My car is dead. Long live my car. It is (was) a 2006 Volvo C70 convertible, and godDAMN did I love that thing, but as is the theme for the year, it went ahead and died on me. I am now back to being just another passenger of the public transportation clusterfuck known as Metro Transit, but I find myself enjoying it more than I used to. Why? Because, if we’re being honest here, outside of the day job, I don’t have any real contact with people outside of the same half-a-dozen weirdos in my rotation. Just being able to observe the other passengers reminds me that I’ve written entire stories based on tidbits of conversations overheard on the bus, or more recently, the trains. It also is forcing me to get back on my skateboard regularly, a practice I find to be more of a “rolling meditation” than anything. So, as I make the journey from the West End to Highland Park and back, I’ll be observing that which makes humanity the most absurd creature on this planet: humans themselves.
I very recently got approval to include four stories and the artwork that goes with them that previously appeared in a short story collection known as “Cesspool” in my short story collection/career chronicle that I’m calling “A Patchwork Body”. I can’t tell you how excited I am for this. Those four stories, to me, sit above the rest as I was given the art for them first, then wrote the accompanying pieces. For those of you who haven’t read “Cesspool” go check it out, and I can assure you that the four I will be including in “APB” along with the art, will add something to this collection that is undeniably horrific.
This solitude can be maddening at times, and other times, it can be downright fucking glorious, but I still have to remember to speak out loud every once in a while, because those first few words out of my mouth every day are starting to sound like the voice of a stranger. If you think that sounds weird, imagine how I feel hearing that voice.
That’s all for today, but a longer and more in-depth analysis of…something…will be coming shortly. After I go get cigarettes.