i don’t have an iphone or whatever. a “smart phone?” a “data plan?” my phone just does phone stuff. and i wonder how many years i have before this paragraph is utterly incomprehensible (rather than just largely incoherent).
[ babble on, below the fold. ]
[ the following essay first appeared in fantastic monsters, an anthology 'zine edited by caitlin m., which debuted at the 2010 mocca art fest. you know, in case you were wondering what all the capital letters were for. ]
The courtroom is colder than it was outside, but at least it’s also drier. Soles squeak against the linoleum, resoundingly but a-rhythmically, no matter how one tries to count it out. (Still, who can help but try; it’s an alluring but un-winnable game, a puzzle that can’t be decrypted.) Watches are checked aggressively, proactively: forty-three minutes. Longer, it is noted, than the Feldman jury took, but that, of course, was a once-in-a-career victory. The time elapsed is still less than most consensuses require.
[ the time it is elapsin', below the fold. ]
drought is the newest autobiographical romantic misadventure to wind its un-fortuitous way into the oubliette.
[ read all about it (and buy it, if you like) below the fold. ]
this seductively condensating iced chai latte was prepared for me by all-star barista ryan, back in the summer of aught-nine, just when i needed it most. at the time, my attempts at comprehensive comic creation were being filibustered, as always, by my crippling self-doubt. given my extensive library of unfinished projects, the populace was understandably losing confidence.
[ delicious redemption, below the fold ]
[ egg and cheese with avocado by andie ]
like all new yorkers who truly love their city, we often talk about leaving. there’s just so much to want that isn’t available here; not if you plan to spend your days drawing, anyway. There are things we’d like to have around: open spaces, big old dogs, swimmable waterways, pickable apples, proper mexican food, porch swings, the sea.
[ boy blue's guide to everywhere, below the fold. ]
another day has been banished to the depths of the oubliette. really, it should have been yesterday; that was the kind of earthly rotation that deserves such a fate. but no one ever said time was fair.
the pyramid can be purchased here under the haystack, or read, in an admittedly less gratifying format, over at foldy comics.
i’m not one of those people who’s been whining about the recent change in the weather. yes, the summer was unsatisfyingly brief, but what kind of ungrateful idiot complains about a tempestuous early-autumn day? folks take offense at the season as though it’s done them some injustice; like summer has a will of its own, and uses it to wrong us.
grievances listed below the fold.
we staked out a little den for ourselves in a corner of the departures gate, unpacked our lunches and laptops, and considered how much better a place in which to travel this world would be if all airports made internet and beer so readily accessible. i snapped a few final photographs, set them transferring, and curled up with my new yorker while girlcate searched for the bathrooms and keera foraged for beverages. it’s nice to have fellow travelers to watch your bags while you pee or wander the duty-free shops, and to buy you potato chips while you watch theirs, and to ask you incessantly if you’ve remembered things you need to have and checked things you may not.
do’s and don’ts, after the jump.
so i had this great idea. not great in the sense of life-altering or nobel-worthy, but still pretty great, like when you really want ice cream, and then, all of a sudden and completely out of nowhere, the inspiration strikes you to go out and get ice cream, and when you’re back from the bodega, curled up on the couch watching the gilmore girls and eating ice cream, you look up and think, man, this is freakin’ great.
[ more ice cream, proverbially speaking, below the fold ].
i don’t think of myself as someone who needs taking care of. (someone who wants it, to be sure, but who isn’t that?) and yet here i am, walking into things, misspelling my own name, burning the pasta at two in the morning, and while i’m no competitive chef, honestly, who burns pasta? i’m famous in certain circles (primarily my friends and my cat) for forgetting to sleep and eat, and if it were just that, it wouldn’t be worth mentioning. but at times like these, i forget even to be tired or hungry. carried its illogical end, this is not pretty.
further adventures in unreason, below the fold.
