Hussein

Theme/motif: Galaxy threatened by star beast. (Huh?)

I was going to have a baby and name it Hussein.

Actually, I was going to have my wife have the baby, but I was the one who was going to name the baby Hussein. Hussein Riley, that would’ve been my baby.

I thought it would be good to name the baby Hussein because it would mean that the baby would—when it grew up and was no longer a baby—never be able to go anywhere, politically. Right?

Right?

Politics is a tough game. From what I understand, it “chews people up and spits them out” and other such things. Well, I didn’t want that for my child, right?

Who would?

Anyway, so my brilliant plan was going to be to have this baby, name him Hussein, and then be sure to do other things that would make sure he couldn’t be in politics. Get high a lot, for example.

A lot.

Maybe get arrested. Make dirty movies. Teach him to hate America.

Or just love communism.

Usual parenting stuff.

Would’ve gone great, too, if, say, I had gotten married. And married someone with a fertile womb. And all that.

Before the Destroyer came. But the Destroyer came. The Great and Terrifying Destroyer.

The Great and Terrible Destroyer came from the depths of space to devour our world—our solar system—our whole freaking galaxy. To destroy our world with the merest twitch of its tentacle.

And the Great and Terrible Destroyer appeared. And it really changed my priorities.

As one would expect, I suppose.

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Here's a self-portrait of me with an Agnes Martin.



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Also, this is my very favorite thing in the world today.

Slingshot

He's the scientist with his scientific weapons. With his death rays and his teleporter. With his cloning machine and his army of clones. With his x-ray spectacles and his jetpack.

He's the scientist with all his science.

And he's after me.

I'm just a kid and he wants my pituitary gland, apparently. It's his thing—finding kids, taking their pituitary glands, grinding them up, making a smoothie, drinking it down, living forever.

With his hyper-intelligent monkey and his portable time scrambler.

We're on an island far away from civilization. He's brought me here to kill me. To take my gland. To drink my youth. He's chasing after me, and I'm doing my best to hide.

I don't want him to get me. I don't want to die.

With his underground fortress and his nanotechnological tracking devices.

With his artificially intelligent wristwatch and his super-strength serum.

I'm hiding in the trees. I'm hiding high above him.

And he's looking for me. And he's removed his helmet.

His impenetrable helmet with its 360 degree vision, and infrared option.

Off is his helmet.

And I've got my slingshot. And a tiny little rock.

One good shot in his ear. One little rock in his ear. Just hard enough to knock his ass down.

And I'll jump from the trees. And I'll rip out his eyes. And I'll stomp on his neck. And I'll crack open his skull with a rock from the ground.

I can do it, too. I have very good aim.

Just one second more.

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Theme/motif: Slingshots more useful than superscience.

This is part of a project. For more info, go here.

Corkscrew

There's something about it. There's something about this.

I get home from work. I have a glass of wine.

I have another glass of wine.

I have another glass of wine.

I open a new bottle. I use the corkscrew to open a new bottle.

I stab the motherfucking corkscrew into my hand.

I stab the motherfucking corkscrew into my hand again.

I have another glass of wine.

I write you a letter.

Dear You, says the letter. I'm writing to you again. I'm thinking about you and writing to you again, you. I'm thinking about you and I'm thinking about giving up drinking.

Tomorrow, I write, tomorrow tomorrow I just might give up wine and give up wine and writing to you.

The corkscrew has a permanent stain on the tip. I have tried to wash it.

I wake up the next day, and I go to work.

And then, it happens and I write you a letter.

Dear You, it says, how's it been going lately? Have you found a new couch? Have you made peace with the old couch instead? Are you still sitting on couches, or have you decided to remove all furniture from your house, and instead sit on thick rugs and pillows? Do you vacuum often, so that the thick rugs are not messy? Have you seen that movie I mentioned a couple of letters ago? It was a good movie, and I think you—sitting on a thick rug or pillow in front of that small tv—would really like it.

I go to sleep on the floor. I wake up the next day. I go to work. I get home. I don't open a bottle of wine. I just stab my hand with the corkscrew. I write you a letter.

I throw the letter away.

I don't blog.

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Theme/motif: corkscrew causes pain, writing ability.

This is part of a project. For more info, go here.

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I'm in the new Lamination Colony. I wrote about Russell Edson. I made a video for it. Name that tune.

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This post is dedicated to hand wounds.

Themes and Motifs project

Hi.

Some friends of mine have a book. It's a reference book. In the book are listed all the themes and motifs of the stories in a science fiction magazine from the 20s and 30s. Here's the books title:

Science-Fiction, The Gernsback Years: A Complete Coverage of the Genre Magazines Amazing, Astounding, Wonder and Others from 1926 through 1936 by Everett F. Bleiler

I read an interview with Ben Marcus where he said he used to write stories by looking at a reference book of the themes and motifs from old fairy tales. Like, say he'd see an entry for a story about a witch who makes people fall asleep. He'd write a story with that theme, but in his own way.

I have a list of my favorite themes and motifs from this book of science fiction themes and motifs from the 20s and 30s. I'm going to start writing a story for each one. I'll do this once a week. I'll post them here.

There will be one later today. The theme/motif is: corkscrew causes pain, writing ability.

Until then, watch this very short film about riding the Empire Builder, a train that runs from Chicago to Seattle:

Wisdom

October 7

You’re new. We expect big things, yadda yadda. Good luck, hope to keep you up and all that. We’ll see.

It’s 1 and 1 and the motto remains do no harm. Quiet in here with the nursery empty. Big doings.

October 9

It’s 6 and 4. The buttons are all pressed—like the pants har har har. We had turkey and cheese but held out for better.



October 12

They called us unreasonable. By the book, okay. Never unreasonable.

October 13

They apologized. Good on them, that’s what we say. Our motto remains do no harm.

It’s 7 and 8, but the buds look sickly. Lit firecrackers that just won’t pop.



October 17

Delayed and haven’t tended to you. So, haven’t tended to me, either. The buds look better today—not so dry. They seep a little from the cracks on top.

It’s 1 and 2 and, for whatever reason, 5 as well. Haven’t seen that in a long time.

October 18

Checked the sample locker, and it’s been static for some time. No one cares anymore, like this is it.

Surroundings? It’s gray all over. Walls. Chairs. Bins. Counter. Coffee pot. Coffee har har. Leaves. I bring them in and tape them to the wall. Scotch tape. Gray tape dispenser.

Better for them. No stimulus.



October 19

Sorry. Me. Round. Short hair, brown. Small feet. Screwy eye that won’t focus. Other one the color of dry, red mud. Ample cheeks. Both. Or, all four.

October 22

Through and through, the tables turning around and around, and hell I’m made dizzy by it. God is in the grout work. God seals the windows. God is my auto-pilot.

It’s 4 and 8.

October 25

It’s 7 and 7. Not sure how. Can’t blog.



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The illustrations for this post were provided by the one and only Matt Briggs. Read everything he ever writes.

Everything.

Forever.

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You can still download a free copy of my little chapbook Creation Stories from Happy Cobra Books. I will also have 50 print copies any minute now.

Alive

And back. A new thing on Monday. Until then, here is a picture of me with my father:



My father is a blazing, hovering ball of light.

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You may now download a free copy of my little chapbook Creation Stories from Happy Cobra Books. I will also have 50 print copies in February.