Pointless Update #8

A skyscrape against some cloudsThe drunk crept up on me and now I feel kind of woozy and hot. I want to get up and have some coffee and write about nothing, but instead I’m under a too thick comforter, my wife asleep on my arm and one of my cats asleep on my leg. And the world outside continues. And I’m tapping on my phone again, writing nothing. Would be a good time to listen to a crumbcast

Dry Skin Itch

My skin itches like crazy all over the place and then I scratched my eye now I can’t even type I can’t hardly see shit. 

It just be dry as a Triscuit in the air around here.

My wife told me to floss when I came out of the bathroom too quickly and I couldn’t do it because it seemed so ridiculous and now she’s mad at me.

The cats are snoring and my stomach is churning with all the greasy chorizo. 

I didn’t drink much in preparation for writing something worthwhile tonight but she didn’t fall asleep and we watched Finding Dory in its entirety.

Now she’s flossing and it’s midnight and I’ve got to go to sleep. 

Tuesday Afternoon

Hello. I posted this on Hijacked Amygdala which is a good place to read things.

hijacked amygdala

I waited for the man to come and fix my oven. I knew I should do other things. I sat on the couch, and I waited. I nearly fell asleep.

When he arrived he was a woman. I offered her a drink and sat back on the couch.

When she was done I looked at the table where I had put the tip. It seemed weird, so I didn’t give it to her.

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Correspondence: 31.05.2016

From: Gordon Flanders <gordonflanders@mail.com>
To: Babe <listentothebabe@mail.com>
Date: Tuesday, May 31, 2016 at 7:55 PM
Subject: hot everywhere

Dear Babe

Hello. I am glad your toes are purple. Happy late birthday. I hope it was the most amazing thing.

I am looking forward to 40. Perhaps my toes will be purple then, too. Or maybe they will start at black first. But what am I saying? I don’t know anything about it. At the moment my toes are boring. Someone told me I need a pedicure. I thought that was weird. Usually people just say I have ugly feet. I have a friend who thinks everyone’s feet are ugly and no one should display feet anywhere for any reason. He avoids the beach.

Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.

I have been reading your stories and now your letter my skin is prickly and hot. I don’t know what 40C feels like because I only feel things in F, but I imagine this is it.

My demons have stopped drinking tea and are doing transcendtal meditation. Either that or they’ve left altogether because it’s quiet here. And now that I’ve finished reading all your stories, boring. And despite that I haven’t the time for any of it.

Do you know how many boring things I hate? Almost all of them. I don’t hate them, really, because how does one feel strongly toward something so boring, but I hate that I am forced to live this way.

Yes but of course that’s the whole thing, isn’t it? To be pain free and to have money and to be loved and no one is dying is the whole thing really. And that’s fine. There are no cocktail parties but if there were I’d make stories up. I drank a lot a few nights ago and I was not bored. Then I woke up the next day and remembered that I should only drink alone. I say stupid, stupid shit when I get drunk as if it’s the truth. And lately I’ve been getting drunk with people who don’t know me well enough to know that. And that, especially in the wake of all this boredom, is keeping me up at night.

Ha! As if anything could keep me from sleeping. I sleep constantly, and if I was allowed to I’d be asleep now. I always feel like my life moves to fast, so if someone offered me the power to sleep only one hour a night on the condition that I gave up drinking, I’d probably take it. Then I’d sit around while everyone was sleeping writing down reasons to be dreadfully bored. And if the same person came back and offered to take the power back or add three hours to each of my days and no one would notice, I would probably take the extra hours.

Boring, boring…boring.

I’m reading Dostoevsky’s The Idiot. I’m very bored and I’m very boring and I hope you will finish your novella soon.

You are a sweet and solemn truth.



Writer’s Toolbox: Machine Screw

Didn’t I tell you about this post? Nope. Anyway. You already know what it is. More writing advice fo yo ass!

Conceited Crusade

Having trouble writing anything good this week? Don’t worry about it. Use this method to loosen up and stop caring whether you’re “good” at writing. Lucky for you it doesn’t even matter.

First thing you got to do is have sex with someone. Could be someone you know, could be a relative, doesn’t really matter. Have sex and do it in a comfortable place so that you can do step two without hurting your neck.

Step two is fall asleep. Shouldn’t be too hard if you’ve done step one correctly.

Third, wake up around 2 AM. Don’t set an alarm, just tell your mind to wake you up and then trust yourself. You’re mind is a powerful tool that you should be using to the fullest extent at all times.

Step four, prick your finger with something that’s at least pretty clean.

Use your bleeding finger to write on a…

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Still Counts

The third story about some crazy girls who don’t like to talk too much is finally here. I pushed publish at 11:59 PM, I swear.

In other news, I am DRUNK. Drinking bourbon out of a handmade clay cup and listening to Kid Cudi.


hijacked amygdala

Carmen’s hair was spread out on the concrete next to the pool.

It was Tuesday morning, very early, and they were at Kelsey’s parents’ house in the Catskills.

Carmen laughed as she had been doing.

Emma sat next to her wearing only Carmen’s thick cardigan; her naked legs were in the pool.

“I can’t believe that shit about Candice,” said Carmen. “I still can’t. I won’t.” Carmen pointed up towards the sky.

“I’m getting in the pool,” said Trevor. “One of you ladies should join me.”

Trevor was tall and looked too young to drink.

“Quiet,” said Carmen. “Go put on that song I like.”

“What song?” asked Trevor.

Carmen looked at Emma. “Fine,” she said, “more vodka. How did you get here anyway?”

Trevor laughed. “You’re drunk! I came here with…”

“Vodka!” shouted Carmen. To Emma she said, “Who is that guy?”

Emma smiled and looked out over the…

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No Matter How the Wind Howls

If you read my story last week on Hijacked Amygdala and liked it, I wrote another one which is almost exactly the same. This time there is baseball.

hijacked amygdala

Carmen sat in a park off of Clarkson Street watching teenagers play baseball. She drank wine from a plastic carton and swayed in the wind. No one could play very well in wind like that. Sometimes it was calm for a little.

Carmen was wearing a yellow dress that touched the ground. Her light brown hair was everywhere.

Emma walked up behind Carmen and sat next to her, facing away from the game.

“Why don’t you watch?” asked Carmen.

“Aren’t you afraid to get caught drinking that?” asked Emma.

“What do you mean?” asked Carmen.

“Never mind,” said Emma. She breathed through her nose and closed her eyes. She was short and wore the same pair of jeans all the time.

“Have you seen Tara?” asked Carmen.

“No,” said Emma.

One of the kids hit the ball and the bat rang out clear in the wind.

Carmen cheered and laughed. She drank…

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Your Argument Is So Fucked

Just a quick note, I don’t have time for a lot of what the fucking ever it is that I want to do right now, I want you to know that if you’re going to make an argument for some bullshit ass shit, then use your own damn bullshit facts, aright?

Last thing I want to hear is someone defending astrology by saying something like this: the moon affects the tides, your body is made up of water, therefore the stars affect your life.

Here’s why that’s a terrible fucking stupid thing to say:

Fucking no.

I don’t give a shit if you want to believe in astrology or if you want to believe that your destiny is determined by the size of your asshole. Believe what you want, you’ve got as much chance as anyone of being right in this fucked up universe.

Just don’t use some scientifically accepted shit to back up your theory.

The moon affects tides? Mother fucker, the moon causes the tides, if you believe the scientists.

Body is made up of water. Yeah, that’s what the scientists want you to believe. But why you trying to throw in with that lot when you believe some outright non-scientific shit like stars determine your personality and shit like that. First of all, you think stars got time for some dumb ass shit like that? Hell no.

But no, I ain’t trying to even dissuade you from licking star cunt, what I’m trying to do is let you know, stop using science like you believe in that shit. Motherfucker. Must be kidding me. Must be out your god damn mind. Must be a confused cognitive dissonance lookin’ three year old con artist.

Your body is made up of water? Sixty percent or so? Where the hell did you get that from? You have any experience of that? Does that make intuitive sense to you? No. You fuck, you heard that from some magazine article or Bill Nye the Science Guy. You know what else Bill says? He says astrology is a bunch of bullshit. You going to believe him now? You want to pick and choose now? You want to believe some of his bullshit and not other parts?

Mother fucker why do you believe the stars effect your life? Because it makes sense to you right? Why wouldn’t they? There’s so god damn many of them, for Christ sake, holy fucking fuck how can we have so many of some super massive object and it not affect out lives? Here’s one reason: because you are an insignificant nothing and you’re not even good at it.

Guess what? Mother fucker? How you know there’s so many of them? How you know the solar system is just a small part of the galaxy? You have direct experience of that shit? You laid on your back counting to a billion for a hundred and fifty million nights? Nah, mother fucker you extrapolated from an extrapolation you heard on NPR morning edition.

Guess what the moon does to the tides? Don’t know? Me neither. Why not? Because I ain’t a moon and I ain’t a tide, mother fucker. That’s why. Oh, you heard some shit about the moon causing high and low tide? What, you telling me that gravity crosses the void and pulls the water around? Where’d you come up with that crock of shit? Oh, you didn’t come up with that? Oh, hold on, it didn’t just make intuitive sense to you?

Oh, good, for a second there I thought I was the dumbass.

Oh, you heard that from some reefer head scientist?

Oh! What the fuck?

Guess what scientists say the moon does to the ocean? Moves it around, mother fucker. Guess what scientists don’t say the moon does to the water? Tell it to watch out for a chance for real connection this week.

Oh, you just added that part in for fun? Oh, wait, you don’t believe that the moon can tell the sea what to expect on a day to day basis? Oh, you’re extrapolating again, saying that if the moon affects the way the sea moves, surely a star can affect the way your life moves?

Mother fucker, what do stars (not counting the sun, since you probably don’t believe that’s a star…oh, you do? Why? Just came to you? Doesn’t it seem more plausible that it’s a huge burning god who hates you?)  what do the other, far away stars even do to the ocean? I don’t know, you tell me, you’re the one with the answers apparently. And don’t hand me some bullshit you saw on NOVA.

Look, the world is a fucked up place, and the best research points to it being operated by a wayward cephalopod with Republican sympathies who is just as lost and confused as any one of us. Come up with any kind of crazy shit you want to believe in and have a party. Serve little artisinal crackers and baby arugula quiches. Talk about and reaffirm your beliefs with others. But please come up with your own god damn facts. Stop borrowing shit from a bunch of loonies in lab coats who don’t even know what Venus rising inside of a crab’s vagina means.

Confused? Me fucking too. Some fuck had some stupid ass proof for her completely legitimate belief in the ability of the stars to predict shit and I am angry about that stupid ass proof. Fuck you, asshole!

Damn I wish I was a happy person.