Go With the Dark Flow.

I sleep four hours a day. If I say any more it will be nothing more than childish whining.

But really, four hours, sometimes three. Okay, I'm done.

Honestly, I shouldn't complain. Sleeping so little leaves me in a state of dull and blur that is pretty close to being drunk all the time. Who wouldn't want that?

Lately I've been surfing around reading a lot about DARK FLOW and 2012. Both scare the hell out of me. The hell runs straight away and out of me every time. But the universe scares me in general. If I look at the sky long enough I can feel first confusion creeping in and then concern and finally fear. It has always been this way, but worse since I learned of DARK FLOW. Read about it, if you dare.

And what can I say about 2012? I sure would liked to have accomplished a little more before the world came to an end. I know, the Mayan calender had to end somewhere. I heard about the Mayan elder ancestor dude who recently said during an interview that the only thing the end of the calender meant was that it was time to buy a new calender.

But still.

Those Mayans knew a few things, people. I'm just saying.

A few things people have said I found, you know, funny:

"Phil Spector looks like he has a tumbleweed on his head."

"He can't help how his face looks." -- (Immediate response after being told critics were saying Clint Eastwood had become a parody of himself in Gran Turino).

R: I used to live in a building that was an old hospital.
A: Was it haunted?
R: Probably, there were a lot of plug-ins.

Andoraleesena (Not her real name): My daughter did the strangest thing recently. I came into our bedroom and she had taken all the pictures down off the wall and stacked them on the bed.

Me: That is strange.

Andoraleesena: Then she squatted and pissed all over them.

Me: .......

Okay cats and kittens. Remember: You can like something without loving it and you can love something without liking it and also you should know that off-white paint is on sale at Wal-Mart today so buy some and also take a phone with a camera on it or something so you can get a few pics while there to post them here.

Okay?

Poetry in Thieves Jargon. Some Eyehole Candy.

My poem "Nobody Ever Talks About It" will be live at Thieves Jargon Monday. It's the only poem I've ever submitted for publication. I like it pretty good. I hope you will, too.

Some cool stuff floating around out there that might make your eyeholes happy.

JMWW's David Erlewine interviews Molly Gaudry here.

A blog I check more than my email is Roxane Gay's "I Have Become Accustomed To Rejection." Read it here.

Issue 3 of >kill author is live and offers good works from Lisa Lim, Mel Bosworth, Jason Jordan and several others, including this "killer" piece from Ajay Vishwanathan. This journal is one of my favorites out there by a long shot. Check out this new issue, please.

Reading Rainbow.

Bought a Pepsi this morning when I really wanted coffee.

The coffee here at the office is made of something chemical-based used to freeze flying fecal matter inside homes existing near sewer grates. The chemical is then captured (with fecal matter in tow) and then placed in blue containers. A woman who sits across from me and only smiles when exercising her once-broken elbow while medicated then scoops the crystallized form of this into the coffee pot, adds water and then, defying all points of human logic, IV drip drinks it the entire work day.

So I bought a Pepsi and cursed her medicated, brown smile.

Speaking of the office (an open newsroom in which I spend the day peeling potatoes) the temperature in here, as of 9:06 a.m. is a kooky 65 degrees F. I'd write more about that, but I had a friend once get fired for something he wrote on his blog. It went something like this:

I hope everybody in _______ gets ________ by a _________!

People nearly shit themselves. I believe, in my heart, they feared for their lives. They watched the windows and double locked doors. They hugged their children and told them they loved them and ad nausem, etc. and so on. I also believe they probably indulged themselves in most every nasty fantasy they ever dreamed of in what they were sure would be their final hours. Just imagine.....no seriously, just imagine. You have a better imagination than I do. You can make it as funasty as you want. No one will tell.

I hope everybody turns into ___________ and flips through __________ while chirp, chirp, chirping to a endless stream of ____________.

Don't you?

I thought so.

Oh, I almost forgot to use my new linking powers. Let's give this a try.

Winter Isn't the Only Time To Publish.

Picked up another grand writer for Wrong Tree winter issue in Sam Nam. Now if only I could convince Sam Pink to do some cover art for me, all the pieces would be in place.

Actually, it feels like there are several stones unturned, to be honest. There are so many writers out there I enjoy and who I'd like to have in this coming issue – Molly Gaudry, Ryan Bradley, xTx, Brandi Wells, Scott Garson, Ben White, Dave Clapper, and on and on – but I've got to realize that this winter issue will not be the only issue I put out. I must save room for seconds, not to mention the wealth of submitted material I hope will come in after we print winter.

Heard today that PANK nominated Molly for a Pushcart. Congrats to Molly, who deserves every bit of it.

By the way, as I said I'd love to get some artwork from Sam Pink, in addition to his writings, of course. On that note, if you don't go read his blog today parts of your face will fall off. You can find it here.

A big old nod to our webmaster at Wrong Tree, Ralph Davis, is long overdue. He has worked hard as hell to take care of things that would've had to've been, well, just wouldn't have been done. If you're wondering what Ralph looks like, and I know you are, this is Ralph.

Also, pumped that I've been asked to take part in some sort of blog thing for JMWW.

Yeah, I just learned today how to link to places. Can you tell?

Buckaroo's Love Child.

If Buckaroo had a love child, and Buck being awesome it would be, of course, an awesome love child, that child's name would be: The Lineup of People To Appear In the First Print Issue of Wrong Tree Review.

It's like a Native American name thing. It was confirmed by the elders even though Buckaroo is not a Native American. It's real. I promise.

Here's some of the lineup:

Rusty Barnes
Matt Bell
Mel Bosworth
K.L. Cook
David Erlewine
Foust
Roxane Gay
Stephen Graham Jones
Kilean Kennedy
Sean Lovelace
Cami Park
Ethel Rohan
J.A. Tyler
Charles White

The elders were excited and shared with me much good smoke and we hunted large game afterwards because we were immortal.

Still Climbing the Wrong Tree.

Work continues on the winter print issue of Wrong Tree. Had a great day yesterday getting material from some people I'm happy as hell to have on board. Among them were Stephen Graham Jones, j.a. tyler, Roxane Gay, Mel Bosworth and Cami Park. And that was just yesterday. The hunt for awesome writers and awesome work continues today and until the Dec. 1 deadline for work. But, if we don't get a single other person we're hoping to publish in this first issue we're already in the black. We're already packed with wonderful talent. It's a good feeling to be this far along more than a month out from copy deadline.

Marge Simpson graces Playboy

Just a quick note to say that I'm strangely excited about the fact that Marge Simpson is the centerfold for this most recent issue of Playboy. Feeling pretty weird about that, but honest at least.

MSNBC rocked out and had a feature piece of very very very short short short (okay you get the point) fiction. Twiction, pictofiction, etc. Man, there's too many ways of saying that, which leads me to this statement: I think a story should just be called a story. No need to add labels. Anyway, David Erlewine and company are interviewed about the form. Roxane Gay mentioned something in her fine blog that also stood out to me about the segment. They refer to David, at least, as a "lawyer by day and an amateur author by night." Roxane said "amateur" stuck in her craw (my words, not her's) and I agree. But I'm gonna focus on the awesomeness that is attention where attention is due and try to forget simple-minded editors who meshed up the narration without any of the people interviewed even knowing it was happening. Rock on storytellers.

So I moonlight a second job third shift at a hospital, and, for the record, I'm not paranoid about swine flu. It just happens to be that I'm constantly surrounded by people with either swine or type A flu, which is basically swine about 85 percent of the time. The reason I mention this is because I'd really like some time off work and hope that the gods hear me and remember me when they break out their swine ammo to unload. Hey, stop picking on kids and old people and give me a little vaca time. Thanks, god folk.

On Second Thought.

Was going to write about things here, but remembered that today could be the last day of my life. I think I'll do something else. See you tomorrow if it gets here.

Oh, they blew up the moon. Big fucking whoop.

Oh, President Obama got the Peace prize. Big fucking whoop.

Made Out Like a Thief. Every Dogz Has Its Day.

Been a good day for the old shel. Heard back from Thieves Jargon on a rare poem I submitted in mid-Sept. They liked it and accepted it. Titled, "Nobody Ever Talks About It," it'll be coming up there soon.

Then, not more than two hours later, I received a same-day response from DOGZPLOT. I sent to them today on David Erlewine's suggestion. I submitted a story called "Role Models." I felt pretty good about the submission, but never expected to hear back the same day and have them accept it.

So, all in all, a great day in storyteller land. Storyteller land is having a carnival. Storyteller land just got voted Biggest Flirt, Cutest, Most Likely to Succeed and Best All Around. Storyteller land....oh, okay. You get it.

Hi, Amy.

Hi, Dave.

Found out just a few minutes ago that David Erlewine reads a little here at Bent Country. And then there were two.

Maybe if I understood how to network a little better and spread the word about things like having a blog then I'd have more traffic. But then, maybe the idea isn't traffic, right you two?

I think this thing acts more like a diary than anything else. Speaking of diaries...

A short of Sean Lovelace's I read recently referenced entries from Franz Kafka's diary. I instantly grieved for this book, this man's diary entries. The one's Sean used in his story were awesome as hell, and I wanted more. I Googled it up, hoping to find out how much it was maybe at Amazon and what not, and to my surprise those babies are online. I was so happy I almost turned into . . . okay, that would be too easy. Easy as turning into a cockroach! That's right, I did it. That makes no sense. I imagine if one could actually turn into a cockroach that it wouldn't be an easy thing to do at all. Enough of that.

Rejections and Going Dormant.

Picked up some good rejections from Wigleaf, Nanoism and elimae this past week. I'm looking for a couple from Night Train and Thieves Jargon before hump day. Keep your fingers crossed.

It occurs to me that blogging is strange. For instance, I know that I have one (1) follower, bless her heart. Hi Amy, if you're reading today. So I basically write for Amy.

With that in mind, I'll say this: Amy (You) is (are) rocking it hard in Oklahoma (hope I got that right) with her (your) plant biology dude Channing. Just up and went, them (you) crazy kids. Good for them (you).

Okay, that was confusing.

When I finish the rewrites on the JMWW piece (David Erlewine is an editing god, incidentally) I'm gonna go dormant, I think. This is my process as a storyteller. A certain amount of time when I write nothing and then a fairly short burst when I write a lot. But it's different at other times, too. I don't really keep up with it. Some storytellers say you have to sit down and write for two hours or three hours a day. Can't do that.

But I gotta keep in mind that this is the peak season for sending out work. Oh, well. I can't work if I can't work. I've got some stuff put back from my last stint anyways.

Okay, Amy. Hope you care about all of this. If not, well, sorry. Go Sooners!

My Pushcarting uncle

My uncle G.C. Compton (known to me as Gayle) was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize by the lit journal New Southerner. I've told about everybody I've seen. The thing is, most of them had no idea what a Pushcart was. I explained, only to be asked what a small press was, exactly.

Well, it seems he had the same experience. When I finally saw him after learning of the nomination he said he'd thought to tell a few of his co-workers but had about the same results. Said he just wondered around most of the day with this feeling of, you know, happiness, without really having anyone to share it with.

With this in mind, I've decided to post here about his good fortune in hopes that anyone who might read this would realize its importance.

Wrong Tree work and JMWW

Been gathering up stuff for the first print issue of Wrong Tree Review. Soliciting is a new game for me and I think I bite a little. Can't get myself to ask for work for some reason. But that being said, there are several folk I'm going to ask. I am going to, for a fact. I'm just gonna do it and call it a day.

On that note, we do have several pieces that we accepted before closing to submissions until Dec. 1, so it's not all solicited material. Who cares, right? Well, I do. I like to comb the slush for that bitchin little story from that person I never heard of before. It's a rush.

I've been working with the very cool David Erlewine on a story for JMWW the last week or so. I'm pumped as all hell to have my work considered and also to be working with David. This cat has been extra generous with his time and offered much help on shaping my story up for publication. Well, can't say enough good about David. That's about how that shapes up.

Time to go do the journalism thing. A meeting looms this morning. Fiscal court, payments to senior citizens centers, reimbursement approvals.

Get a gun.

Shoot me.

Watch out...I'm about to blog

Okay, I'm here. More later.

God I'm lazy.