From last year’s edits of my contemporary classic Maintenance. Don’t be like me.
SAD YACHT
Gus Farquhar’s yacht is parked in the middle of his lawn, propped on cinder blocks, its hull glaring at you as you round the bend to their house. Its decals are peeling and its rain-spattered nose stinks of rust, but it is still inarguably a handsome vessel. I’ve heard that Gus and family once sailed it around the South Sandwich Islands. Now they’re listing it locally as mint, though anyone can see it is anything but.
Maintenance, Wingdings2
Here is my critically-acclaimed novel Maintenance, set entirely in Wingdings2. You’re welcome.
COSMIC SPOKES
01 Overture (2:33)
02 Race to Zotex III (4:29)
03 Docking Procedure (2:37)
04 Cosmic Spokes (2:47)
05 Patrol/Telescension (2:26)
06 Lil Squiddy (2:51)
07 Radio Physics (2:15)
08 Memories of Quasar K (3:01)
09 XD89:C (3:36)
10 Manoeuvres (2:51)
11 The Reckoning (4:01)
12 Re-Warp (0:52)
13 Space Sickness (2:57)
14 Cosmic Tone Poem (1:42)
15 To the Robot Factory (2:29)
16 Into the Space Blob (2:57)
17 Heroism (3:37)
18 Emergency/Vapours (2:25)
19 Atomic Liquidation (0:45)
20 Romance in the Stars (2:59)
21 Lunar Landing (2:17)
22 Radioless (1:20)
23 Closing Credits (3:54)
?
[…] she’d expected to find an overheated nightclub of sleazy possibility like those scouted in her travel book, but the place was only another dimly-lit bar, mostly empty, with a pool table in the rear and Alice in Chains on a digital jukebox […]
Another fr. new thing, Kenya storiez
The boy said he’d killed a lion once. He was headed to the well to fetch water when his sister was sick with typhoid, and saw a lion drinking at the riverbed. He picked up the biggest rock he could find and threw it at the lion, hitting it squarely on its nose, which paralyzed it. Then he went over and stabbed it with the knife he kept in his belt for separating corded firewood bundles. It took three stabs in the heart. Then he cut off the lion’s tail and kicked the corpse into the river. The boy looked pleased with his story. You are completely full of shit, Webb said to him.
Fr. edits of new thing
Soon his chequing account was brimming from a full slate of projects, and he burned through them, fueled by grocery store chardonnay, sheer momentum and a reluctance to think about anything else than money. He spent three weeks smoking weed in Atlanta with Jaleel White, better known as Steve Urkel from the ABC sitcom Family Matters; a first-person account of a wayward Christian’s brush with fame and eventually redemption, the Utah-based publishers unfortunately titled the resulting bio Did I Do That? Yes, I Did! (And So Can You!).
Post with 2 notes
MISTINESS by Tigre Benvie
TIGRE BENVIE, “MISTINESS”
Dream, as we dream, of worlds beyond this one.
Dream of the swearing of oaths, of communions of trees, of parliaments of spectres, of grimy songs to be sung.
And so in 2012 Tigre Benvie presents Mistiness, a 16-song swamp of music for you to download, to ingest, to heed.
Tigre Benvie is of and by Rob Benvie (Camouflage Nights, The Dears, Thrush Hermit), along with cherished colleagues, including: Murray Lightburn, Matt Murphy, Sarah Gregg Millman, Stephanie Southmayd, Ian McGettigan, Nobu Adilman, Sofia Silva, Wayne MacPherson et cetera et cetera.
Adhering to the tenor of the times, this homemade album is presented as a Pay What You Desire digital release. Waste not, childrenz. Distribute and reproduce and mangle it however you see fit. Please do so.
Get it on iTunes. Or Bandcamp. Or Noisetrade. Also available in limited edition double-disc gatefold vinyl; write for details.
For further information: try tigrebenvie@gmail.com. If you’ve somehow received this email by accident, respond saying NO and this will all just be a sad memory.
Thanks, bruv
TRACK LISTING
01 Mistiness
02 I Swore an Oath
03 Black Bolt
04 Bodies Bagged in Bodybags
05 Song of Glee
06 2003
07 Man w/Phone
08 Actress w/Oxygen Tank
09 Dreamerz
10 Glisters and Gold
11 Love Wracks Me Deeply
12 You Must Like Me
13 Quitting Time
14 Summer Squall
15 Meet Me Over the Holidays
16 Police Brutality
It is 1974
It is 1974. In a subdivision in upper Rensselaer County a pair of cement trucks rumble over uneven gravel terrain, past plots of half-built houses across from a marshy plot. A young couple sits in a Buick LeSabre on the shoulder of an unpaved laneway, sharing a takeaway shaved meat sandwich, gazing past the trucks, down the road. In the back seat of the car a ten-month-old girl is belted into a plastic car seat, asleep under blankets. The man drums his gloved hands on the steering wheel and wonders aloud about the availability of the final report on the water table. The woman can’t listen; she is four months pregnant, wracked with barf.
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