sweet sweet jensen wilder drew this for me. isn’t it lovely? don’t you guys think he is great at drawing the notoriously difficult hands? i think i love him:
this isn’t the first time a boy has drawn me dick though. look at the dedication from sam pink in my copy of frowns need friends too:
is it something about me? hmmm. anyone else want to send me naughty sweet drawings of our appendages? mail [at] downinme [dot] com
soon soon really soon, but in the meantime here’s a poem because i know how you start jonesin’ (okay, i start jonesin’) and everyone hates a comedown. what a great weekend, right? what did you do? i kissed girls two at a time and hugged everyone and my body was like wow what is this stuff! my brain was spewing purple liquid in firework shapes. we are really alive today but let’s not try for 48 hours non-stop okay? i am filled with love for you lonely and breathing.
If I were the need for a pleasant air my mouth would be open
Do up the knots in my skin and quick
Hurl kisses at the orange night
We are not a thing that does what you do
You mean nothing to the thing that is him
There is nothing in a universal quality
That I can’t quite connect
When we talk about me you hear nothing
Nothing is the shape of my mouth when it breathes
It breathes in nothing and says things like third person
That stench is stuck to me
hi, you most of you sweet sweet guys know how much i love dogzplot flash fiction, don’t you, you big stars of the midnight sky. i sent something to barry again and again he liked it enough to publish it which makes me hate myself 0.000002% less. and that is not a measure of how much he means to me, just rather that i harbor many a self-loathing but that is a topic for another of all my stories and i guess what i am taking so long to say is that there is a nuevo pequeño párrafo mio en el chulo perroplotz!
FUN FUN IN THE SUN SUN! HOLIDAY WEEKEND COMPREHEND!
and here is a fun video to make you smile because my story maybe won’t! chow!
i’m giving up on writing and living and stuff. seems pointless that the sun keeps coming up every fucking day. even though you can barely see it from where i’m standing there is a sun and it keeps coming and making light of things on the daily, making light of loneliness and self-esteem and lack of empathy and etc. i want to get a friend that doesn’t mind to fuck me when i am sad. i want to have a friend that doesn’t mind to. do you have a friend? what’s he like? i want a girl to give me a lapdance like i’m a boy in a story inspired. will your friend sing to you when you are in the bath? i want a friend that calls me names like baby and shitface and love. if i were your friend i’d call you and i’d mean it. i want to move to ohio. should i move to ohio? seems like shit is popping in ohio. i guess i’m at that point where i’m no longer a secret and i want to be serene, you know what i mean? i’m sitting in the sun because the other chair is occupied and that’s okay. fucking sun. just kidding there is no giving up. there is no london and ohio there is just death and life and everything is the same as everything else and i am you and you are me so you should really stop writing this now and go do something that someone thinks is worth something maybe.
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so the other day on ‘other’ i wrote this thing about mysterious daniel spinks, and his beautiful bear parade e-book, small pale humans, and it had a yum response from a few glowing internet humans and i wanted to gather it here because i don’t know why, just to remind myself that things can make ripples and stories can be eaten and strangers can be in love and when i want to die again i’ll try to remember that.
gene morgan: Three years ago I picked him up at his home and we went to a party. He’s a very nice person.
I’m pretty sure he’s been working on a book, I heard, somewhere. At least, I’ll be disappointed if he isn’t.
ryan call: ani, thanks for this. ive not thought of spinks in a while, but i like sph a lot. i think it is my favorite bearparade book. im going to reread it now.
kevin: I had a similar experience to both you and Crispin with this story. It is probably one of the top 2 most memorable stories from Bear Parade. It’s also one of the first few stories I had ever read on-line. Strangely, I always ask myself “Does Daniel Spinks have a wife?” every time I read it. For whatever reason I feel that knowing the answer to that question change how I read the story.
@jensenwilder Good morning - I’m reading http://bit.ly/cTeiDk after getting a heads up from @ani_smith’s article on otherother.org
@scattermole This is really brilliant and disturbing and funny: http://bit.ly/c7ULk7 All of it is. Offer yourself to it. /@ani_smith
@amphibius @ani_smith that book changed my life
@amphibius @ani_smith when i finished that book i searched for him on twitter and was so sad when he wasn’t here. hugs
Friday, 13 August 2010, 23:39, Missed Call, Status Aborted.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 00:01:01. Text Status: Sent.
Where exactly are you? In front of the club?
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 00:01:47. Text Status: Received.
By telephone box
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 00:03, Placed Call, Duration: 1:22.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 00:06, Received Call, Duration: 0:14.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 02:16, Received Call, Duration: 0:09.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 03:00, Missed Call, Status Aborted.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 04:08, Missed Call, Status Aborted.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 04:09, Missed Call, Status Aborted.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 04:09, Missed Call, Status Aborted.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 04:10, Missed Call, Status Aborted.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 04:10, Missed Call, Status Aborted.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 05:16, Missed Call, Status Aborted.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 05:18. Voicemail received. Transcript follows.
[Unintelligible.]
hello? where are you man? where are you? where are you man? where are you? where are you man? where are you? where are you man? where are you? can’t hear you man. can’t hear you man. where are you man. are you outside man? where are you man. man, where are you. you know, where are you man. yeah? yeah? where are you man? where are you man?
[Pause. Shuffling. Music.]
send me a text and tell me where you are. send me a text and tell me where you are. send me a text and tell me it’s you. tell me where you are. send me a text and tell me where you are. send me a text and tell me it’s you. send me a text and tell me where you are. send me a text and tell me it’s you.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 05:22, Missed Call, Status Aborted.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 05:23. Voicemail received. Transcript follows.
[Music.]
hello? where are you? where? where? can’t hear you. go to the sofas. go inside and go to the sofas. go inside and go to the sofas. go inside and go to the sofas. go inside. sofas. go inside. sofas. go inside. go to the sofas. go inside. go to the sofas. go inside. go to the sofas. go inside. go to the sofas. go inside. go to the sofas. go inside. go to the sofas. go inside. go to the sofas. go inside. go to the sofas. go inside. go to the sofas. inside. SOFAS. INSIDE. SOFAS.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 05:16, Missed Call, Status Aborted.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 06:33, Placed Call, Duration: 0:02.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 06:33, Placed Call, Duration: 0:02.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 06:34, Placed Call, Duration: 0:03.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 06:51. Voicemail sent. Partial transcript follows.
[Crying.]
Saturday, 14 August 2010, Total calls placed between 06:51 and 07:49: 19, Longest duration: 0:03.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 15:27, Missed Call, Status Aborted.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 15:30, Missed Call, Status Aborted.
Saturday, 14 August 2010, 16:05, Placed Call, Duration: 6:51.
you used to be excited to receive an email from me. when the counter said (1) you immediately thought that maybe it was me and a small dolphin would do flips in your stomach. now you groan a soft groan and click away until there’s nothing left to click and then maybe you roll a cigarette and come back and click on my email and give another soft groan while you skim it before clicking delete.
this is how i see you sometimes when i think about myself. how many words i’ve thrown at you people. i think that if i were a giant crater my face would definitely glow like a pale moon. is pale moon a cliché? i don’t care.
did you read the insurgent yet? i’m not going to shutup about it ever.
i am excited about a puppy story i wrote that is forthcoming in elimae. i have never said the word forthcoming that much before. i get why people use it in that way, feels vaguely hopeful. like maybe we’ll actually never die. yes i am declaring that the word forthcoming is good and just and only pretentious in the way that attempting to live life is a pretension, that is to say, existentially.
when i think about elimae my body feels like a giant bowl of mashed potatoes that are really creamy because your mom mashed them up lovingly with an extra pat of butter and splash of milk. i want to eat me with biscuits and gravy and fried chicken and grape soda and throw up double rainbows all over america so that guy can come hard ribbons in his pants again shouting WHAT DOES IT MEAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!
i want to make reactions in you.
sometimes when i scratch myself i want to open a big hole in my chest and pour vodka lemonade in it and pump it out through all the pre-existing holes in my face.
oh my god i just wrote a long blog post! i feel good about blogging lately. feel like i am single-handedly reviving ‘the personal blog’. what? don’t eyeball me that way.
ok, ok, maybe i am not single-handedly reviving blogs. i just like saying the words single-handedly, it makes me feel driven. i actually want to be ridden like a pony.
i think what i’m saying is that this guy is also writing and sharing again and that fills the heart-shaped balloon in my chest with nitrous oxide and makes my brain tickle and my fingers go numb.
finally, in honour of the ani smith down in me blogging revival of 2010, here is a poem:
Some of the burns are to the point of scabbing and I feel intolerable
there is a fuzzy brown bear sitting on my sternum
he sings things and paws me but it doesn’t help really
i wish we never stopped writing emails
emails were the most hopeful
i lost something when i tried to gain something
all of life seems so difficult
like washing my hair was an accomplishment today
raising eyelids will be an accomplishment tomorrow
even though i have done it almost every day now
it still feels like forever
this turmoil
is good for blogging though, right
except i lied
my hair is still dirty
i implore you to feel me regardless
This is where I kept the little white mounds and in the morning we ate bread. This is where I kept that feeling of having never been so alone, right under the set of mugs with the pictures and the words on them. I don’t know, but this is where nothing much happens until it does and then nothing much happens until it does. The light is always off when you can’t see. This is where the smell has changed. This is where you kept me crawling backwards and forwards like a wind sail. I wanted kool-aid, I really did. This is where I kept dying. I think Britain wants me to be gooseliver pate, I don’t know what I want to be. Over here, this is where our meat kept changing color in the sun. This is where one day you were bright pink. Me I was blue, I have always been blue and this is not me trying to do a metaphor. No one has seen me for days but that doesn’t mean I stopped existing, it’s just the nature of my insubstantial form, it’s just an empty oven in a room, it’s where I am hiding out because what if they don’t come for me?