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I just finished reading a William Gay story that mentioned "an autumnal look of distances." Which is vague, abstract, overly clinical and clunky with vocabulary--but also perfect. No more Nick Drake records needed. That clause is a linguistic summary of Fall.
In other news, I have a story coming out in the new Backwards City Review. I lost a contest to someone with a complete sentence for a name (BJ Hollars), but they decided to print my story anyway. BJ's excerpt makes his story look pretty cool. One time I had a friend named BJ. He went out with a girl I knew from theatre, and I seem to remember something about strip poker and an orgy. Another kid I knew from theatre moved to Sacramento and spends most of his life now "clubbing," high on E. "Clubbing." I think clubbing is 3% dancing, 4% E, 5% going to the bathroom, 25% drinking fruited vodkas, and 63% sitting outside, bumming cigarettes, and talking shit about people in the way of a drum machined powered Truman Capote knockoff.
My story is about a nub.
Please order a copy of Backwards City Review and read it.
Support literature.
Literature has more E's than E.
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