Trigger Warning: Catholic Gore

 

Got a short story published in Trashlight. It's called Binding and Loosing. Never thought it would find a home because of its rather...unusual nature.

My First Trigger Warning?

 

Thanks to Finnialla at Pulp Lit Mag for publishing my short story The Glass Palace Chronicle. Half Cheever, half Faulkner, half Dick, it comes with a trigger warning for bigotry. 

Let's Break it Down with a Poem About Tinder

 

(Not fro my phone, Wiipedia)

A poem of mine about Tinder is up at Jack Henry's site, 1870 Poems. Why not give it a look, then swipe right, as the kids* say.

*not to be confused with the kids in my basement

Nardo Goes West, Part Two

I spent most of my time on the Capitol Limited sleeping. I went to sleep outside of Pittsburgh and woke up around Elkhart, Indiana. Along the way I woke up briefly in Toledo, then went back to bed. It wasn't the most comfortable sleep, and I think I would've slept better if I took the upper bunk instead of stretching out on the lower bed they made from the seats. The advantage of this one is that I could get up and use the bathroom without breaking my neck. There was also less of a risk of rolling out and also breaking my neck. 

Unbeknownst to me, there were three settings for the light in my roomette. There was complete darkness, complete light, and a third that I left on by mistake. It was the "night light" setting. This left a blue light on. I guess it's supposed to help you find your things before going out to use the bathroom, or meeting someone for a clandestine roomette rendez-vous. I didn't have to do either of those things. I just needed to sleep and rest my body after doing so much walking in Pittsburgh. The blue light made it difficult. I tossed and turned, and not just because of the gyrations of the train.

I got enough sleep to function in the morning. I explored the train as much as I could, and watched as my phone switched from Eastern to Central Time. Walking though the empty corridors of the sleeper car made me feel like I was in a murder mystery. Was I the perpetrator or the detective, or both? All I knew was that I was thirsty, so I went to get myself a drink. They have water on the trains, with little cut to put it in. However, it's difficult to get a hold or them and pull them out of the hole they hang down from. You end up crumpling them and they look like Garth's cup from Wayne's World.

Hey Mr. Spigot, if you're gonna spew, spew into this

One difference between the trains out West and those back East, is that they honk so much more. It doesn't matter if you're in the city, a town, or out in the countryside. The train sounds the alarm more often than I ever heard it on the line between New York and DC. I think it's because the railroad out here is more integrated into the community it goes through. The railroad wasn't built off to the side from places that were already developed, cities and towns grew up around the rails. This means there's more streets crossing the tracks, with cars that have to be alerted. It also means the train runs right by places with kids, such as parks, playgrounds, and backyards. There are times you feel so close to the houses out here, you expect the families inside to invite you in for dinner.

That morning I also made use of the showers. It's not as hard as you might think. You just have to keep pressing this little metal cylinder on the wall to get water. But they give you towels and the supply of hot water is plentiful. If the train banks ones way or another too hard, there's a sturdy metal bar to hold onto. Remember to use your used towels, and the used towels of other people to clean the excess water on the floor in front of the shower. This way people won't slip on what's dripped off your body.

I guess the shower symbol is supposed to be someone either washing their armpits
or singing. I kinda see a guy giving a Nazi salute, which is not
exactly the best look for the door to a shower on a train. Or any shower for that matter.

This is the real Amber Alert. It lets you know
When you've locked the door
to the bathroom or the shower (showers and bathrooms are separate)

Breakfast was simple. The Capitol Limited doesn't have the most advanced facilities compared to the Empire Builder, but it makes up for it with this box. Inside, there was a blueberry muffin, a Kashi bar, a cup of yogurt with fruit on the bottom and granola on the top, and, AND a fruit plate that had pineapple on it. There was also a moisty napkin, to wipe your hands of all the Fructose off your hands. The coffee was basic, but it was complimentary. 

Okay, I didn't take a picture of what's inside, but take my word for it

There's no wifi on the train, unlike the ones that run on the East Coast, including the Pennsylvanian. The Empire Builder doesn't have internet either. At least I could still use the signal on my phone. There were times I couldn't get a signal for that on the Empire Builder. Pretty much from Fargo to Spokane, I couldn't send texts, receive calls, or access my emails. I managed to keep myself busy other ways, namely by writing, editing, and reading Kafka on the Shore.  I also looked at the countryside passing by. It was flat and filled with small towns that drew their sustenance from the nearby fields of corn. The countryside was green and it was a welcome sight for my eyes after so many months of staring at concrete, brick, and steel in Brooklyn and Manhattan.

Alas, the respite did not last for long. We pulled into Chicago, city of windy shoulders.

The Willis Tower looking like one of the knights from Bedknobs and Broomsticks

I didn't have any time to explore Chicago while waiting to switch trains. However, Amtrak is generous with us Empire Builders. They set up a lounge for us in the train station. Other long-distance passages can wait there as well. It's called the Metropolitan Lounge. They offered us complimentary champagne, cheese, and crudites. Most importantly, they have a free place to store luggage, in case you do have enough time to wander off.

The Metropolitan Lounge has two, two levels!

They have a CANDY BUFFET (caveat, it's mostly old people candy)

When the Empire Builder pulled in, they separated the people in the sleeper cars from those in coach. Yes, you can buy a seat in coach and sit there during the whole ride. They seem to have more leg room than the average train car. I saw people sleeping in the seats, so it's possible. You don't have any privacy though. Plus, you have to pay for all your meals on train. The sleepers get to board first, leaving the waiting area where feminine voices play over speakers announcing the track numbers ad nauseam. I had to listen to #13 repeat her number in the face of #15, who spoke hers back.

After boarding I met our attendants, Carl and Carlo (no joke, and I presume, no relation). Carl was responsible for setting up the beds at night and Carlo helped collect our dinner reservations. Breakfast and lunch are first come, first serve, but dinner requires a specific time. Carlo was adamant about the value of the dinner. He kept telling everyone it was a "real meal, with real people." But if we wanted a box with some chicken and a cookie in it, we could place an order for one to eat in the roomettes by ourselves.

Hello, it's me.

The Empire Builder doesn't have any sundries. I should've taken my bag from the Capitol Limited. Keep that in mind if you try and follow my route. That said, the Empire Builder also has towels and sheets, plus free bars of something called "deodorant soap."

This is where my traveling companion would sit, IF I HAD ONE

Big Windows on the World

A surrealist, post- or pre- or sub-apocalyptic vision is at store for you with my latest published poem, "Memorial Park," available for reading at Big Windows Review. I think it's the first poem I've linked to that involves sports. Hence the new label "sports," or as the rest of the world calls them, "tags."

Tomorrow night's there's a reading in my neighborhood, Ditmas Park. Okay, technically the read is in Kensington, but the spirit of the series is Ditmas Park. It's tomorrow at 8PM at Hinterlands (they have no website, so just Google it). Mermaid Witch Joanna C. Valente will be reading.

The Route of the Next Women's March on DC

Hopefully, we won't have to have another march like the one yesterday ever again. Nevertheless I think we need to be prepared for next time. While there was a planned route, it quickly broke down. It was for the best of reasons though, namely that so many people showed up! Inspiring as that may be, I doubt we'll have the freedom to organize ourselves and spread out peacefully under the noses of the authorities in the future.

Now I have no intention of mansplaining here, this is just an idea for the route of the next possible march to take. I think we should start at L'Enfant Plaza and from there head north. Just as a baby was born there once, so shall the next march be born there as well:

This will take the march through the Mall and next to all the important museums. Tourists won't be able to avoid us. After politicians, I think they're the next most important group to reach out to. Then at H Street we will branch off into two groups. Going any farther north will be trouble because there won't be enough space and amenities to support the protest:

One group will head east and curl around Union Station and end near the Capitol grounds to make our case heard to the legislative and judicial branches:

However, that will still leave the executive branch to reach out to, and reach out we will! How? By walking over to 17th Street, then going down past the White House to occupy the space between it and the Washington Monument:

So the next Women's March on DC will look something like this:

Wikipedia's diagram is insufficiently pink

In Between Hangovers and Other Updates

A poem of mine "Father and Son Safari" is up at In Between Hangovers. It was inspired by a story I read about Soren Kierkegaard's childhood.  His father used to walk him around a room in their Copenhagen house and they would pretend to visit a world city, say Paris. Young Soren would be asked to describe various monuments and landmarks one might see in the city while staying in the confines of the room. I guess an armchair would be Notre Dame and so on.

I've decided to begin the process of querying agents again. I took a break the last couple of years because I got discouraged. In that time I wrote several more novels, honed my skills, and rewrote my first novel "The Daybreak Boys," I changed the title from "Everything with Wings Is Restless," and gutted out the interior. It was once a series of journal entries by the narrator. Now it is just straight first person storytelling. The exterior remains: the great bromance of our age. I think it's ready for some strangers' eyes. Not just any strangers. Strangers with contacts in publishing, of course.

So, wish me luck with that. If you've been wishing me luck so far, but in regards to getting poems published on websites, you can stop. Thanks for the vibes and prayers so far, now you just need to direct them towards the world of literary agents.

Finally Some Prose to Post

I know a lot of you don't like poetry and all the fancy stuff that goes along with it. But if reading a line break makes you break down, fear not. I have a short story about the Chinatown Bus in Baby Lawn Literature. Now excuse while I get ready to take the Greyhound to DC.

Title and Deed

This is pretty much how I dress when I 'm a substitute

A new poem of mine is up at the Fat City Review. So you better get yourself over there and have a looksy. Another anthem of exhaustion because variations on a theme are what we all live for.

Louis H. Berman of Annapolis, Maryland Is an Idiot

Sometimes I read a letter to the editor at the Washington Post and suffer a minor attack of apoplexy. Unfortunately since I cannot go to a doctor for a cure and the apothecaries are all closed, I must turn to the next best substitute for leeches: a blog post. Louis H. Berman's letter here, buried away in the paper like a hateful jewel, is today's culprit. In a few spare paragraphs, Mr. Berman asserts the following about what's wrong with the Millennial Generation and while he spouts nonsense, in the process he reveals what is most wrong with the United States: namely that we have become a country willing to believe the most absurd and malicious lies about our fellow Americans. In sum, this is Mr. Berman's "argument:" 

1) Millennials are spoiled and lazy 
2) This is the fault of the Baby Boomers 
3) However, the reason for high unemployment is still not their fault.  Even though they were not in charge of Wall Street when it wrecked the economy, blame falls on the Millennials instead.
4) There are plenty of jobs for Millennials but they are too spoiled to find one. 
5) Millennials are supposed to "learn something" from their parents (who spoiled them in the first place) about what being in a real workplace means. 

I think Mr. Berman needs to go back and actually read the classifieds and want-ads some time. Sure there are plenty of jobs, but many require several years of experience and a decent portion of what do not are unpaid. Try looking for entry-level work Mr. Berman as I have, for multiple companies, in several fields, in different cities. It might be better than just talking out of your ass to tell the damn kids to get off your lawn. Now, you may claim that the Millennials are just too spoiled to take minimum wage, which was supposedly good enough for the folks of your generation. Remember that minimum wage was good enough for all of you because it was higher. A minimum wage job today pays less now when adjusted for inflation. Also, you may not know this because higher education used to cost a lot less, but many Millennials have college debts and need to earn money so that they can pay them off, debts they incurred in the first place so that they might not have to work for minimum wage all their lives.

I'm going to be generous Mr. Berman and assume you are not being motivated by spite, but rather an adherence to the just-world fallacy. In your view, unemployment is high because people are lazy and spoiled, especially young people. I hate to break it to you (who am I kidding, I enjoying enlightening you), but there are not enough jobs to go around. Roughly speaking, there are 3.5 unemployed people per each of the much vaunted job postings you discussed. No matter how many skilled people apply for a position, they are not all going to get it in this economy. The same applies even if they all decide to take minimum wage jobs. Have you been following the news? 44% of minimum-wage workers have either attended or graduated from college. I think we can safely assume they are not waiting out for their dream job. Their dream job is having a job. Mr. Berman, these attacks on a generation are a red herring, especially when you consider long-term unemployment rates among the Baby Boomers. But I guess they must be lazy and spoiled too, because of how the GI Generation raised them. 

This economy sucks. Period. Blaming the unemployed does nothing except possibly make you feel like unemployment could never happen to you. You seem to view joblessness as something that only exists for other people who must have done something wrong. Mr. Berman, this is a fallacy and an insult to the millions of formerly hardworking Americans who have been laid off in the past few years, and all the Americans of all ages, races, creeds, and classes who want desperately to work. Many of us loved our jobs before we lost them. Many of us have taken what we could find in the interim, only to lose those jobs as well. Many of us are the victims of discriminatory hiring practices that make it difficult for the unemployment to get work. Many of us graduated in the middle of a terrible market and could never get a leg up. Many of us have put having families on hold. Many of us have put owning a house on hold. Many of us avoid seeing our friends and family out of poverty and shame. Many of us go to bed every night praying for either a miracle or to be allowed to die in our sleep. 

And here Mr. Berman, is where I am going to engage in the same kind of attacks that you have, employing (see what I did there?) both the ad hominem and the gross generalization. Now, I am not doing this because it helps my argument, but because it is fun. You sir, are a dumb asshole. Unfortunately, you are not alone. The audiences of the GOP debates were filled with your ilk. You do not have any facts to back your assertions up, relying instead on worn-out narratives that have been applied to every previous generation. Despite setting yourself up as some sort of expert, you offer no real solutions to the problems you decry either. You lack any long term vision and fail to grasp the structural issues we are mired in. On top of this, you are callous. You are mean. You are judgmental even though your previous ignorance shows you have no right to claim any sort of capacity for judgment. 

Now if you were smart and an asshole, you would at least have enough self-interest to be worried about the true causes behind the problem of persistent unemployment because it affects you. Instead of spouting off against the usual suspects guilty of the usual sins, you would have some intellectual curiosity about several real solutions. If you were dumb and kind you might not grasp the nuances of the situation, but you would at least have nice things to say to those who are suffering. Of course, it would be best if you were both smart and kind, but I am willing to settle for the other two options if it keeps you from writing another letter to the editor at the Washington Post ever again. 

Dirty Children's Stories and Other Tales

 

According to my stats, I'm big in the Ukraine this week, which is not an accusation that the Ukraine is weak in any shape or form.

This week I have two stories to present to you all.

The first is Archibald's First Words up at Fiction365.

The second is called Julia and Raul and is at Jersey Devil Press. This was an attempt to write a nice children's story and the result was, well, a little off the mark. I guess I should've chosen a different set of objects to imbue with human traits.