Tuesday, March 31, 2009


Okay, suitor in two weeks. Busy.


One day this guy called me and asked me if I was the guy who wrote this story. I says, yeah, I'm the guy who wrote that story.

Guy, he says, so, I made a movie out of that story. Didn't know how to call you first, so I just made it.

I says, a movie? Cool.

Here's the movie.

The Cold Reader from Scott Nathan on Vimeo.

It's not half bad.

Monday, March 23, 2009


I heard this song this morning. I woke up early to get to work. Last night, a little gin, some sort of cocktail with vermouth and cassis, a little white wine, a couple of beers. Long, large dinner with friends. So this morning, a little tired.

As you might expect.

A little blurry and all that. Got up early to walk to work. Shades all drawn. Got up and went to the bathroom for one's early morning bathroom things.

There's a little clock radio in the bathroom. One small speaker on the clock radio. High ceilings in the bathroom. Large mirror. Towels on the rack. My eyes were still blurry and getting used to the lights.

The paint in the bathroom is, what? Eggshell. So are the towels. The tiles in the shower. The tub and the toilet a little darker. Not bright, but brighter than a little gin, some sort of cocktail with vermouth and cassis, a little white wine, and a couple of beers. A little brighter than that.

Mostly, then, eyes closed. Eyes half-open.

And my ears, too, a little unprepared for the day.

Tiny speaker, high ceilings, ears unprepared for the day. All that. And the song sounded like it was happening at the other end of a long hallway. Or the opposite corner of a church. It sounded warm and far away.

And man did I like it.

I found it a couple of hours ago and listened to it.

And it's good and all. But it's absolutely not the same.

This is what I'd like. I'd like to have a switch on the back of my head. Or a switch behind one of my ears—the right one, maybe. A switch and a dial. And I want that switch and that dial to allow me to add reverb to things that I am listening to.

I think this is a fine, fine idea. I think this is also much more cost-effective than being continually in the process of preparing myself for my morning with a little gin, some sort of cocktail with vermouth and cassis, a little white wine, and a couple of beers.

Let's all get on this, okay? Okay?

Call me or shoot me an email when you have this ready.


The Hype Machine found that song on a website called Mission Freak.

Mission Freak is about "music and life" in Iowa City.

Hi Iowa City. I miss you. Your festival looks like lots of fun.

Send my love to Liberty Leg.


Suitor returns next week.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009


(Part one here. Part two here.)

At the end of the arm, the gone arm, the burned-up arm, the not-really-at-all-there-except-a-crusted-flipper-of-bone arm, there was still a finger. A phantom finger.

At the end of his invisible arm, a phantom finger. He felt it. He understood the edges of it. He "used" it.

He ran the phantom finger over the ledges of his doorways, and felt the ripples in the painted wood, and the gathering dust that had accumulated there. He'd pull his arm away, and the dust the his phantom finger had stirred up would trail after and hover down.

He pointed at people with his phantom finger, and they would feel the gesture, and turn to him, respond to him. They would, counter people at sandwich shops turned to their magazines on back counters, know the gesture had occurred and greet him and make his sandwich. Bank tellers with all there attention on their cell phones would feel the phantom finger tap them on their foreheads—in their foreheads sometimes—and look up and turn his loose change into folding paper money.

He wore rings on his phantom finger.

He beat drumbeats on his table with his phantom finger.

He flipped coins.

He changed people's analog clocks.

The enormity of it all. Really.


This is done. Young Revolutionaries by Catherine Lacey, Chelsea Martin, and Ellen Kennedy is there to be downloaded. TOUGH! by Matthew Savoca is there to read online.

My book, Creation Stories, is there to be downloaded, too.

Next up is either a) a book by Blake Butler and Justin Dobbs or b) a book by Kendra Malone and Tao Lin. The B book will also feature four songs written by The Way It Is.

Links to all these people are available in the right hand column.

Monday, March 09, 2009


New Suitor post next week.

This week, I am pleased to announce the first official version of the Happy Cobra Books site.

On it, one can download my chapbook, Creation Stories. One will soon be able to download Young Revolutionaries by Catherine Lacey, Chelsea Martin, and Ellen Kennedy.

But, most importantly, one can read Matthew Savoca's Ebook, TOUGH!, which features illustrations from lots and lots of people—Gene Morgan, Tao Lin, Blake Butler, Colin Bassett, Jimmy Chen, Chelsea Martin, Ofelia Hunt, a video by Brandon Gorrell, more. More.

TOUGH! is a book of brief pieces, haiku of the apotheosis of rural American maledom. Very funny. Wonderful illustrations, too.

I had intended to have this up like six months ago. But things got in the way. Matthew Savoca has been more than patient. Thank you, Matthew. I'm sorry.

Tuesday, March 03, 2009


(Part one here.)

There were bed-ridden months. The arm, half nude frame; the repairing cells, unable to keep up with the break down, inconsolable.

Months in bed. Curtained, halflight days. Water sucked through a twisted straw. Whole days finger-framed through his one good hand, close concentration on the sheet and blanket and pillowcase weave, off-white thread over and under off white thread. Stained dark sometimes.

And a wriggling. In his leg, a wriggling. Something usually dull. Something sometimes sharp.

Told he was bed bound no longer, he rolled up, and sat seated on the edge of the bed. For a minute full, he moved air in and out. Pushed arms against the mattress. Hopped down. Stepped with the left.

And when he raised the right leg, it came up faster than familiar. The familiar weight of his leg, gone. Something else in its place.

He stepped forward with the right, and came down. And heard a crackle. And felt a splintering. And he buckled. And he fell.

Your bones, a doctor said. A worm is in there eating the bones of your leg. Tunneling through you bones. He made so many in your right leg, it shattered from your weight. Holes and holes and holes. See? Look here at the fragments in the x-ray. Holes everywhere. He's done with the leg and moved on, but damned if I know where. We'll have to make you a new one. Leg. A new leg.


Me, Twittering.


Me, running for breast cancer research.


In case you missed it, me in love with CAVES.


You? What about you?


Go listen to Yoko Ono.

"Don't worry, Kyoko. Mum's only looking for her hand in the snow."