I was in college once. It felt normal. Someone gave me eleven jelly beans. I fed them to a deer. I was awarded three merit badges for my dedication to the community. Something else was introduced in my life. An emotion was felt. Various point systems ranked the overall usefulness of the objects I was holding. A situation was presented to an object partially-removed from the situation and the object touched something that he/she had never quite touched before. In my early years I was not allowed to have thoughts. My parents were replaced by a soft noise. The government rewarded me with a piece of cabbage dressed up like a father. For dinner, I was supposed to eat the same piece of bread every night. One year the piece of bread was purple. All the other years it was blue. People with a lot of critical thoughts became interested in my life. Before something else happened I thought for a brief second that I was going to be awarded a hundred million dollars. I bought a van. I can’t remember if the van had three wheels or five. No one knew what I wanted in life, but they all seemed to know what I didn’t want. There was an all-male school on the top of the hill. I parked the van next to an empty swimming pool. Something in a nearby tree yelled at me and told me to, “Go eat dip.”
I wrote a bunch of things this week that probably make people think I’m crazy, but it’s okay because I believe in the idea of “Leaving ‘the crazy’ at home”* and all these stories were written while I was at home so it was okay to be crazy. Also, I’ve started drinking coffee again a few weeks ago. Just in case you didn’t know, this is what spider webs look like on caffeine.
Here’s a few words on some of the things I wrote:
America is a barrel of automobiles… This story was actually created from taking that book “Democracy in America” and reorganizing it and then injecting the text with some emotions I would have made if I was a fourteen-year-old pimple and I just learned everything bad that has ever happened on earth.
Three days ago I posted a bunch of things from a novel called ”Angus Burgers” that I tried to write four years ago. I found this document on an old hard drive. I took out the best pieces of this novel and threw out the rest. If you would like to read an “Angus Burgers” novel then please write it yourself and then you can read it whenever you want.
A good way to talk to an adult person is a story about when I used to spend every weekend at a dance club and try to talk to people, but mostly I wasn’t very good at talking to people so I would just sit in the corner and eat dried pineapple which I think is the official fruit of Minnesota.
The time I thought I was “Jesus” is a story about the time I thought I was the song of god. Whoops. I wrote “song of god.” I meant “son of god.”
This is an excerpt from a novel by James Franco called “Emma Watson” is from a novel I wanted to write three years ago about James Franco and Emma Watson. I was in grad school at the time and both James Franco and Emma Watson were always hanging out on campus near my department so I thought I would write a novel about them and get rich and then get richer when someone made a movie about the book starring Ryan Gosling as James Franco and James Franco as Emma Watson.
This line is from a ninety-page poem I wrote a few weeks ago, but none of the other lines are any good so I threw out everything except the good parts.
I’m not really sure about this one. I guess it came from a statistic I read in Harper’s that said something like “66 americans were killed by guns last year and only 33 americans have been killed by muslim americans since september 11th.” I thought of the line about Doug being afraid because he only works with white people while standing in line at the post office and realizing that everyone working at the post office was white.
*from an article called “advice to a young man trying to go somewhere.”
After work, a white man named “Doug” liked to read magazines while eating pizza. Sometimes Doug read a magazine that talked about how all the dead white people in America got killed by other white people who would eventually get killed by even more white people. Doug was scared. He only worked with white people. Doug decided to wear a motorcycle helmet to work because he thought it would make him safe.
I am a feeling of triumph in the human spirit of life.
The only way to be beautiful is to be me when I look in the mirror and pretend to be everyone in the world at once. When I am everyone in the world at once I understand what it feels like to feel the best that I’ve ever felt.
If you hear thirty thousand angels meowing from deep inside a mouth that is filling itself with ice cream then you know what my ears are feeling when I listen to my favorite electronic tingle.
I recently met this girl and she looked like she might have been the girl from those movies, which, in fact, she turned out to be. And I said: “oh boy.” My face went yellow with smells of gold melted twinkles and all the satellites where forgotten movie scenes go to retire turned into a chemical reaction that leaked from my other brain.
I can’t see the future, but I know it’s a place about seventy miles west of the best thing I’ve never touched.
When I’m happy I sometimes start smiling so much that I can’t speak and I just let my chest talk to itself while I listen and admire how pure and smooth it can hum.
A letter arrived the other day. I was unsure what to do with it so I put it in my mouth. It tasted like this:
“Dear friend, I just wanted to let you know I’ve been trying to think about your human spirit, but it’s been so long since I made a thought and I don’t know what to think so I’ve mostly been looking at old memories like the one where I asked you what you wanted to do and you didn’t know so we sat on your bed and then you remembered it was your birthday so we got off the bed and we were going to leave your apartment but the oven was on so we looked in the oven and inside there was a birthday cake that neither of us had put in the oven.”
Hey adult person. I know you don’t like when people call you “baby,” so I won’t call you “baby” because you’re not three years old anymore, but maybe someday we could go to the playground and eat some wood chips. Yesterday, when I walked by the playground, it looked like a man was spreading fresh wood chips. I like the smell of fresh wood chips after they’ve been fully digested and are floating in a bucket of water that I might try to sell to the dirt people across the street from where I live, but I’m not sure if the dirt people would want to buy my bucket of digested wood chips. Anyway, my eyes are really jealous right now because my mouth is making noises that get to crawl in your ears and touch your brain. It’s neat how humans can touch each other without sticking their fingers in the no-no zones like those worms made entirely of fingers that can’t do anything except touch each other’s no-no zones. Whoever invented noises probably didn’t imagine that my mouth would someday make noises that would crawl in your brain and dance around and make your brain think, “Where did all these noises come from and why don’t I feel safe right now?” So, I don’t usually do things like make noises near adult people, but I thought maybe you would like to come over later and see my bread. I have an entire fish tank full of bread. I hope you like bread. Don’t worry. The fish tank doesn’t have any water in it. There’s only bread. Oh no, my eyes are suddenly worried that my mouth made a stupid noise. Please don’t run away to the town where my mouth noise isn’t allowed to dance or my eyes will get really wet and I’ll be afraid to rub them because if I rub them I’ll smear the memory of what you looked like and instead I’ll just have to live the rest of my life with two wet soggy eyeballs that I’ll probably sell to the dirt people so they can feed them to their worm fingers.
Dear Junot Diaz, How’s it going? I think I saw you yesterday. You and your girlfriend were touching each other’s genitals at a fast food restaurant across from my house. I’m pretty sure the two of you were getting ready to “eph” each other. Anyway, I was wondering if you would write a blurb for my new book. It’s called, “This is one of the ten-thousand worst stories ever written.” Here’s the first couple of sentences, “Junky Disco was only three feet tall. He liked to have sex with his girlfriend at fast food restaurants. She didn’t have any hair because she was only a potato. Junky Disco sometimes put his potato in a mouth until the potato got soft.”
Dear mister fast food restaurant, I am live alone by myself most of the time because I don’t want anyone to look at me when I put things in my hole, but sometimes it gets lonely and I wish I had a friend whose face was made from a pile of uncooked meat.
This morning I woke up and decided to write a book called “Once upon a time the president and me were eating at a fast food restaurant that made us sick so he ate a handful of free prescription medicines and I put a bag over my head so no one would know I was sick which reminded me of this other time when I tried to write a book called ‘OMG I LIVE NEAR A DONUT AND NOW I’M FAT,’ but instead of writing this book I began writing a different book called, “THE DONUT STORE SELLS HOT DOGS AND WE’RE ALL AFRAID TO TOUCH THEM.”
There was a dog in the back of the truck. A squirrel ran out in front of the truck. The squirrel did not know how to speak english. The truck said, “Hey Squirrel, what are you doing?” The squirrel wasn’t sure what to do. It had a lot of babies at home. The babies were all pink. Most of the squirrel babies were running around naked. Because the squirrel couldn’t speak english it only said, “$$$$$$$.” The dog in the back of the truck laughed.
When you order a hamburger, a plastic fork, a medium soft beverage, and a pile of chocolate cream at a fast food restaurant you will get a hamburger, a plastic fork, a medium soft beverage, and a pile of chocolate cream.
A man walked into a fast food restaurant and asked if he could open a bank account. The person behind the counter shrugged. The man handed over all his money. He was given a chicken nugget.