Friday, June 29, 2012

DJ Sprinkles & Mark Fell - Complete Spiral EP 6.4

                DJ Sprinkles & Mark Fell know house music. It is in their blood. Try all they might to create electro-acoustic hell scape in their day jobs, their beginnings shall always be in house music. After years of disuse the DJ Sprinkles moniker has been brought back over the past few years. Mark Fell has decided to embrace his house side with Sensate Focus, which always peered out of his productions, whether it be SND’s Tender Love or his own solo material. 

                Complete Spiral begins with what sounds like a Ultra-Red inspired track. Actually I like the juxtaposition of the speaker to this decadent house music. Unfortunately the thing sinks a bit with the ‘Hee-Haw Mix’ version of the song. This middle track feels rather flat to me. ‘Complete Spiral’ ends it a Mark Fell ‘Sensate Focus’ feel to it. All the glittering chords give away Mark’s heavy involvement in the track. DJ Sprinkles helps to smooth the thing out.

                I like this EP however I feel the two collaborators take away from what makes the other special. Mark works better with punchier beats and a bit freer edits. DJ Sprinkles on the other hand tends to go for hooky, downright caressing deep bass lines. As a result they sort of ‘tone down’ what makes their music sound so unique. Hooks are reduced as the beats are smoothed out. This is by no means a bad EP but rather an example of how collaboration can limit the individual sense of self.

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Andrea Valle - Acta GeoGraphica (2001-2007) 7.9

                This is a score for imaginary landscapes. Andrea Valle creates a sense of dramatic with space. Each track is a unique take on this concept. What these 37 tracks do is challenge the listener’s perception of space. Sounds are positively alive in this album. They crackle. Volumes change dramatically. All these different approaches do conform into a strange way into a single unified, instantly recognizable aura. Andrea claims to use algorithms for much of this album yet there is a definite emotional component to this music.

                Highlights are hard to positively point out in such amorphous music. Every song flows off of the last one. Rather the enjoyable aspect comes from the strange sense of rhythm this digital debris coalesces itself into. What starts out as a single song or idea is transformed over a series of follow-up ideas. In a way I’m reminded of a less harsh version of PXP’s version of digital shrapnel. Unlike PXP’s first impossibly titled album there’s considerably more energy behind this album. Andrea doesn’t stop at all. Rather the mix between outright ambience and noise is perfect. The unusual nature of the pieces along with their general unpredictably makes it oddly soothing, lifelike almost. 

                Acta GeoGraphica is dramatic computer music. With this composition Andrea shows exactly how computer music can be both intellectually rigorous and emotionally engaging. These are wonderful sounds. Get lost in the many pieces. Put it on shuffle or treat it as a series of suites (as the artist intended) either way you cannot lose.

Red Lightbulbs: 8th Edition

            Ah yes, it is closing time. Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. I know a little about the visual arts. What these artists do is absurd however. How is it possible to have visuals so positively weird that they confuse me? I understand a little of this, maybe I need to print these pieces out and stare at them for days on end. I hope using this method I can perhaps experience their ‘full grandeur’. Let us start.

            Alexander Jorgesen draws pictures of circles in golden light. They are aesthetically pleasing to me. I feel this is a ‘post-abstract’ picture. Truly I want to understand it but I don’t know where to begin.

            Robert Alan Wendeborn writes about baby animals. Words are redacted to add a certain twisted humor to the pictures. Now this I get via my childhood. That baby sheep is controlling. A little cub step bear wants to join the circus. Baby fox eats rabbits. Poor dead baby, he never had a chance to be not dead. Squirrels stink. I don’t care if they are babies or not. I enjoy acting like an elderly person when I go outside and scream at squirrels to ‘get off my lawn’. Glad Robert shows the squirrel at the end.

            Andrew Tamlyn is awesome. My favorites are the first piece with the smudged on paint and the last past of images imposed over each other. I know the last piece’s technique is used quite heavily (it’s a pretty popular one right now) but I feel Andrew know what he’s doing.

            Laurie Pina suffers a crisis about snacking after 10:00 PM. I understand completely. She is a good artist. Feel that Oprah usually doesn’t dictate how people should live their lives. This is a sort of silly, funny like piece. Her attention to detail is wonderful. I like how cute all the cartoons look.

            Cassandra Gillig is experimental as heck. The first one is overwhelmingly bleak. At least there’s a dolphin there. Dolphins make everything better except for sea otters. They hunt sea otters for sport. She shows a profile of Homer Jay Simpson.

            Ben Nissen disturbs me. His work is not safe for the stomach. The sounds in his piece are incredibly creepy. When you see the insect eating another insect, you hear it. The insect scratches itself. You hear that too. The video’s shots are beautiful. Getting through it, seeing the extraordinarily bleak world of the insects is a whole other matter. Yes this is fascinating but also somewhat terrifying. I say Ben Nissen’s work will give me many, many nightmares. 

            Jessy Randall is clever. I love the middle one. That made my chuckle. I don’t laugh at many things anymore since I am a sloth. So this is a positive thing. The last comic she has, of a graph, hits a little too close to home for me.

            There we have it ‘end it’. We conclude today’s coverage of Red Lightbulbs. Hope these light bulbs continue to shine, shine, and shimmer.

Red Lightbulbs: 8th Edition

                Fiction: what is it good for absolutely everything! That’s right. Poetry and fiction fall so close next to each other. Some say poetry and fiction sleep in the same bed, but I argue they live in bunk beds. Poetry gets the lower bunk, via being younger. Fiction gets the top bunk because it is a lucky, lucky genre.

                Ben Tanzer writes about people that will never know their Dads, or Grandfathers. I relate to this story. I never met either of my Grandfathers. Whenever someone says that my Grandfather would have loved me, I have to take their word. I have to imagine how similar they were to me. Wish I knew of living family members that could perhaps explain how I ended up this way, with these interests, and this look.

                Michael Koh knows about feeling alive as you die. Your whole life flashes before your eyes. In this story you pull your scalp off. The little glimpses of disappointments right before you go are the most human glimpses of all. Not sure how Michael wrote this, I feel he probably had a near death experience or is totally insane. Either way, I adore it. The long flowing sentence is an added benefit.

                Lori D’ Angelo talks about the hippest fad in celebrity adoption. I do not need to say it but I will ‘purple babies are the new orange babies’. Lori believes that these baby adoptions are simply a fad. Babies become another status symbol. Once they are bored with the babies they are thrown into a discarded baby room. Think that’s called ‘boarding school’. Rich kids go there after their parents are sick of their stupid child faces.

                Philip Garland enjoys crossbow shootings. Guess they are fairly common occurrences. Next to and between these violent tales are fragments of thought. They appear to be spontaneous reactions to the stories. These are strange. I feel for all those poor crossbow victims. I also wonder how people become so well trained with the crossbows.

            Simon Jacobs has a friend named Gary. Gary keeps everybody cold but himself. I relate to Gary. Like him, I avoid turning on the heat. We can warm ourselves through our care for each other. Unlike Gary I don’t seal up my kitchen. Feel Gary hogs all the heat for himself and enjoys the perverse side of pride of never turning on the heat.

            Lauren Becker became Bill. Bill teaches math. You have to be a relatively decisive person to teach that kind of subject. Poor Bill didn’t like the movie. Everything Bill does is definite and final. There is no questioning with Bill. That’s a good thing though the amount of decision appears to be rather unusual.

            Sterling Sletcha lived in a cave. She believed the world was ending. The cave gave her everything she could want. Mostly that was a window on a dying world. Guess the mountain shackled her. Mountains must be pretty lonely. Nothing truly moves them. I am happy she had a conversation with herself about leaving.

            Peterbd writes about ‘an out of control asshole’. This guy flips everybody off for trying to help him. How does a person watch 15 hours of TV a day? Do they have a job? Fast food is expensive too. So many questions are involved in this story. AMC is an expensive channel too. Love how dramatic the man’s escape is from hospital. I’m glad it has such a heart-stopping ending.

            Tanuj Solanki takes care of the un-crying baby. I like the idea of a perfectly content baby. Babies cry so much. They need everything. The concept of wanting to anger it, out of a pointless malice, sounds fun. Guess all the rage from the father could not be passed down on the little infant. Nope, the infant is so cute in its bland pleasantness.

            Andrew F. Sullivan continues the end-of-the-world theme. Feel the world isn’t going to end for another couple of months so we don’t need to worry about anything. Poor Jack Nance seemed to have reached his ending sooner than everybody else. Plastic doesn’t dissolve deep in the sea either. Plastic forms the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. Disintegration begins slowly.

            William C. Bloome believes balancing a horse on four whiskey bottles grants wishes. That’s absurd. You need a Genie to do that. King of Bolivia is a good title. And eternally being a teenage doesn’t sound that great. That means you’d probably be extremely moody all the time.

            Andy Hayes had kids who could destroy entire towns. Kids compete for destructiveness. Feel destroying an entire town would make you ‘the winner’. Andy connects each little piece of the story. People enjoy naming hurricanes. I like the word ‘moisturized’ he uses for his old girlfriend. The narrator comes across as a bit of an old, crazed individual, particularly with the ‘not a good town for men’. Hope he lands somewhere safe.

            Timothy Moore is a true romantic. What can be more romantic than love, reflected in shards of glass stuck in a hand? I will tell you: absolutely nothing. The man is extremely lucky to have shoved his hand into the jar.

            Carly Berg digs redheads. She catches them too. Redheads are special according to comic books.

            Dillon J. Welch crushes it. Charlie Kaufman ended up in some people’s heads apparently I should expect this behavior from a guy who makes severely depressed, mope-ridden movies. Dillon tells Charlie to don some memory eraser (which we know he has) and destroy Charlie’s brain. Will Charlie do this? I sort of doubt it. Dillon asks him what happens in your twenties and who do you meet.

            Then it’s over. Red Lightbulbs finishes up another lovely collection of fiction, both short and long. I enjoy what they do. Hope they get to do more. But wait they have a final section, which I call ‘the odds and odds’ because I never know what to make of it.

Red Lightbulbs: 8th Edition

               Red Lightbulbs is an event. This is a cherished tradition. Hasn’t been that long since we saw the last Red Lightbulbs, the lucky seven edition, adorn our internet. Megan and Russ understand the importance of constant alt lit flows. Look at that cover. It reminds me of some ultra-whacked out Of Montreal album cover. Think the name of it would be ‘Libatious Love for Lobotomized Leers’ or something perhaps a bit less pedestrian. I enjoy their selections. For this 8th installment they end the dearth of alt lit material, flooding the alt lit world with wonderful material. While I’ll go through this slowly, I want to start with the heart of the matter, pure poetry.

                Mary Lou Buschi instructs students on memorializing the dead. Words are dead. They taste each word. In small, network-sized groups they dissect meaning into pretty patterns. After doing this extremely intense work they showcase their projects while they hone social skills. Think this is a class on how to temper creepy art weirdness with the ability to interact with society. I need this class.

                Brett Elizabeth Jenkins has no respect for Billy’s mom. She plays Billy’s mom yet cannot comprehend the suffering Billy’s mom undergoes. All she wants are light refreshments. Only at the end does she feel the true pain of being a mother. Mothers get attacked by tigers on a startlingly regular basis. Terrible fish attack moms too. That’s why we cook fish. Seas are full of fish ready to attack our mothers.

                Diana Salier thinks about baseballs when she reads aloud and wants to cry. If I thought about baseballs when I was about to cry that might ‘push me over the edge’. Wish America had some other pastime besides baseball, like stalking people on Facebook. Her pop references are quite beautiful with the Wile E. Coyote. Feel coyotes have it rough. And that roadrunner just breezes through life. Life is hard.

                Feng Sun Chen starts with a nativity scene. This is the birth. I feel for the non-existent elephant on a raft. Singapore is wonderful. How can you wash your brain? Isn’t that brainwashing or am I unaware of brain haunting. Is brain haunting the new remembering? I like how Feng makes multiple realities possible by offering the first impression and then the ‘footnotes’ at the end which creates various different ways of looking at the same poem. Peg leads an interesting life. She appears to undream, bake cakes, and hold Mary in her arms.

                Kyle McCord is asked to leave a strip mall. Poor pieces of bark, they will never get their jobs back. Unemployment bites. But at least Kyle knows a French Canadian or two. French Canadians are useful people to have around. That’s doubly true if you’re being watched. Regarding Vanderbilt Law: I just don’t know. An editor has such power over words. Lawyers merely use them. Wonder if any lawyers have editors.

                Jessica Poli is a roli-poli. I mean it sincerely. Love empty places. I like wide-open spaces. Jessica buys so many things. Hope she gets those empty bottles off the floor. That’s a fire hazard. Carnivals are wonderful places to get your hands chewed off. I have been there, done that.

                Cassandra de Alba talks about bears. This is sweet. I love bears. As a kid I used to have teddy bears. I’d tell them they could sleep in and they always did. Shoegaze is probably a good music genre for bears. If I ever hibernate I’m going to do it to shoegaze. Feelings become extinct. When I was younger I was a whole lot more cynical. Could I handle my old emotions? I don’t think so, I’ve evolved. What made them extinct is important (rejection, embarrassment). I do not miss being cynical. Glad that’s gone, way gone.

                Michelle Sinsky wants to save a tree. Everything dies. Perhaps she can stop this. And a dog’s health is determined by the moistness of his/her nose. Plant transplants are hard but rewarding. I like being surrounded by plants. I feel better knowing plants are looking out for me.

                Allison Leigh Peters writes about life underneath sheets. There’s a whole other world underneath sheets. Love, sleep, and understanding co-exist. It’s another universe. Loins are electric. Guess that’s what that song ‘High Voltage’ is about.

                Theron Jacobs has cats full of bees. Honey purrs out of the mouths of babes. Goats sleep quietly. I did not know that they did anything quietly. He feeds crowds of people in his dreams. My dreams tend to involve traveling, hostels in London, and meeting new people. Basically my dreams are the internet only without typing. I have nowhere near the amount of teeth Theron has. This makes me uncomfortable. Too bad he never ‘grew out the tail’.

                Thus ends the poetry portion of ‘Red Lightbulbs: Issue 8’. Megan and Russ don’t run your normal kind of publication however. Prepare yourself for the fiction section, where babies were born to run.

Caddywhompus - Maze Demos 8.1

                How can a duo have this much energy? I’m in awe of the sheer amount of energy Caddywhompus bring to these four songs. Since I last heard them, they’ve changed. I mean that in the most flattering way possible. On this painfully short EP Caddywhompus display a greater amount of grace, refinement, and flexibility with their sound. A few moments on here are positively sublime. This may be the best Caddywhompus has ever sounded. The best part is these are only demos. I’m pretty excited at what the refined versions of these songs will sound like. 

                ‘Feathering a Nest’ builds up into multiple crescendos. That’s what makes them so enjoyable. Quiet interludes, the soft spots, are some of the best things they’ve ever created. Muscle in their music is easy. Clearly they are talented. What’s more interesting to me is how they pull back. On the opening track, three minutes in, they stumble upon some downright beautiful, almost heart-achingly so, interplay. Nor is this a mere blink of an eye, they expand upon this mood until close to the end, taking a more ‘Post-Rock’ approach to their work. 

‘Stuck’ blends in so well you’d be forgiven it was the same track. Actually early on ‘Stuck’ gets rather good, only a few seconds in they create a structure remarkably similar to Deerhoof’s most recent work. Yes it gets that intense. ‘Company’ literally blisters by on some insane tempo before following into the experimental closer ‘It’s a Self Portrait (Of You)’ which reminds me of a weird William Basinski approach to rock. Weirdly it feels like a perfectly appropriate closer. 

Maze Demos’ is a huge step forward for Caddywhompus.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Internet People IRL

                    Peterbd meets the most mysterious of alt lit people: the Mount Olive, NJ gang. This is a collective of suburban youths from the New Jersey suburb of Mount Olive. A disproportionate amount of alt lit lives in Mount Olive. Who really knows why? I am happy Peterbd checks it out in his ‘tell all’ account of these mad, free, and wild New Jersey residents. For those unaware of New Jersey, it is an entire state consisting of one sprawling suburb of New York, kind of like Connecticut but more affordable. 

                 We learn Peterbd lives in hotels. I do too. The nomadic life, I live it well. Hotels bore Peterbd. Northern Jersey can do that to hotels. For me hotels are a vacation away from doing laundry or purchasing unreasonably small amount of shampoo. Whilst shopping at Walmart Taylor Retzios invites Peterbd to hang out with the intrepid group of young ruffians.

                Young ruffians hang out on the lawns of their parents’ homes. It’s the economy stupid. Damn recession makes it hard to be a ruffian. Maggie Lee invites them into her lawn. Those unfamiliar with a suburb that’s where drum circles can originate, at least when there aren’t pesticides all over the lawn to keep it green and shiny. Poor Maggie Lee asks ‘Why me’ according to Peterbd’s firsthand report. 

                Nigel Pierson and Spencer Simone are there too, chilling hard. You must chill hard in the summer since it is so hot. That’s your inner spirit telling you ‘Yo, it is hot. Relax. Don’t do it.’ Several pictures are up of these fantastic writers. In the photos they are stationary. They are not in the middle of writing life-changing poetry. 

                TY rocks! I am TY. We are all TY. People think I am Steve Roggenbuck. Maybe they are right. I feel they aren’t since they aren’t. Steve Roggenbuck, for all his greatness, cannot be me. Let me allay that rumor right now: Steve Roggenbuck and I are almost probably definitely not the same person or possibly are the same person. Hope that is clear enough for your frickers! Now let me go drink this pop as I continue. Spencer renames most of TY’s playlist ‘Ric Ross’. I approve of this action. Seems this TY person is an affable chap. 

                How does it end? Spencer acts all rambunctious on a trampoline. Trampolines are outlawed in 47 states except New Jersey, New Mexico, and South Dakota. Shame the trampoline lobby isn’t stronger. Jumping on a trampoline changed my life back when I was a young sloth. Not sure how I feel about eating bacon flavored Lays potato chips. I feel if Lays pays me I love them. Feel if Utz wants to pay me that Lays can go suck it. 

                Happy Peterbd is going out again. For a while I thought he was going to be one of those online personas that never meets people, you know, somebody like me.

Untitled Moby Document by Maggie McGee and Herb Johnson

                Remember Moby? Moby used to be a rock star without the swagger. Think of a de-sensitized, asexualized dork with a knack for busting out the synthesizer jams and you’ve got Moby. Poor Moby, I wonder if the aughts were good to him or the tens now. With this story, I find out the real story. Maggie and Herb spent months going ‘under cover’ to discover the seedy underbelly of Moby’s present and future. 

                Panic attacks make Moby who he is today: a washed-up has-been naked mole rat failure. The lack of body hair on Moby disturbs me. We read a bit about it. Sweat moves quickly down Moby’s body. All the sweat Moby has is from worrying, not from actual physical activity. If Moby wants to maintain his current body weight of 8 pounds he must continue to limit his movement, exercise, and diet. 

                Moby had a tough childhood. His parents destroyed all traces of his childhood. That is what mole rat parents usually do. A raccoon gives Moby rabies but Moby is stronger than that. He tries to cut himself to be ‘hardcore’ but falls into a fetal position onstage. Rock n’ roll is tough when you’re an unapologetic wimp like Moby. Lobsters consider Moby a hero though. Seagulls don’t. Seagulls defecate on Moby’s head because what’s he going to do about it, write a song that nobody’s going to hear? 

                Glad Moby builds up an online presence. Online presences are a good way to eliminate/create depression. He invests wisely in a MP3 player company. They are egg-shaped and resemble his very bald head. Pugs use his bald head as a mirror into an alternate reality where they are Moby looking into a Pug’s eyes. We see constantly Moby’s severe loneliness. A walkie-talkie reminds him of his own futile life and essential meaninglessness. He has no one to give the other walkie-talkie to and merely collapses on the floor. 

                Five years pass and Moby gets wasted every night. Strangers help him out. Anyhow who helps Moby dies. That is their reward for helping such a colossal failure of a human being. Moby barely has any friction since his body is so hairless and aerodynamic. Priests do not want to hear Moby’s confession. Most of Moby’s confessions consist of things he never did, like enjoying life and making friends. At the Superbowl Moby is pelted to death by those egg-shaped MP3 players he invested in and dies live on TV.

                The alpha life beckons Moby. He becomes high-powered with a family. Everybody loves high-powered Moby. With his part-ownership of a construction company Moby has it made. Sadly he returns back to his bleak life as a washed-up unreasonably wealthy individual who spends most of his time Googling himself online and trying to see ‘where it all went wrong’. McDonalds lets Moby become regional manager. 

                Really felt for Moby in this collection. Hope Moby achieves all his dreams. Want Moby to re-tweet my tweets. Maybe it is hard to fall from relevance. But is it not better to have had and lost relevance than to never have had relevance all at? That’s a deep question many online philosophers ask. With this collection we are brought just a little closer to an answer.

Spencer Madsen – Things about me

                Poor Spencer Madsen: he breaks alt lit gossip’s heart. That is hard. Alt lit gossip has a heart of stone. Least that is what I thought. Now I know the truth. Behind alt lit gossip is a classroom full of the true masters of alt lit: grown-up emo kids. Glad I am a grown-up emo kid. Maybe that is why I am into alt lit? Or perhaps I like alt lit since I need a break from the sloth wife, kids, and beet farm life. Feeding my kids is hard. They have to eat every day. I tell you, it is sheer madness raising a family. Still I would not trade it for anything except a ton of money ($15,678,000). 

                Spencer Madsen’s ‘Things about me’ is a way for readers to better know the man behind the writing, behind the twitter account, and Facebook account. I have met Spencer Madsen IRL. For me Spencer is a true enigma. A New Yorker without a driver’s license is fairly common. This fails to surprise me. Blink 182 is one of Spencer’s favorite bands. Spencer looks like he graduated from High School a few days ago. Plus Spencer uses his emo-ness to keep himself looking young and depressed. Emo is one of the best things for your skin, to keep your skin looking silky soft (via tears falling down your face). 

                At the end is where Spencer lets it ‘all out’ emo-wise. He got a job and never went. That’s bleak. No idea why he skypes with his ex-girlfriend. She says that made her depressed. Feel sad to hear such things. I am no longer Facebook friends with any of my Ex-Girlfriends. Why would you hang out with somebody you broke up with, or Skype with them? Call me old-fashioned but I do not understand all this new-fangled internet technology. Give me a simple online persona maintained by twitter, Facebook, Tumblr and Blogspot. I’m a simple sloth. What more would I need from life? 

                Spencer signs off by saying he is changing. He calls the reader a ‘faceless’ reader. Believe all readers of Spencer’s website have faces. Wonder if a higher percentage of Spencer’s readers than normal have gotten their faces ripped off? Hope that is not the case. Glad Spencer is changing. Personally I think Spencer changes for the better. We all change for the better. Maybe one day you will change for the best. I believe in you. You can do it.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Ubik - Circadian rhythm, Sleep Disorder 8.2

                Circadian rhythm, Sleep Disorder succeeds where Oval’s reboot failed. Ubik uses guitar to great effect here. Glitches are employed for a sense of drama. Unlike Oval’s reboot, this has melodies, Ubik dwells in them. In general glitch can do a lot of good through its microscopic take on melody, rhythm, and texture. Often it is important to slow down the hyperactive tendencies of technology. Ubik understands this as he employs multiple strategies in these seven tracks. 

                For the opener Ubik brings together glitch rhythms, some beautiful swirling guitar, and random clattering noises. Eventually this comes together into a dash for the end. Giddiness prevails in ‘Melatonin’. The anxiousness comes out gloriously. At times it reminds me of ‘Punchdrunk Love’s’ oddly anxiety-inducing sense of giddy. ‘Light Therapy’ comes closest to a traditional rock sense. Here the guitar is mostly recognizable and allowed to soar, giving the track a sense of clarity. ‘Barbiturates’ takes Ubik’s ideas to their logical conclusion. Repetition plays a large part of the song’s power. Also the intersection between the downright violent electronic effects and the guitar is powerful. Towards the end it becomes classical in nature. Rock and classical battle it out on the song, with rock ultimately emerging triumphant. 

                Ubik understands the balance between the natural and the edited. Experimental music rarely feels this exciting. Some of the work reminds me of a more pastoral Fennesz, or of a less excitable Christopher Willts. A few of these songs manage to stay nearly stationary, unfolding slowly while others simply explode in a flurry of colorful tones and textures. This is a wild and alive release.

Goats by David M. Morton

                David M. Morton is Germantown, Ohio’s most prominent playwright. As I know nothing about Germantown, I take his word on that. Reading ‘Goats’ I thought to myself “This is a play. Is this my first theatrical review?” It is. New York City is renowned for its many theatrical productions, running the gamut from ‘Spiderman’ to ‘Cats’ and all those other plays. I am not a player. Today that changes. ‘Goats’ is my debut onto the wide stage of theater. I will dance and sing some silly songs. You’ll laugh, cry, and truly feel for the review. David calls this a ‘short story’ but I ignore that description. I am too excited to review theater. 

                Heather and Pompey enter from stage right. They are next to a bridge. The Old Norwegian folktale about the three fattened goats comes up. Heather wants to get fat and fool bridge trolls. Pompey has some serious feelings for Heather. That is why he gives her candy and takes her to a seedy bar. Unfortunately the bar serves beer instead of delicious, wholesome treats. The bartender digs his tattoo of a woman's breasts. Discouraged they walk together to find some truly yummy food. I feel a little bad for Heather as Pompey appears to ‘verbally abuse’ her through his disparaging remarks.

                They find a lovely café. Behind them the stage is full of JPEGs of artisan bread. Heather and Pompey are good at sex. By showing their waiter pictures of their sex acts they get 25% off at their next visit. Pompey mutters nonsense at the top of his lungs. All Heather wants to do is get fat. Together they go into the woods to get fat off of gamey food, deer, opossums, and tree bark. Jesus makes rocks to throw at Earth. By now they find their tree, played by Jennifer Aniston. Over the tree branch is a swing. Heather notes this excitedly. She is totally into swinging. 

                Weight is important to them. They must gain weight. Heather eats bread before Pompey pushes her in a swing. Pompey pushes her too hard in the swing. Freaked out she demands he stops. Now he looks around. He wants to build a cabin there. Heather believes in Jesus. She thinks she will need to sell her soul to the wolf. Atheism is important to Pompey. He is a hardcore atheist. It ends with the two of them arguing about the story of the three goats. Wolves want Heather more than Pompey. This upsets him and we end mid-argument. 

                Love this short story/play thing David has. David helps Ohio step up its game. Ohio has its unfair share of writers. Now they have a playwright, complete with the standard glasses and beard. Truly this is a beautifully absurd tale.

Otherlow by JDA Winslow

                Otherlow is everything. Everything you can possibly think of is here. Want Owen Wilson, or Phsh, or to find out what Edinburgh is like late at night? Here you can. JDA blends his imaginings with reality. It is not quite surreal yet it is far from real. Rather these are the thoughts that race through our minds while we interact with others, either effectively or ineffectively. That’s part of life. We must analyze every possible aspect. 

                JDA takes a sad thing and makes it happy, neutral, sad, maniac, insane, violent, peaceful, kitsch, and detached. Observing himself through the lens of a bad 90s rom-com. He complains about the bad writing. In life we cannot edit ourselves. Rather we are stuck with the stupid things we say. Nobody helps us edit. We live with our own idiocy. Desires make this an even more troublesome emotion. 

                Behind all these twists and turns is a fairly straight-ahead story. Falling out of a relationship hurts. Time slows. How can one cope? JDA’s solution appears to be writing a story about it. I found myself reading and re-reading this story. Woven between JDA’s worries of the Phsh is his own life, disguised as another person. I know it is him. I sense it from his entrapment in the park. His longing for others, beautiful and far away, is particularly touching. I have been there, in that park, looking at those people. People-watching is a sport. Sometimes it hurts to see people far lovelier than you. You want to approach them, to say something, but anxiety holds us back. 

                My favorite aspect is the concept of the Phsh. What is Phsh exactly? It eats us apart. Our childhood homes are full of Phsh. I figure it may be a crippling form of nostalgia. Childhood homes are full of those sorts of things. Longing for the past is perhaps one of the worst experiences a person can have. It consumes whole otherwise healthy people. Pinning down Phsh is impossible. The only way to defeat it is with contentment. Hardly anywhere throughout the story is there a sense of ease. Much of the story is a big ball of anxiousness. A few times I read it thinking ‘this feels too familiar’. Like when he lived up near Norway. I have been there before, and to Sweden. Nordic countries are full of darkness due to their position near the Arctic Circle. 

                This is an impossible story to summarize. I fail. All I can say is it is one of the most realistic portrayals of disappointment in life I have read in a long while. How JDA twists and turns throughout the story is simply remarkable. He never loses the mood or the emotional center of the story which is ultimately heart-broken. Sentences appear to grow up as paragraphs progress from a simple statement into a more inclusive statement. Minimalism and maximalism form a sacred bond with this one ongoing tapestry of a story. It is gorgeous. Please, please read it. Give yourself time to get lost in this briar patch of words. Easily the best thing JDA has written. 

Far Star Girl by Sarah Sarai

                Far Star Girl begins with a giant winged woman. It looks like ‘The Crow’s’ girlfriend. Wish sometimes I was Goth. Goths have more fun. They love life so much. Wonder if any Goths are into alt lit. Feel if they are they need to tell me how to dress/act. 

                An angel interrupts movie night. This is the seventeenth time viewing this movie. Perhaps watching movies enough can bring divine intervention. Some higher power may look on at their compulsive movie-watching and say ‘That’s sad. I’m going to throw them a bone.’ Cassie and Dot watch the movies together in the Sunday school basement. Dot spends time killing time. No need to spend time on religious aspects of Sunday school or academic aspects of school. At some point you learn what you want. What you need and what you want out of experiences are two entirely different things. 

                Dot puts food into Cassie’s ears. Dot and Cassie have it rough. Money matters to her family. They are poor. Both parents work. Summer is all hers. Parents do not have the time to look after their children. Both kids take a bus to get home. For them the bus is the new parent. While they are in the vehicle’s belly they are safe. Bus summers are rough. I have sweated it out in buses before. Hope the air conditioning works for them. Drugs are a way to waste time. Thankfully neither Dot nor Cassie does drugs during the duration of the story. Money is tight. 

                Their family does not believe in microwaves. Meat is defrosted in the sink. Dot makes a salad since she lives the vegan lifestyle. Vegans are hip people. You know vegans from what they don’t eat rather than what they do eat. Wish I had the guts to be a vegan. I respect the vegan lifestyle. I eat low-calories leaves from hanging upside down in my tree so I’m doing alright. 

                Father comes home and pours himself a drink. He asks Cassie what she’s read. When she misses a book he calls her illiterate. You can be illiterate and still party. Her friends have cars. They take her away to places without parents. Babar gets smacked down. Good, Babar deserves disrespect. We should burn Babar, that imperialist Elephant king. 

                Cassie is called by mysterious forces. She lives in a boring house. Outside the angels are silent. Angels are among us. They live in our homes. Angels watch us in our homes. Angels are God’s voyeurs, the peeping toms of Heaven. Dot gets angel visits. She takes drugs to counteract those angels. For angels in the suburbs is the most absurd thing ever. The suburbs are Earth’s purgatory. They are neither good nor bad. They merely exist. 

                I like this story. The pace is slow. Sarah Sarai knows how to make a sloth happy. Take a story. Slow it down. You’ve reached the sloth community. Thank you Sarah!

Monday, June 25, 2012

Human Teenager - Animal Husbandry 8.4

                Human Teenager makes warped, tattered shards of crystal-clear pop. This is the catchiest weirdest stuff I’ve heard for some time. Gary War and Prehistoric Blackout are behind this oddness. Actually this is the best project I’ve heard from either of them. So many weird things come through what sounds like an ancient tape, banished to the furthest reaches of some obsessive music collector’s closet. There is a certain joy behind Animal Husbandry’s weird approach to pop music. One might call it giddy. 

                On the opener ‘Fourth Reich’ that giddiness is apparent. An obvious influence would be Ariel Pink’s early work. But that only brings you part of the way there. No, there’s something stranger going on here. Yep, that’s why the chorus ‘Welcome to the Fourth Reich’ has a sneering sarcastic vibe to it, as if it mocks the very essence of strictly defined pop music. The Residents toyed with this idea on ‘The Third Reich ‘n Roll’. Here though Human Teenager updates that subversive idea of pop music as a means of control. ‘Locate Yourself’ is even more direct in communication, with a basic drum beat leading the dark 80s psyched-out vibe. ‘Mainly Adult’ worms its way into your mind with an instantly catching bass line. And ‘Special Victims Unit’ takes a more nightmarish approach to the songwriting as it drifts off into space. 

I’m pretty excited that Spectrum Spools appears to be expanding its palette. Finally warped pop appears to be getting its due. The term ‘experimental pop music’ may finally have a use, after languishing from disuse for so long.

My Mind Moved Too Fast Today by Amber Grimmble

                You can have too much of a good thing. I refer to it as ‘rich in awesome’. Swag in this chapbook is off the charts. No chart can contain what is going on within these many four pages. She thinks about her life as a Spongebob Squarepants. The poems dwell over what growing up means in the land down under. Does Australia even know what goes on up in the Northern Hemisphere where the winter is winter and snow happens? I do not know. I have yet to travel to that beautiful land of koala bears, kangaroos, and Lord Howe Stick Insects. 

                Amber Grimmble learns how to crawl. Babies are narcissists. Poor babies can barely control their bladders, choosing to ‘excrete waste on the go’. Practice makes perfect sometimes. Improvisation is an important skill too. Who knows when you’ll need to think on your feet? Dinosaurs were chill. Wish Dinosaurs were still with us, so they could landscape our lawns and file our taxes. I have the same opinion about people sitting next to me: I imagine empty space next to me. When the person sitting next to me smells like beer and rotten sausage is it difficult to dream.

                People choose to become kittens. That is what happens. Why join the rat race? Catch rats instead. Racing is hard. Eating rats is easy. Be good. Eat up. Empty places are my favorites. I remember sitting in the back of a car seeing empty space for miles. Clouds cast shadows on the ground. Shoegaze played on my IPOD. I felt really small but I liked the feeling. Want to be smaller than my surroundings. Want to live in a hovel with everyone nearby and no one caring. That’s the life for me. 

                Life is worth crying about. Crying shows you feel emotions. Emotions are an important part of a balanced breakfast. I always have my pancakes with maple syrup and a good cry. Good cries show you are maturing. Eventually you will discover ‘Bright Eyes’, ‘The Smiths’, and so on until your tear ducts no longer shed any tears. That’s called entering your thirties. When you are in your thirties you stop crying because everything is how it will be. 

                Boxes contain our lives. My life is on the internet. I store my feelings on the internet. IRL no longer has any emotions left for me to experience. The internet makes me laugh, cry, and feel emotions more than anything I have ever experienced. I like to cybercry. Cybercrying is like cybersex only real. You need to provide your own tissues for cybercry. In that way it is remarkably similar to cybersex.

                This is my first encounter with Amber. Hope it is not my last.

Frat Star Poetry

                Bros in alt lit: you better believe it. There are many bros in alt lit. Do we say bro ironically or un-ironically? It is tough to tell. Sometimes you need to bro out. How do I bro out? Well this is how I ‘bro out’. I eat a tough guy breakfast of Morningstar farms bacon, celery stalks, and ripe tomatoes. Once I am done pounding down lemonade I bust out my bike, find the nearest park, sit down under a tree and write poetry in my Moleskine. Yeah now that is truly hardcore. See this collection for a better example of the hardcore bro in life. This is in fact Frat life, something I have never been a part of, due to my extremely slothful lifestyle. I am not made for Frat life. 

                Actual Jellyfish begins this in style. He explores the forbidden fruits of bro love. I cannot describe bro love. You simply discover it one day. That’s truly beautiful. Brad and Actual Jellyfish drink some delicious Milwaukee’s Best. They bond through banging women together. While Brad slept Actual watched. Yep, it is touching. Actual put his bed up against Brad’s to look over him. For me the ending is truly tragic. 

                Carnivorous Judy tells us about the pledge life. Poor Carnivorous writes about blow times. Blow times are the go times. Everybody misses it when it’s gone. 

                Everydayissunny celebrates the greatness of his frat. They rock intramurals. Intramurals are an important part of the college experience for bros. Keg legs and nugs are part of any frat boy breakfast. 

                Lazzyandoh writes about the painful of acceptable. Frats are not easy to join. Yet once you join you get benefits like becoming a Cretin. That’s a big deal. 

                LK Shaw writes Frat Haikus. I was unaware Frats understood poetry or language. A sorority sister writes a haiku. Others use ‘woos’ to describe their feelings. 

                Lazzyandoh writes about helping out his broski. Tugs help others out. 

                Everydayissunny talks about being a depressed frat star. Poor frat star, I did not know frat stars had emotions. Though being in a frat meant you edited out emotions. There are no emo frats. Poor guy eats a cookie playing the ‘load blown’ game. You can Wikipedia that if you want. 

                Lazzyandoh sends texts. These frat bros live wild and crazy lives. Am I jealous? No, not really since they apparently puke and stuff. Puke is not classy. 

                Michael O’Brien writes about frat star lovers. Frat stars experience emotions other than drunk? I did not know. Hope Michael finds a considerate, compassion frat star. 

                Llamaofdoom writes about the dark side of the frat star. Poor frat stars are freaking out pretty hard. Wish they did not have to pop it. 

                Otis Rachtman writes a slam-piece trilogy. I remember listening to a romantic song entitled ‘You’re my number one slam piece’. Here Otis keeps up that tender language, as he splashes water on his balls. A lot of bands play at his frat. Must be cool having bands like MGMT and Dylan at your frat house. 

                Everydayissunny creates philosophical frat stars. They pine about their own fairly useless existence. Poor dudes do not even know what is what, they just strut. Like the reference of Jimmy John’s. Glad I have one of those near where I live. 

                Lazzyandoh wants a 21 year old. They do not think it is cool to brag about all-nighters. Nope, they say he must be in a frat. Ouch, that hurts. Goldfinger is a pretty good band though. It is for the best. 

                Grose explains his mastery of flip cup. Six years of undergrad is twice the amount I had. I spent three years in undergrad. Schools cannot contain me. For my life I travel around on the internet searching for friends and relevancy. I do not have the time to spend with a silly red cup. 

                 Tombombadil666 talks about Lost, the show I never understood. Why did people care about this lost people? I remember once bullshitting an ending to Lost that ended up being the real ending for the series. Feel if I can pull a stupid response out of my head and that’s the reality the writers aren’t trying hard enough. Coors light is classy. Rockies got to get tapped. Why else would Coors taste like drinking melted glacier water? 

                Brushyourtusks says you can sleep with him. Poor frat stars never seem to gain any insight into their extremely limited field of vision.

                LK Shaw slays it. She goes to 666 and meets a guy, probably a demonic creature. Apparently this guy digs LK Shaw. He talks about his hard life. When she says ‘YOLO’ now an internet meme, he thinks they have a connection. Before things get any heavier (via the ‘make-out’ lifestyle) she manages to escape from intense brain-surgery bro. We never learn if he was a frat star. She leaves that to our imagination. He probably was though. 

                Wonder if frat stars would ever truly understand alt lit. Considering their fondness for flipping red cups and ‘living in the moment’ I feel it is safe to say ‘No’. Though some frat stars probably would feel right at home in the ‘shitstorms’.

Illuminati Power Hour #5

                Steve Roggenbuck juices it. We see him drinking apple juice on the rocks. Steve’s transformation is complete: he is the official host of the Illuminati Power Hour. This is the fifth power hour. Steve is hitting the juice box pretty hard. For Steve, the juice box is toddler alcohol. Minutes go by as Steve talks about his spiritual journey across America. Everyone listens to Steve as he goes over his packed life. He is a reflective place. Unrequited love exists between Steve and the dog. The dog is enlightened Steve tells us. Lit Game is the Candyland of alt lit. 

                ‘Put your dead things in me I have room in me’ Steve begins a dark poem. It is a sad poem. Outside in the poem it is raining. Steve references rain in a lot of his poems. He writes how dead people smell all dead and stuff. Glad I live on the internet so I can check this out. Happy he debuts it on the internet before he writes it down. Next to Steve a dog sits. I like the dog. Dogs scare me a little. I give this dog a 7.9, it is a good dog, but not ‘Best New Music’ quality dog. Only bulldogs get ‘Best New Music’ scores.  

                Hash tags are invented by Steve. #WADEing is a new one. (WADE – We All Die Eventually) is a new saying darker than YOLO. Use it. Never let it go. Hug the hash tag with all your life. YOLO: You only live once are explained by Steve Roggenbuck. Steve lives YOLO. For Steve his dreams are the American landscape. He is in Michigan, his homeland. Apparently Steve lives so hard because he does not believe in reincarnation. I believe it. My life as a sloth is slower-paced than my life as a human. 

                We hear Steve’s plans for readings. Steve is tired. People think Steve is crazy when they meet him. IRL Steve is chill, very chill. When he hung out with me I made sure Steve was chill by failing to turn on the heating in my apartment. Then Steve chilled hard via the unheated lifestyle. Hope Steve gets enough sleep. I know about sleep. I’m a sloth. Sloths invented sleep. While humanity thinks combustion engines and skyscrapers are cool, keep this in mind: sloths help you sleep at night. Fuck counting sheep. Count sloths. We are your friends. Sorry we do not make sweaters like sheep do. 

                Stephanie Cook reads. I dig Stephanie. The Alt Lit world loves Stephanie Cook. Campground slutis her main online presence. For the reading she wears a yellow dress. I cannot believe she is wearing the same dress my wife wore. That’s strange. I’m shocked by her literal pieces of paper. Matt Margo busts out his long disused ‘DMW’ to Stephanie Cook. Glad Matt Margo is flirting online. As she leaves Steve tells us about a high profile interview he is doing. A blog hits the spot. 

                I made it online. My reading starts at the 39 minute mark. Adjust your volume down. For the reading I read my favorite poem ‘American’. This is close to the 4th of July anyway so why not celebrate America’s great accomplishments? I thank ‘unsure if i will allow my beard to grow for much longer’ for putting out this deeply weird piece. I think I captured the madness I envisioned.

                Buttercup McGuillicuddy is coming out with a wonderful publication this summer. Check out the details right here. I read this poem as well. Currently it exists nowhere. Soon it will be somewhere on the internet. David Morton called it ‘Enthusiasm Fuckfest’. JMS DVS called it ‘Dr. Seuss on bath salts’ and ‘Satanic Dr. Seuss’. Honestly those are the best descriptions I’ve ever heard. 

                Glad people like my writing now. When I was younger people hated my writing. Now I know those people were stupid. Baby kisses are the municipal bonds of parenting. Tupperware is the most dad-wave thing I do. I expose my lifeguard past. Matt Margo we need to eat seaweed at some point. Sadcore Dadwave: please send it submissions. IAMGAYPRESS brings out a new piece which will be reviewed later today. 

                 Steve explains his need to cuddle. Cuddling is good for Steve. Eating, showering, sleeping, and seeing nature is important to Steve. Readings are good for Steve. Online is more and more of Steve’s life. For me I love the computer life. IPADs are pathetic sad things. Poor IPADs they will never know true love. Social media is all of Steve’s life. 6 to 8 hours is the necessary block of time for Roggenbuck. 

                Email is the loneliest social media that you’ll ever do. Steve still will use his movement for dribbling his Macbook. Prepare yourself for basketball with Roggenbuck. Most poetry is ‘NPR shit’ according to Steve. Steve is the CBS of poetry according to Marshall Mallicoat. 

                Walt Whitman was completely himself. Steve loves the snot out of Walt Whitman. Metal is Steve’s old timey phase. Few know this but Steve is a metal head. It is remarkable. He’s an accomplished drummer. People tell Steve he is cool. He agrees. We hear badly played splash cymbal. Steve hates on the cymbal. Poor cymbal never should have been in metal, should have stuck with jazz flute music. ‘Broken bodies of the innocent’ is the name of the band. 24 is an old age but not as old as me. I am so old 39 on July 27th. Send me something sweet for my birthday. 

                The camp trip was very satanic. Overdosing on happy is ok with me. I’m too optimistic sometimes. Every day I try not to love life. That’s impossible. Life is too wonderful. It ends. I can’t wait until Illuminati Power Hour is syndicated.

Various Artists

                Various Artists returns for its monthly installment. Get jacked up. You are a pogo-stick. Music is your ground. Jump around. I am. This may be my favorite thing I do. Nothing I do consistently has the same title. I am working out this section due to my inclusion on ‘bestmusicblogs’. Really it is an honor to be there. I do this music blog thing purely out of a love for music. When I see others find me through the music reviews well that makes me keep on trucking. And believe me, as a sloth, I really need a truck. I can’t move on my own. 

                Cold Wraps begins it. How do they do it? They really enjoy themselves on this simple track. I like the silly, sloppiness of this track. It reminds me of the animated antics of Harlem and other successful garage rock bands. How they keep a semi-serious tone while they sing out ‘I’m going to slime you’ is amazing. About time Slimer got his own song but then the 80s are back in full force. 

                A Beta Movement is mellow pop. See that hair wave? Yeah, that should give you some idea. This is a greater laid back track. Most of this has an effortless quality to it, embodied in that hair flip. What they do sounds so easy. It is precisely due to their work that it has that impression. At some point this year they are releasing an album. I’m looking forward to it. 

                Equateur(Haunted Remix) reminds me of one of those 80s movies I watched as a mere child. I feel those 80s movies had a bit more fun. A few of them even were true ‘art house’ kid movies. Wish movies still did that, movies like ‘Twice Upon a Time’ were truly beautiful. On this track Marius hits all the right pieces of nostalgia for me, 80s, early 90s techno.  I miss it. Please someone bring back 90s trance. I need it. 

                Ubik continues in the proud circle of so many wonderful Italian experimental artists. Lately so much great music has been coming out of Italy. This little floating piece seems to confirm my hypothesis that Italians innately know how to make experimental approachable. In this album teaser Ubik gives a great deal of light and warmth to these pieces. Sure, the guitar helps, but by keeping the guitar at the forefront and using it sparingly, it is an extremely warm sound. For me the ending in particular, with its blend of digital and acoustic textures, is moving.

                Lantern does what it usually does: lo-fi rock and roll. This is rock n’ roll in the traditional sense: lots of noise, chaos, and volume. Chrome’s wasted spirit is present in this particular song, especially with the vocalist. Feel that: that’s the sound of a bass with no space. Most of the volume feels totally warped. You get the sense this is on a seriously damaged cassette. What is particularly nice is the ridiculous guitar solo towards the end of the track. Here is where Lantern lets everything go into a fast rush towards the finish line of the piece. It’s demented, good old fashion fun.  

                The Slaves are coming out with a threat-filled album soon. Until then we have this piece: it is infused with nightmarish dread. I say that since the music comes from far away. Also, the Slaves appear perfectly fine keeping the darkness at a distance. While it threatens to grow in intensity, it never quite reaches out and grabs your throat. I like the mixture between soothing and tortured. ‘River’ is quite beautiful. Hope the whole album is this good. 

                Brown Bread offers a teaser of her upcoming album, due out at some unspecified point in the future. This is bedroom pop at its most bedroom-friendly. She presents two songs. In both of them it sounds like Brown Bread records in a subterranean subway. Perhaps I have seen Brown Bread busking while taking the N, Q, or R train. I am uncertain. These are the sorts of songs that get stuck in your head. Let them. It is okay.

                Derek Piotr continues his approach to real life. Here we have a live excerpt. The music is nearly silent at this time. While it is quiet it builds up an unreasonable amount of tension. At times Derek appears ready to pummel the audience into submission. Clearly he has the tools to do so. Yet he refrains from doing so, preferring to create a brooding atmosphere.
                 To sort of ‘close-off’ this edition of Various Artists I have that inspirational piece, the compilation of Bad Pop. Indeed, this section is structured after the compilation. Plenty of artists I listen to on a ‘round the clock’ basis started as mere footnotes in a compilation. On this compilation the artists explore small twee electronic music. Electronic pop does not have to be big or loud. In fact, little of it is particularly loud or boisterous. Some of these artists go for classical approaches such as ‘Ouisa Hound’. A few veer into that delightful genre of bastard pop like ‘Dalliance’ or ‘DannielRadall’ which is a re-interpreted lost 70s hit. Miami Daze takes a loopier view of that pop sensibility. Fonobisa goes further, transforming into what appears to be a heartfelt homage of Gas’s famous album ‘Pop’.

                Community Records has a delightful compilation, a 27 track sampler available here. I really like Community Records. A few have speculated I am from New Orleans due to my affinity for Community Records. I’ll never tell you my origins. Sorry. Let me say though that if you ever needed an introduction to some of the most interesting bands in New Orleans here’s a good place to start. 27 tracks is a lot and I have covered some of these bands extensively (particularly Caddywhompus and Chris Rehm). There are some new bands that I enjoyed as well, like Cliff Hines and KIZ & Legin. Please take a moment and check it out. This is a perfect summer mix.
                I am extremely pleased with 2012 musically. An Animal Collective album, a Grizzly Bear album, a Dan Deacon album, these things make me a very happy music blogger. The near future excites me.

Sunday, June 24, 2012


                Sian Rathore lives the shoplifting lifestyle. I worry. Anybody who lives the shoplifting lifestyle needs to be careful. You always got to look over your shoulder. Who knows who could be watching? The security cameras take no prisoners. People do. Glad she sticks to the necessities of food. No need to go into the whole shoplifting from American Apparel. Tao Lin did write a book about it. Hope Tao Lin does a sequel about shoplifting (though there are shoplifting scenes in Richard Yates as well). If Tao Lin does a sequel I want him to title it ‘Shoplifting from Bagel Smith’ where he shoplifts Pumpkin Seeds. 

                Heathcliff wants to ‘get down’ with Cathy. Cathy may be into bestiality. I think bestiality is okay in the cartoon world. Now Heathcliff is rich thanks not to his online presence (which is pathetic) but due to his incredibly popular ‘Heath Bar’ collection. You may have had a Heath bar. 50% of all heath bar proceeds go to supporting Heathcliff’s fat cat lifestyle. 

                Poor Sian misses you. You know who you are. Refrain from taking her medication. That’s unchill. Erotic asphyxiation is scary. Play with erotic asphyxiation you play with fire. Get a code word if you swing that way. Suicide pacts are hardcore. Sian steps away from that edge because she’s my friend. She has an online presence to maintain, sad dads to publish. Duels are held with reflections. Reflections are tough to outgun. Reflections were the quickest guns in the Wild Wild West.

                Gin needs to be picked up. She thought she called about love. Is love gin? Maybe in the poetic world in the UK it is. I love the UK. I am an Anglophile. Her pillow has your face crudely drawn on it. That is romantic. Romance is a comfy bed. I like it when beds smell of others. For me that is the most beautiful feeling, unless you are Crust Punk and never shower. Strap-on for you are in for a rough ride with a literal strap-on. That is beautiful. She compliments you for your good work. Your name becomes Susan if you brag about it. Proud of Sian because that’s the way you do it. 

                I feel old. This reminds me of my age. Alt lit, for all its silliness, is intelligent, remarkably so. Hope alt lit as it grows in size and age does not lose its clear-eyed wisdom. Sian loves public transport. No car can hold Sian. She needs a bus to contain her enthusiasm. Love this chapbook of her love for the anonymous reader. Maybe you are that reader and you know it. Maybe we are all being addressed for Sian loves the internet.