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Tweet …and somehow I forgot to mention it on my own fucking webpage. I tweeted it. I Facebooked it. I posted it in the obscurer depths of a Nine Inch Nails message board, but I never mentioned that the interview is actually available online. Below, is the full-text. But I think the magazine probably wants you . . . → Read More: Amoskeag Interview Went Live… Tweet Perspective on Time
I When I was nine, I spent my time at school or on the bus, keeping quiet. A soldier spy, Jedi Knight, superhero— someone struggling to maintain a meek secret identity. This narration, a running monologue rewrote everything, a chrome remolding of every tarnished event, until some khaki-slacked teacher called my . . . → Read More: Perspective on Time Tweet Simplify, simplify. If I hadn’t already mulched my dog-eared, trade-paper copy of Walden/Civil Disobedience, I could have extended that quotation profoundly, instead of merely adumbrating the idea. Simplify. By November of 2000, I had a mattress. Stained and remaindered from a two decade-old futon, it laid without linens on the unfinished wood floor, piebald with . . . → Read More: Failing the Litmus Test for Apathy Tweet By the time I was seventeen years old, I had a drug problem. Chiefly, the problem was that I didn’t do drugs very well. I did them gracelessly, haphazardly; I was a madcap who generally pushed past a personal oblivion into territory that was, ostensibly, supposed to be spectacle, supposed to impress (Impress whom? was . . . → Read More: Peregrine Carrots Tweet I’m excited and proud to announce that the spring 2011 issue of Amoskeag, Southern New Hampshire University’s venerable little journal, will feature my short story “[sic],” which has been looking for a home for nigh on five years. Of course, three of those years, I was too miserable to submit anywhere, but the story sounds more . . . → Read More: “[sic]” in Amoskeag: Victory Is Mine 
Tweet This afternoon, I ambled on an errand about a local retail plaza and, to my astonishment, I discovered there the most ideal sneakers I’d ever seen. Suede and several different shades of grey,[1]their white toe, slate laces and a black faux-snakeskin design on both port and starboard sides made them a glorious, textural monochrome rainbow. . . . → Read More: An Entirely Different Cuban Missile Crisis Tweet 1986 The arrangement that summer was as follows: Cyril St. John was allowed to assemble every day the yellow and sepia sofa cushions into the two sides and roof of a crude igloo; he could use the twenty-two-inch Pye Teletext to close in the fort’s front, and a second-hand, straight-backed cedar chair for a rear . . . → Read More: Revenants Tweet Big fucker named McMasters takes them into the basement. Always bad when orderlies are bored. When they feel like herders of sleeping sheep. Everything’s better when they’ve won control. In battle. Which is what they call it, how they want to see it. Days are great when early on someone wakes their temper, but just . . . → Read More: The Proxy Tweet I. You got your first tattoo when you were twelve. Thirty days back from the hospital, your best friend Jack, son of a three-strike con, did the work for you. He had the know how; made the ink from toothpaste, newspaper ash, and the rainbow runoff of a busted Vis-a-Vis marker set. The outline hurt . . . → Read More: Husk Tweet A voice on the other end of a 911 call says “STAY CALM” while her body is cold and staring up. Holding my hand. “STAY CALM.” But I need to know, how do I wave fingers and make eyes close like on TV? The voice on the other side asks an address as I repeat . . . → Read More: Receiver |
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