Peeping

I looked out the peephole in my door today, which I find to be a very creepy thing - I try not to use it. My neighbor's door was wide open. She and a man swayed arm in arm. I walked back to the couch and placed my hands in my lap, thoughtfully considering the couple in the tiny tunnel with their arms wrapped around each other.

Then suddenly "OW" and "PICK IT UP" and the door roared shut. How do I describe the sound? It was like. "I'M FUCKIN' SERIOUS." She isn't nasal; it's piercing and flat at the same time. While they're tearing at one another and storming in the hall - and she is pissed off, her voice is a cat with its hair raised - I'm on my couch, wondering if anyone's parents dance together anymore.

Wonder

Oh hello.



My story "Movie Man" is featured in A cappella Zoo's print journal, Issue 5. You can read it online for free here. The story was a present to a filmmaker friend: a magic homage to some of the best directors in the world.

Yesterday I received an acceptance letter for a much darker story. Publication is slated for October 2011, lead story. A gangster and his prey in a hospital room of creatures. I was furious with the world when I wrote it.

My computer finally died the other night, and as I read the letter, the power went out. I opened the shades in the living room and flipped the blank pages of a paper journal. I want to write letters, I want a pen pal. I wonder if Kerouac's is the most current diary in existence worth the bother. I didn't write a thing.

I'm glad the good is coming with the shitty. It's so much good, it's so bad, it will get better as long as I keep writing. People should know what's really happening in the wells; we've run out of water and someone broke the only lantern in the night, and we all cut ourselves on the pieces. We need a ladder and clean clothes. I'll pen the letter.