Oyster River Page’s new issue is out now and it’s beautiful. Amazing work by some very talented writers. I’m honored that my short story “For the Love of Drones” is part of ORP’s Issue 3.2. You can check out the story here.
“Life in a Box”, a short story about the claustrophobia of cubicle life, was published last month in The Offbeat Literary Magazine out of Michigan.
It’s the first story in their Spring issue. You can check it out here.
I performed an early version of “Life in a Box” back in the day at Goodbye Blue Mondays (RIP!) in Bushwick with friend/jazz guitarist Chris Conly and his ever-changing trio. Here’s the audio link. It’s a little hard to hear, but I still really love the music we came up with for this piece.
Names. Names are important. Maybe your name is Jill or Jim or Debbie or Gustav. Remember your name. Other things that are important: hygiene, alarm clocks, speaking (not necessary but recommended), how trees breathe, the latter-day history of the Roman Empire, the daily motions of survival (eating, drinking, sleeping, fighting off deadly viruses with a mouthful of vitamin C tablets and mental fortitude).
These will all be explained in full, later, in Appendix A-5: Hierarchy of Important Stuff for Important People.
Shower. This is part of hygiene. Wash in order: face, behind your ears, the nape of the neck, shoulders, that mole on your chest, belly button, nether-erotics, legs, between your toes, the whole buttock. But feel no need to explain what you do or do not wash. What happens in the shower is between you and God (Concept of Supernatural Higher Powers That May Smite You to be discussed, later, in the Index of Reasons for Living/Dying).
Dress. This is part of alarm clocks. Underwear, shirt (no, not that one… yes, neutral colors), pants*, a gold-studded leather belt with your astrological sign, grey socks, brown boat shoes for that nautical aristocratic touch. Human society values pants* above all else. When animals start wearing trousers, we’ll have to rethink our identity. Pants* conceal your nether-erotics and allow for storage of house keys, wallet, pack of mint chewing gum, short list of famous quotations from Groucho Marx and/or actual Marxists, cellphone, spare coins from countries you’d like to visit. A pat check for these essentials should be performed before you exit into the world outside.
Welcome to the Postmodern World.
That glowing ball of fire in the sky is the sun, rises and then falls at day’s end, hits a trampoline behind the horizon line and bounces up again in the morning. There are shops where you buy things, restaurants where you eat with people or eat alone, and bars where you meet people for drinks or drink alone. There are offices where you work, usually divided into smaller offices and cubicles with up to but no more than three desks.
You will be assigned a desk. Here you will work. Desks are organized surface for thought. This has something to do with the mystical power of rectangles. Any other shaped desk is confusing and may affect your work. It’s scientifically proven.
Time at your desk = money. Money is the currency for survival, exchanged for edible foodstuffs, clothes, entertainment (flashing electro-images, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll). Keep paper money in your wallet with no less than $5 and no more than $100 at all times. Unless you’re really rich, in which case you should carry a platinum billfold brimming with hundred-dollar bills, freshly soaked in formaldehyde. According to Robert’s Rules of Affluence, you should always laugh maniacally like a super villain when handing over money, smell the bills suspiciously when you receive your change.
When encountering people you know, make eye contact and say “hello!” Otherwise avoid eye contact. When introducing yourself to people you don’t know, say “hello, I am…” followed by your name. If you have trouble remembering your name, say “excuse me,” run quickly home, lock the door, weep in the potted petunias by the windowsill for your failures, and practice this interaction in the mirror before another trial run out into the postmodern world. Forgetting your name can be cause for public embarrassment.
Other public embarrassments: pouring things on yourself, getting stuck in revolving doors, losing your pants*.
If you enjoy the personal interaction, smile and continue eye contact. If you don’t, make a displeased face and refuse to look the person in the eye again. If you are touched, reciprocate. Be careful with this. This may spiral out of control and get you arrested and/or fired from your desk. Without your organized surface for thought, you will most certainly go mad and ended up a raving loon on the destitute streets of endless hunger. A simple rectangular sidewalk tile should suffice to reorient yourself, so that you can return to the good graces of functioning society.
Things you want: sex, money, power… prestige.
– Douglas A. Wright
Apocrypha & Abstractions published this weird little flash fiction of mine among some great writers in their August issue and I’ve just gotten around to posting it.
“We belong to the history of all things,” he said and then he put down the hammer, the grooves in the steel deep and narrow, a clockwork of concentric rings spiraling to the black tooth, how we marveled at the craft, the magic of it, so effortless with fire tongs and burning blade in such old wise hands, we the blood refugees of a forgotten time, we the slaves of the shadow glass, nameless orphans in the iron belly of the great machine…”
Cool online magazine of all things flash, definitely worth checking out. Happy Fall!