Answers to Your Google Q's (4) ANNE FRANK FOOD

(from London, England 9/17/08 09:45:54 AM)

Q: what did anne frank eat and drink when she was in the cupbourd

A: Anne Frank had large rivets in her skull cut from where while she lay in the womb her mother had smoked 'skonk,' Anne Frank's mother was heavy into the late 1920's Manchester black metal scene and had imprinted a large tattoo of a jackrabbit on her hind ass, as a result Anne Frank was capable of storing vast quantities underneath her hair that in her younger forgetful years she would often forget about until the taffy or goose fur or tea leaves she'd shoved inside herself had begun to rot and grow mold, it was because of the blue mold off a certain early kind of Triscuit that Anne Frank lost most of the vision in her right eye and often would faint without warning when she heard certain tones from birds, Anne Frank's favorite food was Gugg, Gugg was a brief-lived creation of a Scottish marketing firm determined to resell their own detritus to the consumptive public, the food of Gogg contained the eyelashes, sore sports, scabs, lice, pubic hair, teeth strippings, sleep rot, and various other orifical crud, the crud was packaging into a bright brown mass that resembled hashbrowns and smelled like bees, Anne Frank would eat Gogg until her mother touched her face and said an incantation, Anne Frank's whole head during the period she remained hidden in the cupbourd was lined with Gogg from inch to inch, so thick so that she could not feel herself thinking, could not feel her insides absorbing the Gogg into her brain, in certain early editions of her diaries, the phrase Gogg, or some derivative blather conjured by the post-hypnotic effects of its consumption, is mentioned every third word, such that famous sections such as: "I've reached the point where I hardly care whether I live or die. The world will keep on turning without me, and I can't do anything to change events anyway. I'll just let matters take their course and concentrate on studying and hope that everything will be all right in the end." in their initial format read: "I've Gogged the smeepie where I hardly borshbum Gogg I Gogg or Gogg. The neepy-nee-naw will keep on Goggsleereening without me, and Gog can't Gog anything to Gog lissmissum anyGogg. I'll just Gogg matters Gogg their leiffumwitzis and ictrerunnum on Gogg and Gogg Gogg Gogg will Gogg all Gogg in the nordvunt." The edition commonly known as 'The Diary of Anne Frank' was then mostly generated in a post-trauma legal battle between the Frank estate and Gogg Inc., which was finally settled in that Gogg Inc. agreed to 'correct' the final work of the passed daughter surreptitiously and without credit, the production of which by and large directly led to Gogg Inc.'s financial ruin and subsequent dissolution.










Does anyone know a good printer who does very short run products? Like 100-200 copies of small things, nice, perfect bound, cheap?









Finalizing proofs on EVER, Derek's art for this thing is gorgeous and perfect, he will be running some previews of the art on his blog I think in the near future, and maybe an excerpt on the new web version of Sleepingfish, which I am already vastly enjoying in its web nature, another node. Looking like it might be released before the year is out, or by my birthday in January at the latest. Finalizing now and blurb collection, Ethan Hawke has been tapped.






I finally uploaded the video of us doing Sam Pink's A PLAY FOR TWO PEOPLE at the No Colony reading in Atlanta. My camera is really old so it makes a little clicking sound sometimes, and it is kind of dark in the room, but otherwise it came out okay I think.










Fuck Sam Pink.

For the next five people who order No Colony with the note 'fuck sam pink' included I will include an extra book from a pile of good books, that offer is good through Friday.

Answers to your Google Q's (3) LITTLE WHITE PELLETS

(from Winston-Salem, North Carolina, 9/24/08 09:21:56 AM)

Q: what is wrong when there is little white pellets coming out of the vagina

A: Initiated to American Markets in fall of 1968 via hypodermic injection pronged on the back of miniature plastic horses inserted in a certain now-defunct brand of chocolate breakfast cereal, the bacterial weapon Noadsditzbleebdacht Unbeewboid Oftt Krissit, also known in various urban outlets as 'Krackerz,' 'Noder's Dysfunction,' and 'the Slip,' is a semi-common side-effect of hormonal discharge most often found in women aged 3 to 33. While mostly confined to female homeowners within a one-mile radius of Bojangles restaurants, the strain has also been located in anterior regions of upper Iowa and the undercity alleys of Scranton, and should be treated immediately on contact by telling absolutely no one one. A warm dishtowel slathered in baking grease and sandwich squeeze-outs should be rolled into a cone and inserted in the vaginal opening while standing in the sunlight of the largest room in the homeowner's home; if the vaginal opening has become too overloaded with pelletry, the anal cavity can be alternatively acquiesced, though the size of the towel should be upped to 'beach,' and should be fully lodged inside the body for proper effect. Because the state is highly conductive, the sufferer should immediately procure safe vessel in the form of outdated sportscar or Styrofoam cooler emblazoned with Dallas Cowboys logo, the lining properties of which have been said to increase vagina curing. All liquids should be avoided for 8 to 80 hours while giving the vagina a chance to 'chill out,' and further liquid consumption, AKA 'asking for it' may cause the vagina to become engorged, and in some cases has proved to produce resin and/or salt water taffy and/or fleshy material easily mistaken for ankle socks. If after 180 hours the pellets still appear, acquire a medium to large sized window dressing from local funeral home, deep fry, and mail to your mother. Other related side effects include anal branding, blood hiccups, accelerated Spam email incursion, hypnosis caused by auditory intake of the word 'beeper,' nasal swelling, and an increased desire to play jacks on a uptown-bound city bus.









Matt Kirkpatrick, of Barrelhouse/FC2, has initialized a new web lit journal: IMPROBABLE OBJECT, the first issue is me, Justin Taylor, and Davis Schneiderman, the site looks beautiful, I like it, I like Matt, congrats to him on being mentioned in Notable Nonrequired Stories of 2008. Thank you Matt.








Today I have eaten mostly only peanut m/m's, baklava, and a fucklot of coffee, my brain aches. Help me stop coffee.. Concentrating is hard. I promise myself I am going to concentrate a lot this week and focus and not drink beer, I don't know why I need to do that, yes I do, I have been feeling a lot lately like 'I want to do something but I don't know what I want to do but it's not read or write,' then after I spend forever working myself up into it I feel happy and enjoy, RICKY'S ANUS is like 23k words now, today I wrote about Ricky's thumbnail or something, I want to publish RICKY'S ANUS sentence by sentence, no stories or excerpts, just sentences, maybe I will send out some sentences, they are mostly long runons. Right now I feel too full, I am always hungry until I eat to the point of too full now, tonight I will watch the finale of I LOVE MONEY, I like watching I LOVE MONEY, after it is over we are canceling our cable, I feel good about it, maybe I'll rejoin Netflix, though usually I feel like there's nothing left I want to see







I am trying to be quiet more often

Answers to Your Google Q's (2) VEGINA

Because I can't quite make my head stay unshitted, here's another answer to questions that resulted in Googlers finding my blog while looking for answers from Dr. Internet.

It's really just me being immature or something, duh.


(from India, 9/20/2008 7:21:15 AM)

Q: how to find out a vegina whether it is fucked or not

A: Kim Kardashian's pussy made meatloaf every morning in the summer house where I grew up. She sat paper muffins on each side of the container where my knees would knock while we bred cats. Hmmm was all she'd ever say, and her lips made the kitchen portraits of dad's wart-back change complexion. The sweat would pour out of that bitch and we'd go swimming. My swimmies were inflated with more wet, mostly the liquid mold that was sapped out of my father's head wound, so usually I sank. My dick had a tent inside it that I could go hide in for sulking when my paper mask hurt. Shit was all I'd ever say back to her hmmming but I only said it to myself cause I didn't want to get smacked, though once I also said it to the black masseuse who came hid rolled in my shower curtain each morning and would watch me drop the soap on a rope tied to my mother in her cradle in the other kitchen, where one morning after Kim Kardashian's pussy finished with the cooking, mom would braid the pussy's hairs into a weekend vacation at the Honolulu Publix. In the first five minutes, no matter what treats we packed to keep her distracted with the family business, Kim Kardashian's pussy's vegina got really wasted off its own rot and rolled into town to throw its own early birthday party on the place where oil had made the water hard, and it wouldn't answer when we skreeked its name over the beach PA or into the wound in our father, propped on his ass under the bacon ceiling. Then, when Kim Kardashian's pussy's vegina came back, six to eight days later, by which point all of my family had gone home but me, Kim Kardashian's pussy had a flower on its lapel and a little bell between its teeth that it would ring and ring, and when I took by the hand it would giggle and fart through its nostrils and there was always this awful violin noise, and soon we couldn't stand up, and soon we heard my mom's voice shouting through the sunset at Kim Kardashian's pussy's vegina to stop being so fucked and getting its fuck all over me, her only son, and the vegina blushed and threw up a little, and I guess that's the first time I thought anything about anybody.









Yeah, cool, Blake, ok.

I should talk to myself on here more often.







I liked Virus 1 by Brian Oliu in Brevity Magazine, I've actually seen Oliu around a lot recently and like what he is doing.










Finished another draft of EVER today, I think it is very close to final, I am thankful to have something to edit because I can't really get my head on straight enough to write clearly in more than a few hundred words at a time. I haven't been able to read much either. I don't know what's going on.







I want to stop drinking coffee, I will pay a Mormon to come and stand next to me with a biscuit that they can stick in my mouth whenever I try to drink more coffee, it's not doing me any good anymore, maybe I should developed a spiced ham addiction, I bet if you eat enough you'd hallucinate in a way that would be just as beneficial as caffeine.






A famous author this weekend asked me if a watermelon can really be raped, which Yes, a watermelon can be raped.







A white and gold donkey just came into my typing, no shit.







What is an attractive way to get a semi-long complex sentence tattooed on your body? I don't know where, arms? I don't have any conception of the way things like that would be arranged, I can't even put a sofa in a room neatly, but I found a sentence I think I want, I also want some Cookie Crisp so I can remember concretely that that shit is nasty.







I don't want to do anything really, I don't know.

Answers to Your Google Q's (1) TOUCHING THE BABY

I always get a little concerned when I see people arriving at this blog by having typed seemingly serious questions into Google, probably looking for some pertinent answer and instead ending up at this reservoir of mostly not-veiled sexual language, other ranting and blather. I realize that people searching for answers online are probably apt to go astray in their lives if I let them try to construe answers from all this bullshit, so in that light I decided it was time to start answering these Googled questions directly, hopefully in the long run creating a kind of alternative q/a encyclopedia.

Here is the first of such:

(from Tampa, Florida, 9/10/08, 7:36:17 PM)

Q: how does the baby know where my hand is on my stomach

A: Your baby is made of urine. Urine is a high-carbonate polymer, deciduous in certain climates, and highly volatile in the flesh of the mother. When you move your hand to touch your stomach, the baby feels a concurrent ache in the corresponding region of where you are touching, much like the method employed in Cuban Kewpie dolls purchased for destruction of a neighbor. When you touch yourself with the baby in you, the baby's burgeoning urine body translates the ache you have designed for it (lucky you!) into a chemical signal in its inner-forehead (and labia, if applicable), which will to no small extent dictate the drive, will, IQ, manner, employment schedule and lovability of your baby as he/she sheds the urine body and moves to mirror the body you, the mother, have built before him/her in the earthen wall. It is advised in all instances that the pre-birthing mother keep her fingers away from the belly loin unless she (he?) has been well instructed in the manner of plurification and wise-rubbing, in fear of damaging the baby's whole entire life. A mother's hands may be placed w/o fear of repercussion on the mother's (a) forehead (b) cheeks (c) face, other (d) labia, if the child-to-be is son (e) thighs (f) eyes or buttocks (g) mate (h) earlobes (i) windows (j) personal urine (k) wig hair (l) purse.



I hope that more thoroughly answers the question, ma'am.

The internet is dangerous.




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Picked up Dzanc Books's Best of the Web 2008 last night at Borders. Hadn't realized my story The Sentence from Alice Blue Review was listed in the book's Notable Stories of the year. That was a nice surprise, thanks to all of those involved for that. Regardless, the book is a nice collection of all sorts of different kinds of writing, and highlights a wide array of the kind of stuff being done online. I am glad someone is doing this, it is important, I think.

Also thanks to Mike & Ryan at Noo for nominating my List Prayer for Best of the Net (a similar but different enterprise by Sundress from the Dzanc book) 2008. Kind sirs.

- - -



I had to fight myself hard last night to keep from laying down in the floor at Borders, I felt an overwhelming sense of something burning, I leaned a lot to both sides, I was looking at something, there was a whipple




I like when people say declarative sentences in an interrogative fashion, such as: 'I can get a swig of your drank?'

That happens a lot in Atlanta.

I have probably been asked that specific sentence more than 12 times.









They are playing contemporary lite-r&b in this coffee shop. The guy that usually plays Pavement isn't here. I should go.

WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN????????????????????