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It's been and gonna be been bored along the fences near my house this time. We have and will have more to be said on this when always as we go, the shift changes and the time counts up and down and up and down.

Hey, but then, the readings of the bones that get themselves thrown from out of the cup have always been of that sort to me and maybe also it would seem so to you if you were like me or something.

You can be like me or something, too, with less and least of all effort than you might not only imagine but describe to some other person or peoples sitting in a half-circle around you. This is what it is.

And this is also not what it is. Hey, howzabout that, then? Really?!?!

My wrist is of an aching quality that seems to come from too much tightness of the watch and of the armbands. You know? Rude, I think it all is. Rude as all that isn't.

Men form catchy little rhythms when they walk. They putter a beat or two beats or four four times depending on the number of legs we give them.

Is this, also, how you feel the world? Can you romp about it? Stomp about it? Blog about it?

Me, neither, Little Sister. Me is neither.

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You can read lots of things here.

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I will be reading at the Hugo House on October 7. I think I will be reading an essay on jury duty.

Re recent events at the Hugo House, I have no comment.

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I'm in Seattle Magazine. Also, Matt Briggs, Stacey Levine, Rebecca Brown.

I am, as you can see, out of my depth.

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I interviewed Joshuah Bearman. Here it is.