about

pops 1973I write and take pictures of stuff, just like everyone else but different. I also enjoy nightmares and make a great bowl of cereal.

This is my blog, perhaps you would like to read it. Either way—whether you read it or not—I strongly encourage the posting of erroneous defamatory comments because there’s nothing like a good bit of semi-anonymous libel and slander to make things interesting. I hate you guys too.

Speaking of things, the things I post here are inspired by other things, and those by yet others. These other things may include, but are not limited to, howler monkeys (because they make the Kerouac Face), Byron Bunch, run-on sentences, quantum physics, mistakes, and the color beige. Tergiversate is a good word. Think about that.

The dashing, burly, Neanderthalic fellow pictured above is not me but my father, I’m both sorry and proud to say, in 1973. Photos of me from that ostensibly tremendous year nestled cozily between 1972 and 1974 are not readily available as I was unborn, nonexistent, just a glimmer, maybe faint, maybe shining, depending on the day. You can see it in his eye if you look close enough, beneath that prehistoric brow. I decided to wait a few more years to make my appearance, finally showing up for the last week of the ‘70s so I could say I’d been there, and I have. I was there. I’m here now because I have a great need to say I am, but I’m not sure I can yet, not sure there’s cause for such a firm declaration. I wish and wash instead.

Another thing I don’t do is post stories here very often, but I do write them, hundreds of them, thousands, billions. But who’s counting. “They’re not going to publish themselves,” I’m told. Why not? I wish they would, and I wish wishing were enough. I’m not asking for much, after all, just fame and notoriety, great, towering fame, maybe deification. I’d even settle for sainthood and a handful of honorary degrees for flaunting and taunting, if supermegastardom is too much to ask. 

Life is strange. I write about that.


M

Here I am, for real, if you were wondering. I’m a weekly contributor to Hijacked Amygdala (Sundays), and a regular recipient of denials from various magazines, journals, and other publications.

mischape1@gmail.com. Go ahead and contact me. Or post comments and ask questions. Or read more about me here or here. Or whatever.

P.S. – All words and images and attitudes on this site are mine, so don’t go thieving.

6 Comments

  1. An unusual and thought provoking introduction. Out of interest, why do you choose not to publish any of your short stories? I’m intrigued.

    Like

  2. Why thank you. Hopefully provoking unusual thoughts…

    About the stories, they’re shy, so I just don’t typically post them here in blogland. And I’d like them to be more than self-published, if you know what I mean. Been thinking lately of posting excerpts, though, to see how/what they do in the open.

    Like

  3. Errrrmmm right, okay, basically (and I mean this in the least creepy way possible) I think I love you!! It’s great to finally find someone who also inhabits the dubious space that I can only refer to as ‘prosetry.’

    Every sentence you write is uncomfortably beautiful. I look forward to your future posts. And, r.e. above comments, please post your short story excerpts!

    X

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Funny, I was (uncreepily) thinking the same. If you’re half as thrilled to read more words of mine as I am to read more of yours, we’re both in luck. Luck is a sneaky bitch though so it must be something else.

      Uncomfortably beautiful is quite a thing, by the way, thank you. Afraid that’s as grand of a reply as I’ve got, but I mean it through and through—practicing the art of cool-played understatement, it seems.

      Also seems I’m now on the hook for an excerpt or several. Good. The hook is good. I’ll be seeing you…

      Liked by 1 person

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