They say he was lost into the sun and he turned himself north and he left without and within to be alone forever and away.  They say he was dead and that he may be dead and that he will never die.  They said they saw him move upon the earth and under the earth and that he was older than the earth and was the earth before form found the chondrites of creation and found him as elementals, iron and nickel and heavy rare earth minerals. “Who is that?” I asked the howling wild animal c... Read Full Story

Goddamn it. The computer, it is stolen. The room mates, they claim no knowledge. There is a rageful and prideful place in me offended by belligerent acts such as these. Luckily, I have the cash to replace it, but that does not make this any easier. I hate them, whoever they are. I should probably go back to the gym again. Lately the running has been useless, so I stopped. Who has time to run ten miles, I ask rhetorically. Not this guy. I certainly have Things To Do. I have been hitting the we... Read Full Story

Last night I was fucking hammered. I got home, but it was ugly. It always is. I’m seeing everything in triplicate and the carbon is staining the periphery. They used to use lead in carbon copies.  Then they fixed it, but lots of them were radioactive. My cousins have a beautiful and fascinating counter top with one zoned Uvarovite crystal right around where my eggs were sitting. It’s a beauty and distracting. But it’s just a counter top. I pored over it for hours, like a cra... Read Full Story

That title has a ring to it.  I may use it for something some day. Have you ever seen a diesel engine run away with itself? It’s a rare condition, and one that only effects diesels. Diesels have no electrical ignition system, no spark you can killswitch and no wires you can unplug.  If they have air and fuel, they run. Diesels are beautiful machines. I saw a Caterpillar run off, once. It had an oil leak in the turbo.  The engine ran hotter and faster, sucking in more fuel and speeding i... Read Full Story

Got my bike out of the shop. Not the one I pedal, the fireball orange one with the motor. It is a motorbike, one could say. I am happy about this.  It needs to spend the night with the battery charging. The bike needs some work.  It needs a tuneup. It needs a bath. Thus doth the pot blackguard the kettle. Goddamn you Wild Turkey! (1) I’m going to sit here and get drunk. That’s plan A. I was going to stay sober whatfor I could ride the bike. The bike needs work. Goddamn you, bike. ... Read Full Story

So, I’ve been forced to write poetry.  I think the point of poetry is basically to remove plot from prose, the more the better. I find the process ridiculous. Want to know how to write poetry? It’s easy. Remove most of the important words and insert line breaks at random. For instance:     Dramamine is the end of any real travel   There’s no one here, just the glow Of sun in blades Through the pulled shades. A living room is couches and chairs and ridiculous things ... Read Full Story

There was this old house I used to frequent next door.  It was a stunning example of Depression era microarchitecture.  All the walls, including internal, were 2X6 studs (vs. the more common 2X4), latticed over with slat and plastered until the walls were nearly a foot thick.  The basement was austere, but well finished by hand labor and user designed.  Everything about the house was over-built.  Anywhere roughcut lumber would do, the owner/builder had personally inspected and dried true boar... Read Full Story

The last of the cars fell down from the sky, upside down and immolated.  The first of the dust covered crawlers emerged, leaving maroon slug-trails of blood and effluent humanity.  The panicked people had already crumpled to the ground in horror or ran blindly into the skidding traffic.  Rock Hammer beheld them sidelong and allowed himself a brief, unbelieving head shake. She was saying something. It was at the end of a tunnel. The hissing scrape of a gray tunnel sound grew and receded as her... Read Full Story

That’s my new Answer. To everything. It seems like nothing is ever really linear anyway.  So, when the subtext starts pushing up from between the lines and jumbling the script, then I say fuck it. It’s complicated.  I’m not going to try and read any of that jumbling invisibility or infer some occulted meaning.  I’m just saying It’s Complicated and ignoring it. I foresee a few issues arising. What if it wasn’t complicated? I don’t give a shit, you shou... Read Full Story

*Note: This might confuse the shit out of some long time readers, especially those from the old blog.  Get over it. “Is that blood on your shoes?” “Probably. Hard to tell.” 1. Rock Hammer does not offer information. He sets a boulder sized fragment of a rock on my table, spilling some soup.  Without asking, he shuttles the coat and gloves on the bench opposite me out of the way to make room for his cask-like body and a near demolished framed backpack. He is wearing sh... Read Full Story