here. the...Mpemba Effect? the hot freezes faster than the cold? okay, stop the presses, no, no, shit this. Mpemba? you totally just made that up right now. you making fun of me and my blackness? yeah i'm from Africa and your head is on my spear! oh okay you wanna see real steam? WHO'S THE MOTHERFUCKER THAT MESSED WITH MY COPY LIKE THIS!

wife: that would be me. *raises hand*

Goody: sorry, dear. where is everybody?

wife: all the interns are gone. everyone has left. the Eclipse is a sign. science is useless. it's the end of the world and people just want to hang out with their families.

Goody: can't. gotta work.

wife: how bout some sympathy for your woman? long suffering. i was so pumped for this. i wore a cool Eclipse T shirt with the 9 phases. just as i'm about to witness this once-in-a-lifetime event, without a telescope mind you, a damn cloud covers the eclipse area for exactly two minutes, the exact length of the damn thing! afterwards, once the eclipse is over, not a cloud in the sky of course. sigh, wasted marriage to a meteorologist. somebody didn't want me to see. now i'm in the 9 stages of grief.

Goody: well damn, ma'am! i'm sorry. forgive me. humblest apologies.

suddenly the lights go out.

Goody: blackout, very funny. it's the Eclipse, Eclipse prank, hardy har har har. i can't anymore. this miserable job is a black hole. i'm out this bitch.

wife: hey wait for me!

Goody: what do you want to eat for your anniversary?

wife: your butthole. but this event will never have an anniversary.

Goody: witch you crazy

at the Vatican there's an infestation. the Pope hangs on by her tippy-toes on the bar of the flying trapeze attached to the golden-domed roof of her palace bathing room over her giant gaudy luxurious bathtub of fake ivory. huge slimy fuzzy worms the size of sand seals have taken over the tile of the tub. pissed on their territory. and hers. they have no eyes and slither their gray cum all over their trails, spewing toxic chemicals all over her towels on the floor.

the Pope: eek! i can't stand these things anymore! these slugs have saturated the air with their thick puce puke. i have nightmares of these things. they come to me in the night and attack my pillow, sliding into the casing. they move deliberately like an army slowed by conscience. there's nowhere in my house i can rest! worst of all, they're killing my shower experience!

Justin Bieber: have you ever considered that those harsh-smelling soaps you get at LUSH are the problem? especially that gold-nugget one. it reeks of perfumed puffery.

the Pope: that's very bright of you.

Justin: btw i don't mind seeing you in all your glory. you are the Pope after all. i'm more mature now.

the Pope: clothes are the enemy. they divide us. yes the concept of nightmare snails with no shells niggles at my wiggle. baby snakes seething with sin. it's like they're the only animals who are able to survive such a noxious atmosphere. the soap smell beckons them to come, only their mephitic brand of beast, the only ones who withstand these fuming fumes on their skincrawling faces and atop their agonizing antennae. they sense it and dare show around this place. ugh! i'm getting rid of soap! i shall never be clean again! but that doesn't get rid of the problem. it's already too late. where's Kirsten?

Justin: on CNN.

Kirsten: hi, baby! i'm live right now on CNN! see me? *waves* you're so cute when you're naked.


Justin: our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. that was easy.

President Bump is with Putin at the crash of the navy submarines.

Bump: has the rum ration been lifted yet? that's the only regulation that matters.

Putin: concentrate on other matters, sir. do you want me to give the speech?

Bump: it's all yours.

Monday, August 21, 2017


for the longest i thought colander was spelled with two Ls. Happy Eclipse Day, my mooninite babies! probably already over. it was a once-in-a-lifetime event and you missed it. the next one won't be for such a long time you'll be dead. or a short time depending on how you define it. this either wrapped you like a Hollywood Bowl blanket in the cold knowledge of the eternally expansive magnificence of the celestial heavens and your puny significance in it, or you became even more isolated cos you had no one to share it with. hopefully these kinds of cosmic events bring people together. at least for two minutes. it was so disheartening to see the return to politics after the A block's commercial break. WARNING!!!: do not wear those red-and-blue ear-hanger paper glasses you get for outdoor drive-in 3D '50s monster movies. in fact do not look at the sun at all. now or ever. stay indoors where you won't be roasted alive. it's too dark to see anything. i prefer a little dusk. next time you're at a sunset whip your head around 360 degrees. Bill Nye is the greatest sex-ed teacher i ever had. see that's the thing about the universe: it doesn't care whether you believe in it or not, it keeps going. and it doesn't care about you. unless you become a pagan. come on, you know there is only one religion. today is the day you give in to your long-held secret desires. become an eclipse-chaser and get married on national tv. did a fluffy cloud obstruct your view? curse the pagan gods and fill your gullet with Denny's moon-dollar pancakes and Chiquita bananas, that's all you can do. as Jerry Lewis once said, "you better laugh cos the alternative is not funny." that man consumed a million pills, one more than me. make today the day you start living. make today the day.

look at this pic. again. closely. see it?

1. for you, can sex be separated from love? only with a colander
2. can sex be separated from caring? that's called porn. although porn has produced marriages.
3. men: does sex seem to be something you can never get enough of and are constantly seeking or thinking about? what was that? sorry, i got distracted. i was talking to myself. i just wish the eclipse had lasted longer, y'know? like i wanted the whole day to be in darkness. imagine how the ancients would have reacted to that! they, like the rest of the animals, would have really been frightened. fret not, my beautiful ancestors, the sun will return someday. i really don't want to go back to work tomorrow again.
4. women: is sex secondary to intimacy, physical closeness, and commitment? i always wanted to be a woman. to know what that would feel like, be like in that body. let's do this, Doctor Who! that's my one regret. then again maybe i was in a past life and i don't remember.
5. who is more discriminating in choosing sexual partners---you or your significant other? if i had a significant other i would be better at choosing...cos i would have actually chosen one.

bonus: who is more likely to take on additional sexual partners, you or your significant other? whoever knows that the password is Fidelio...

long day. i'm sleepy, hungry, and hot. but not too hungry, i only ate some. oh i almost forgot! my Eclipse playlist: Dark Side of the Moon, "Total Eclipse of the Bad Moon Rising", and of course Smashing Pumpkins's "Plume"


Friday, August 18, 2017



* every time you hear her name don't you think of rice pilaf?

* i wish i were cool and French and had no regrets.

* remember, the girl at the beginning is the woman at the end...........and her daughter.

* time doesn't exist so what's the point of a clock? answer: for the radio.

* little girl for Swee'Pea confirmed

* i wish i could have bypassed my adolescence but i never knew how to ride a railing.

* don't hate, skate

* the first emoji. and Instagram is born. instead of another carwash.

* she doesn't like you. she's just a bad darter.

* you either keep your bangs or you shave your head, there is no middle ground in society anymore.

* soldier: captain, can i take off my faceguard this one time? i know it's against regulation but PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEASEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

* do not attempt..............unless you're Juliet.

* from one railing to another

* woman: does this trolley go to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe?

* little boy: you're pretty.
woman: i'm your real mother.
little boy: why'd you give me up, mama?
woman: i mean sister.

* old woman: these aren't wrinkles. these are all the tears i've shed in my life fossilized on my face.
the old woman's psychiatrist begins to cry.

* the old woman's psychiatrist: ready for your next shock? oh. i'll let you finish your Dove chocolate.

* little girl: i don't wanna get up! life is boring! life sucks!

* you only have one day to live. live in the moment. the Eternal Moment of Now.


happy weekend, such as it is. just remember, Ganon has been defeated before. he always comes back...

Wednesday, August 16, 2017


it is said you live a million lives during your life. but that number is infinity. for when you wake up, you have the chance to start over.

the boy: what happened? i remember some things, forget others.

the man: same. i fear we have forgotten what's most important.

boy: they won't steal our history!

man: who's they?

boy: isn't there always a they?

man: there shouldn't be. for surely even an ant sees as he looks up and gazes at the awesome umbral power of the sun affixed but moving in the heavens he is part of a grand celestial plan. with no beginning and no end. there is no edge of the universe it seems. how hollow he must feel in the hologram.

boy: or she. give it up for the her-ants. the aunts. they weigh a gram. if that. you're right. past thoughts are so ridiculous when put under the microscope of the present. that yellow monster thing was ridiculous. there is no future. for when you're in the future you're in the present. but the past will always be the past, locked in amber, crying in concrete, for they cannot move.

man: we were searching for a woman! well that part of us sure kicked in quickly!

boy: right. look, brother, they sponged off the red symbol that was here. do you remember what the symbol was? we're just getting the edges.

man: those bastards! how can we live on the corner? i say we confront them and demand answers with a spearpoint under the chin!

boy: hold your horses, i'd rather with a microscope. remember, the stars?

man: thank you, brother. you washed the hate right off the blades of this body of absolute ineffectualness of mine.

boy: you got nice broad shoulders. i sense the wind is going crazy. the winds are. flipping every which way. it is hot and balmy and draws us to that location yonder with the smoke.

man: more like lures us. bring your weapon. the fastest deterrent to war is a triangular stone.

the two run to the site with instinct as their only map. what they encounter is the grisliest scene in all of history.

boy: by the stars! they're all dead! did they not understand! they were to preserve life at every cost!

man: it's okay to cry.

boy: you're the one crying.

man: okay. the humanity! except they are grey-skinned. but it matters not skin-color or creed, we are birthed in space to love! surely this is obvious! the newborn suckles his mother's breast and touches eternity, eating the Milky Way with each swallow. the display here today will live in infamy in the future and the past. the sea of blood, sweat, and tears, and breaking bones dug in the soil all for a lost cause tells a pirate's tale of woe.

boy: hark! i sense a boat in the offing. is it? could it be? a survivor of this madness to breathe hope into our lungs once more.

indeed ailing but stirring in the pile of bodies is a limp befallen horse neighing hurtly and brandishing the air with his flared nostrils.

man: poor baby!

boy: our baby! let us haste! let us away!

man: does your head hurt?

boy: yes. our thoughts must be magnificent.

the boy leaps through the air with his black locks like a cape fluttering in the wind.

man: your hair smacks of Justin Bieber.

the boy approaches the horse and cares him under his arm with tremendous strength.

horse: my what big muscles you have!

boy: when we find our inner strength there is no mountain we can't move.

horse: and a philosophizer to boot. i don't weigh that much! but i neigh that much! i'm a girl by the way. La Nina.

boy: you're bleeding profusely.

horse: that's just my makeup. smeared it this morning. i'm fussy. i'll be okay. but please don't put me down.

man: what happened here, milady? it is a scourge that afflicts and never dies till death.

horse: i am god. to these people. well i was. when they stoned you two, that was their first encounter with violence. they were innocent babes but they quickly learnt the ways of civilization, the insidious nature of gaining sped-up power by merely forcing the submission of their counterarguments. it was only natural. freedom is a messy thing. it's one thing to be invidious, it's another to be insidious. the plague spread like a wildfire, infecting all their systems. a virus of their own making, created in a lab. the lab of lutumity, of their own experimentation on themselves. they're a hive mind to begin with so they were particularly vulnerable.

boy: i cannot stay still upon witnessing this. we are one. brother, you know what must happen.

man: i must do what i must do.

the man hurls a stone at the boy's knee, shattering his leg.

boy: *tearing up* the pain i presently experience is nothing compared to my brethren on the field. this is for unification!

horse: what noble sacrifice! you guys are certainly not like them. the same but different. you don't need to impress me anymore! you already passed the test when you didn't immediately cook me over your campfire into horsemeat burgers. which are delicious but disgusting.

man: burgers?

horse: best with cheese. here, save your leg.

the horse licks the boy's broken wound clean and set like it never happened.

boy: i am healed!

horse: you sure are, honey. you can use my leg. go ahead, take it off, i can survive on three legs. i've already done my walking.

boy: i feel so helpless, powerless, in the face of evil.

horse: you guys write? that helps me. i keep a journal next to my sugarcubes.

man: my bestselling masterpiece novels were all lost in the flood. of course.

horse: brilliant. music. it's kind of like writing. when words aren't enough. i'll show you. whittle down my legbone to shiny ivory. craft three holes with your blunt instrument. make that spear mean something. there you go, nice smooth strokes. let it bake in the healing sun. you have your very own pipe. the very first musical instrument in existence in fact. and i made your hammer into a knife. cut wisely.

the boy whistles a tune of unrelenting woe which shakes the cores of black holes.

boy: i feel better. i think.

the man notices the two tails on the horse.


in Cuba there is a flap over the flag. what to put up and what to take down. it keeps changing. but at the Embassy they're dealing with a more immediate problem. sonic terrorism. apparently the loudspeakers which still dot all the cobble streets in the seaside country are piercing the ears of the diplomats with the most destructive earsplitting noise at hellish decibels in history.

President Bump: is this your work, Vlad?

Putin: but of course. you really have to ask? i did nothing wrong. i can't help it if these banana savages can't appreciate the high art of unintelligible Russian opera.

Bump: yeah we used to use Skinny Puppy until he found out, i'm not one for lawsuits so i dropped it.

Scaramucci: everyone ready for some telera rolls? hot off the presses!

Bump: they look like vaginas. you doing Fox Mulder, too?

Putin: fraid so. he is my wives' favorite. he is so cool. y'know the Cigarette Smoking Man, whose real name is John Wayne, once did a contractor job for us.

Bump: i thought his real name was Batman. *mouth full* hey nix those moonstrip crackers, they're spacey and weird. speaking of, it's okay, Jared will be my next Mulder.

a beautiful Criollo horse basks in the golden-brown tropical sun. his meaty hind leg is lost in the light. he prances on the last soft green patch of soil and gallops stealthily to the Embassy. there he smiles and neighs


which sends a series of sonic waves to circle the heads of the loudspeakers and shatter them. the off debris litters the street. he makes sure to catch a glimpse of Mulder and wave before sprinting to the waiting waves of the ocean arms.

Criollo: hi Mulder! you're so handsome! i'm a girl by the way. this smile is genuine, not peanut-butter-induced.

Mulder: thanks, nelly. that was torture. i'm outta here. my teeth are motioning. i'm gonna go to L.A.

Scully: wanna come with?

Mulder: why do you suddenly speak with a British accent?

Scully: the waves, man.

Mulder: *on the phone* boss, the situation is getting dire. we need you to speed up the investigation.

Mueller: yeah but i haven't really got anything concrete yet.

Mulder: pin something on him ASAP. we need to excise this cancer before it metastasizes and spreads.

Scully makes the sign of the cross.

Mueller: where's Comey?

Mulder: Ashley came back. from vacation. with him.

Mueller: gotcha.

everyone is watching the World Championships. Usain Bolt is prone on the track of his last ever race, writhing in pain as his final showing. he winces and gingerly hops on his bad leg. he stares directly into the camera and addresses the Cream House.

Usain: Scaramucci, this is the leg of a champion. my leg. I gave everything for my country. i used it up till it withered and died. literally no more gas in the tank. spent. i refuse to be a part of your games. i will not be auctioned off for your fantasy. i will not slaute unless it empowers me. what do you have other than your stupid chickenlegs!

Mooch: hey yous know where i live, pal, if ever yous want to scrap. i ain't going nowheres!

Usain: i can't understand your accent.

Mooch: that's my line!

Usain: does my very existence make you uncomfortable, President Bump?

Bump: why is everyone mad at me all the time? i hate the press. except Philip Bump. i mean just the other day i got a riot on my streethands over a statue. a statue! i never actually wanted to be President. i just wanted a win. over a name.

Putin: i could help you with that.

Bump: no more pills, Vlad buddy, seriously, my old body was not made for this.

Putin: i would be glad to have my thugs, uh my team, of thugs, scatter across your beautiful land of purple and take down all the statues. smash all the idols i say. they're ghastly. and isn't that the religious thing to do? even the Jesus statues.

Bump: Jesus, too?

Putin: sure. i'll replace them with oily paintings of myself.

Bump: isn't that kinda the same thing?

Putin: you bite your tongue, Mr. President! that filthy tongue of yours lord knows where it's been. we're talking about portraiture of yours truly here. me. high art.

Bump: but like Robert E. Lee and George Washington were the same.

Putin: the same but different.

Bump: but who won? i only like winners.

Putin: Washington.

Bump: nevermind then.

at the raised dais instead of the National Anthem Nina Simone sings through the loudpeakers. at a local speakeasy nearby the real Nina Simone sits her flowered dress down, shakes her rump in her seat, addresses the crowd with a spry hi, and gets to work slamming her keys methodically with her flabby arms. she sings in a songy rap which predates hiphop by making it better as an example. it's a short song but it has legs. her dark skin illuminates a smoky cramped room full of nervous white college students gripping their glasses and glasses over their eyes and clapping while lipping droopy cigs and hash pipes. a sienna speech delivered with sear which scorches the spiritual. tells it like it is in periwinkle. when she finishes she is not black but one who wears the colors of a rebel. she announces, "that's it i'm done!" like she's not expecting anyone to notice or care. she storms out of her seat knocking it over and her impromptu teethy smile causes a ripple wave of excitement and dangerous energy to counter the darkness.


her sonic wave is a burst of energy which blankets the lands. all the lands. even in Cuba where instead of the loudspeakers Criollo sings it.


at the monastery Nina Simone's voice comes through loud and clear though no one occupying this house knows her name.

the hooded figure: who is this chanteuse which songstresses her silk into my eyes?

the Men From the East: behold the blue flame!

the blue flame projects the songbird in her native element, singing up a storm of past lives and past struggles as if fresh and new and current. and of a future time.

the hooded figure: she is our last Jedi.

the blue flame takes it upon itself to scorch Nina's name and notes onto the Sheikah Slate the church calls its canter.

the hooded figure: fam you know i never hide anything from you. i've been feeling down lately. i need to get my ass to a hot springs my body's killing me. but it seems all i have time for anymore is downing a few pills down my throat. i've essentially replaced the joy of water with manmade medicine.

the Men From the East: no worries, mate. you go take a leave and we'll hold down the smelting fort. every professor deserves a sabbatical.

everyone is hard at work melting down various stones and rocks in a huge vat in the center of the church in hopes of finding the perfect environmentally-safe-yet-effective longlasting eternal fuel for the penny-farthing which will take them on their long journey into the unknown.

on the last go-round before her break, wouldn't you know it but the hooded figure sticks an arm in there and hits upon a strange block of heavy corrugated iron that weighs a fortune.

Men From the East: we've been recovering all manner of those gribbles outside in the hills. the horse she's been invaluable telling us where to stick our noses and snoop. natural hunters. but that's the first clump of clay that literally is the size of you.

the hooded figure: of course it turns into a working vacation.

the hooded figure travels to the nearby spa and dunks her head with her hood still on. the hooded figure dips the iron tablet into the frothy drink to a torrent cloud of hisses and mini-bubbles.

the hooded figure returns to the place of worship and removes the hood. for a minute to gather the last strains of the song. the smile emananting from that hood makes all the Men smile as bright as the sun.

rather than be showy with it the hooded figure holds the piece like a stick of butter.

the hooded figure: gentlemen, i present to you.....................................the Sword of Saad!!!

Friday, August 11, 2017



* sorry, couple, the house just sold.

* the previous owner left a note: welcome to your happy abode! it's all yours! just don't cut the tall grass. don't slash it with your sword. there are no rupees. or silver arrows or anything. aren't those flowers pretty? your landlord in life and afterlife, Ganon

* do not make a phone call in this house.

* there is no such thing as safe water. bottled won't help. it's all rusty pipes in the end. there's only one water which is pure, cos it's untouched by man: FIJI

* you stole the Salvation Army red kettle?

* death of a salesman...

* man: sex after a cold shower, that's my fetish.

* man: happy birthday!
woman: you remembered! what'd you get me?
man: this balloon.

* man: honey, Siri's acting up again!
woman: no that's the baby monitor.
man: we have a baby? honey, Siri's going crazy again!

* man: why you laughing?
woman: cos we can't afford this.
man: what are you doing with the tape there?
woman: interpretative dance. that was my major at Berkeley.

* woman: so honey i'm rolling white paint on the walls, how do you like it?
man: is white really a color?
woman: it's all the colors.

* man: honey i burned the eggs again.............the pan is ruined.........oh i forgot i'm alone.

* man: you're a nurse?
woman: no.
man: what's with the blue scrubs?
woman: i'm a painter.

* man: i wanted to go with the Delftware but we had no money so i went with the dust.

* man: you just had to wear your high heels didn't you?!!
woman: these are YOUR high heels.

* woman: makeup sex is my fetish. we have to argue first or i can't cum.

* man: honey i burned the meat again. the pan is ruined. what do you want on your pizza?
woman: filet mignon.

* don't tell that kid in the swing but her parents have been divorced this whole time.

* man: don't eat the paint, kid! that's my dinner!

* that wasn't a real house. it was a set. old Hollywood Western general-store facade. the Western went the way of the buffalo...

* man: is that my car?
woman: kinda. it's your father's car.

* man: what's in the two brown bags?
woman: his and hers bottles of wine...


happy weekend, my babies. need it to recover from that Princess Diana special. at least SNL is back, kinda.

Wednesday, August 9, 2017


the boy and man are at a crossroads.

there comes a time in every hero journey where a decision must be made. the hero or heroes in this case are in the middle and must decide whether to keep doing things the way they have been or strike out in a new unprecedented never-before-imagined way and forge a new note. slow and steady wins the boring race.

boy: this life thing is extraordinarily dull.

man: i can't help but imagine that it's not the same for others. in different stars perhaps.

boy: we need to speed this along. we must accelerate our journey. things need to ferment. your journal will dry up if not made moist by ink.

man: ink you say? moist is an uncomfortable word in any era.

boy: i am longing for a companion. no offense.

man: none taken. the grey weirdos just don't cut it. i haven't the heart to tell them. my loins tremble beneath my loincloths.

boy: yep, mine are roaring. mind recounting again your dream from last night? it'll help me dream this night. the night is still young. it's always young. there's not really anything else to do. there's nothing on tv.

man: ah yes, but you know i can only remember snippets. it's very frustrating why my heart doesn't work better.

the boy hands the man a fold of manila leaves inscribed in red.

boy: see? this is why you must continue with your writing. document everything, it's vitally important. we're the only ones who care about this sort of stuff. the stars don't care that's for sure. i'll prepare the campfire indoors. should be alright.

the boy with his tail towel sweeps away the moist hide from their shower area, which is just a watering hole, to find a family of slimy unshelled slugs making camp there.

boy: ugh. another rug ruined. there is no justification. the animals were here first. i hate those creepy crawlies, gives me nightmares.

the boy rubs the lunula of his toenails together, howls at the moon, and sparks the fire.

boy: blue flame! that's new.

the man assumes the indian position.

man: ah yes, i remember now. how could i forget? we start off on a moonlit night much like this one is, except it's in the other place. i come across a particularly difficult piece of land to navigate. it's full of thorny bush and prickly personality. a fire set in an ancient stone hearth warms the area and cooks my pizza. that's the best pizza i have ever eaten.

boy: you are slacking, brother. the word is only as good as the word. you are the best storyteller of all time tho. okay, okay, i'll write it for you.

man: i slide between two giant hills, and i'm quite comfortable in that spongey grass. then i woke up.

boy: ha. but what does it mean?

man: anything i want. or you want. it's a snapshot of feeling. a thought divine that is perfectly willing to go on forever but our hearts can't take forever.

boy: i see. but it's more. it's always more.

man: surely. remember what the wind taught us? we must look at things not as the things themselves but as symbolic representations of other things.

boy: hills and hearth.

man: ..................tits and came to me in a dream. or perhaps i came to it.

boy: i see. the same but different.

man: it's telling us something. i posit that there are creatures out there who look like you and me but have slightly different parts.

boy: everyone has long hair tho, right? and a butt?

man: everyone has a but. womyn? we need her to survive.

boy: huh.

man: there is nothing warmer than pussy. a comic shall lead the way.

boy: as long as these creatures aren't like the greynimals.

there's a no-knock at the door. the Lutum are standing guard there but for the other team. they each hold up a rock in their slow hand menacingly.

Lutum: we are sorry. but we held a secret meeting. a conference in collusion. a confab if you will. but it wasn't confabulous. it was serious. i'm afraid we have come to our conclusive decision. unanimously after many votes. the only way this situation can continue is if we stone you. don't worry, it's not to death, we'll only sting you a bit. knock you out. you'll feel like you've had a long sleep.

boy: not gonna lie i could use a dirt-nap right now.

Lutum: this is the best thing for you. and for us. we can't have you relics from a predawn age running around here like chickens in our same space. it would throw everything off, derail our history early though it may be.

man: very paternalistic. but we understand. dems the faulty breaks.

the Lutum wind up like minor-league baseball players.

man: any last words, sonny?

boy: don't worry, the wind will protect us.

man: i'm afraid not. the wind isn't coming.

boy: i see. yes that's right, i forgot, the wind is only a concept. i love you, dad.

man: what does womyn make you feel?

boy: like you.

man: mine is more of an itch.

Lutum: you are outnumbered.

boy: ain't that always the way.

Lutum: may you forget who you are.

man: that would be a blessing.

the Lutum toss their rocks and the two humans are awkwardly conked on their heads.


it's Kim's special day. he is tidying up and making last-minute orders for the grand opening of his store. it's the only store in North Korea which sells high-end items. obviously only for big-ticket foreign investors and tourists, not the general public.

Kim: hopefully this will entice my Sarah! stupid tourists buy expensive goods they can get in any online bargain bin. buying stuff they don't need. been reading a lot of Freud recently. smuggled Sigmund in with my Superman comics. did you know Superman dies? i don't want to think about it. final touches. we even have those Redbottom heels and shit!

the massive cavernous abandoned mall is eerily quiet. save for the low hum of the escalators.

Kim: you can't appreciate the moldy maudlin melancholy of this place through a youtube vid, you really have to experience the sad scary up close. shoes stocked. perfumes purloined. sale signs displayed just for show. Twilight Zone freaky white foam heads with ears and necks but no eyes modeling the rice hats up. the rest of the world is either really gullible or i'm really bored. and now to call my beloved.


Kim: well that didn't go well. i offered that Palin puss a private tour and everything! i am so mad. i need to get my rocks off. with a white woman. i live on a craggy rock. i don't get it, isn't America just a series of malls? you guys love fucking malls! a mall is the very symbol of capitalism. i will have my revenge. i know what i'm gonna do. i'm gonna take away America's gum! yeah i see everywhere on your tv shows i watch on my private tv all the young people chewing gum and blowing their wads on the street instead of reading sensible communist pamphlets airlifted down into the sky from weird cloud boats instead of food. just you watch, America,


Kim pushes all the red buttons and the tubes come out of hiding from their caves. there is one very special missile Kim holds dearest to his eternal soul. a missile bequeathed to him from his grandfather when he was still in diapers. which wasn't that long ago. the young Kim sucked on this missile like a lollipop trying to teethe. he painted his name in red watercolors. the adults pried the missile from his gummy mouth and filled in the rest of his name. now it was time to bring the sacred gift out. and use it for the most holy of enterprises.

Kim: sex. this is for you, Sarah! i'm coming, baby! this is my own private missile!

Kim sets the coordinates for Alaska, swipes a cowboy hat from off his store shelves, and mounts the missile. he puts his hat on tight cos he really doesn't want to lose it in the flight, he wants Sarah to see him in it. he pushes all the red buttons again.


the missile with Kim on top sails rather gracefully for a while on its trajectory to snowy Alaska.

Kim: i made sure to wear layers. i can see Russia from here! i knew this would work! if i know one thing, it's miniaturization.

the missile crashes into the middle of the ocean.

President Bump is having a midnight nosh of KFC in the Square Office with his Cabinet trying to get some work done. trying. but mostly eating.

there's a ring on the red Batphone. Scaramucci picks up.

Federer: will you?

the Mooch: NO

Bump: did you get the Ovaltine?

Mooch: and the chicken-fried bacon.

Gannon: i'm not falling for that again.

Mooch: yessir, served on a gold platter. French fries, uh freedom fries swamped in sauce Robert and a little shaved flanksteak. always put Swiss cheese on a cheesesteak, my butcher taught me that. topped off with a nice salad to make up for those two oatmeal cookies you always have for breakfast. downed with a glass slipper of Buckfast tonic wine.

Bump: that's a tall drink of water. i need all the tonic i can swallow, i'm very sick. who's the leggy blonde who works at the State Department?!!

Mooch: get off the tv and on to twitter.

Bump: nah, give me the phone, i want to call someone.

Putin: want some fentanyl?

Bump: maybe later, Vlad. hey, Bob. can i do a ridealong with you tonight?

Mueller: i'm mulling it over. no.

Bump: come on, baby. i love you.

and Bump hangs up.

Mooch: was that a crank call in the middle of the night?

Bump: no.

Mooch: prank call?

Bump: no.

the phone rerings.

Mueller: fine. if you promise to cooperate.

Bump: that's my middle name! on my tax returns. that's why i had it be a predawn raid. i was hoping you'd join me for some Denny's afterwards. i'm getting old you know.

the black car doubles back to pick up Bump. it chases a ghost down the alley and crashes into an apartment so quietly none of the neighbors hear. officers in flak jackets and missile-launchers and a huge log swell into the location like a flood after not knocking.

Manafort: fuck yous guys, i was taking a shit. at least let me finish up wiping my ass. there are poo splatters and shitcrumbs everywhere on the tile.

Bump: can you hurry this up, Bob? the Early Bird specials are starting.

Bump: what are you doing now, Man? what's the hold up?

Manafort: my finger caught a poop smear. i'm rewashing it with hard soap to get it off.

Mueller: smell it, yous.

Manafort smells his finger.

Mueller: if it still sorta smells like poo but more like gunpowder, that's good enough. you'll never get the stench totally out.

Bump: i've been there. come on, i got the Denny's menu on my phone. did you confiscate everything i planted in the apartment, Bob?

Mueller: i'm gonna pretend i didn't hear that. cos i didn't. i'm getting up there in years, too.

Bump: hey Man, i'll trade you your girl for immunity.

Mueller: come on, man, you said that right in my earshot.

Bump: okay, okay, fuggedaboutit. i wash my hands. time for launch. uh, lunch.

Mueller: whatever. i didn't ask for this. wait, i gotta make one more stop. it's on the way. Breakfast Row.

Mueller's car stops at the IHOP. Mueller arrests Tiger Woods, who is chatting up a hot waitress.

Mueller: at least make it look good, kid, you didn't even order any pancakes. staging is an art.

Tiger Woods: i thought this was the diversion program.

Mueller pushes Tiger's head underneath the bottom of the roof and into the back of the police cruiser's beige suede '70s seats ripped open with dried cushioning spilling out.

Mueller: watch your head.

Tiger: that's what she said.

Manafort: it's not worth it, kid. want a drink?

Federer tries to crank-call Mueller's walkie-talkie.

Bump: can i give you a kiss before we eat?

Mueller: what?

Bump: it's not a gay thing, i just want to show you my appreciation for all the hard work you've been doing.


at the monastic cave the Men From the East led by the hooded figure have been hard at work blooding and sweating and tearing their way through legion blueprints and maps and sources of energy in their effort to create the perfect machine to carry a long distance into the fly of space, to the furthest outreaches, to a time where they'll meet their heroes.

the crew are excited on this particular day cos they think they have their rocket secure. all the boosters are affixed and the fuel seems to be limitless and environmentally-friendly. the congregation hold hands in a circle around the launch site. the rocket with the little engine that could shoots straight up in the air with a force of vigor that knocks the stones around. it reaches high into the cosmos cutting all space clouds in its path. before burning up in the atmosphere with a whimpering explosion.

defeated, the hooded figure takes a load off on a nearby rock. the hooded figure lights a cigarette with a match and smokes it from a stem. still able to conceal the hooded figure's identity while puffing on the cig through the black hole which fills the face of the hood.

one of the Men From the East joins and puts his arm around the hooded figure's two shoulders.

Man From the East: never realized how small you were. you're our size! you cut such an impressive figure when you're up on stage for Mass. we're sensitive to our smallness. our little man! our beautiful powerful little man! you're one of us! can i have one? what are those? Virginia Slims?

hooded figure: wacky tobaccy from my pappy.

Man: just kidding, i don't know brands. i just like tennis. never smoked in my life.

hooded figure: did you hear that? i sighed internally just now. the plans are all wrong. the vehicle we need to build is a stagecoach. that seems redactive but it's true. i saw it in a dream. modern technology is a failure. we must never give up, no matter what. perseverance. eternal perseverance is the quotient. it's our special sauce. it's no secret. we must be resolute in the face of our rustiness. use different parts. that is the strength of our little club. it's so easy to throw in the towel. instead of dying, we must sleep.

the two pray on this meditation in silence.

hooded figure: i know you're probably not in the mood for music now but...

Man: i could dance...

the fingers of the hooded figure snap and the cave is filled with


hooded figure: the city is safe. the city is safe tonight. the city of our dreams.