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.