Banging the Berlin Wall

Posted on by Caleb J. Ross in As a Machine and Parts, Object Sexual | Leave a comment
You probably don’t know this, because I rarely talk about it here on this blog, but my novella As a Machine and Parts has been re-released.  You probably also don’t know that bitches be crazy.

Case in point: Eija-Riitta Berliner-Mauer loves the Berlin wall. And I don’t mean loves as in respects it because it represents Cold War oppression (which would be a weird thing to respect, I agree). I mean loves as in wants to fuck it because it represents Cold War oppression.

Meet the Cold War kids, sons of Mr. and Mrs. Berlin Wall

Meet the Cold War kids, sons of Mr. and Mrs. Berlin Wall

To be fair, I don’t know if that’s why she loves the wall. Maybe she’s a WWII era East Germany sympathizer. Maybe she’s a synesthete who associates the rough texture of concrete with her father’s hug. But again, of course, let’s not rule out that she’s possibly an aforementioned bitch who be aforedescribed crazy.

No matter what issues she has, the relationship between a person and a non-organic object is something I write about in my book As a Machine and Parts, and something I write about here, on my blog. I hope you’re a synesthete who associates my book with awesome. You should buy it. It’s funny.

Ick! I’ve Bin Enside Her

So this Eija-Riitta Berliner-Mauer has been married to the Berlin Wall for over 30 years, which means if you’re doing the math that Mrs. Berliner-Mauer was involved with the wall when it was torn down in 1989. If it’s not already obvious that her priorities are a tad misaligned, her reaction to the wall’s destruction should cement that observation. Rather than join the world in collective celebration, the widow-in-making declared instead “What they did was awful. They mutilated my husband,” marking the first time in the history of Schadenfreude that German husband mutilation resulted in legitimate, unqualified sadness.

I now pronounce you man and disappointed in-laws.

I now pronounce you man and disappointed in-laws.

After the non-organic wall’s demolition Eija-Riitta turned to something truly crazy: smaller non-organic wall love. What! Gross, lady.

Mrs. Berliner-Mauer keeps a model miniature depicting the former glory of her fallen husband. It’s the same way some women marry Hitler action figures except that in the case of the mini-Hitlers that never ever actually happened and would definitely be frowned upon by every person capable of frowning.

Does this count as a dildo?

Does this count as a dildo?

This isn’t the first time the Berlin Wall has caught the eye of an under-medicated woman. Erika Eiffel, who later traded up to the Eiffel Tower, once dated the Berlin Wall. Her reason for their break-up: The Wall just couldn’t divide her East and her West like it used to. At least that’s what I imagine the reason being. In truth, it was probably just an extension Erika Eiffel’s crazy college years, experimenting with the female Eiffel Tower after having been disappointed by the male Berlin Wall.

Stayed tuned to this blog for the next installment in this series of posts that I wanted to call “Humping the Berlin Wall and Other Primitive Techniques for a Hairless Vagina,” but I’m a man, so I don’t know much about vaginas. Rather, I forgo an official name for the series and instead just tell you to get my book, As a Machine and Parts. There’s isn’t any Hitler humping in the book, but I agree, there should be.

As a Machine and parts

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Porking the Eiffel Tower

Posted on by Caleb J. Ross in As a Machine and Parts, Object Sexual | 1 Comment
As a Machine and parts

Buy this book. Now.

I wrote this book, a short novella called As a Machine and Parts, about a man who finds himself slowly changing into a machine, a la Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis but with fewer traveling salesmen and cockroaches. The As a Machine and Parts titular machine is concerned that as he becomes more metal and less human, he will eventually lose his ability to love his girlfriend (“awwwww” is the correct response to that plot).

At some point before the start of my story the Machine, before he went full toaster, was 100% human, and therefore entered into mutual relationship with his human girlfriend. However, with real-life inter-thing relationships, mutual consent isn’t always a priority.  A lifestyle called object sexuality forces literally 10s of buildings, rollercoasters, and concrete walls into unhealthy relationships with crazy people every day.

Object sexuality is a real thing, apparently, and is defined as “a pronounced emotional and often romantic desire towards developing significant relationships with particular inanimate objects.” It’s perhaps important to acknowledge just how one-sided and kind of rapey object sexuality is. That’s why I’m giving voice to the vocal chord-less in this, a series of posts that I really, really wanted to call “Shut Up About the Dogs, Sarah Mclachlan! Buildings Are Getting Raped Out There!” but I’m not sure Sarah Mclachlan is relevant anymore.

The Eiffel Tower Needs Some Space

In 2008, 37 year-old San Franciscan, Erika Eiffel, married the Eiffel Tower. No, the shared last name isn’t to implicate an incestual relationship; she actually changed her name to Eiffel. Say what you will, but considering her exes—including an archery bow named Lance, the Berlin Wall for a brief period, and even an F-15 fighter jet during her time in the United States Air Force (a love affair for which she was eventually discharged from service; the F-15 got to stay—fucking misogyny), the Eiffel Tower is quite a step up.

Tour_Eiffel_Wikimedia_Commons

What’s that stereotype about Parisians having small penises? Oh, that’s right, there isn’t one.

There may be a few ladies out there with a Parisian persuasion who totally get what Erika sees in this 1,063 foot riveted beast of a land penis. Unwilling to lust over good ol’ fashioned red-blooded American culture boners like the Space Needle or the Washington Monument, these women say, “damn, I’d like to ride the lift up that shaft—” Stop! Turns out, El Eiffel is La Eiffel (I don’t know French definite articles…but I do know what a definite article is, so that’s got to count for something). That’s right, he is a she. And by the way Erika describes her wife—”Her structure is just amazing. You know, she’s got subtle, subtle curves…”—I almost don’t care that to appreciate those curves one would have to fly to Paris, buy a lift ticket, and pray for that .0001% chance that nobody is watching while you get awful with the Eiffel . But that’s not the kind of hope I was raised to believe in. I’d rather just eat cheese and jerk off to a Frank Lloyd Wright documentary.

The former soldier and current punch line to every joke made by every Air Force soldier since, organized “an intimate ceremony attended by a handful of friends” to solidify their bond. These were all Erika’s friends, no doubt. Erika mentions nothing about the rest of the Eiffel family—not Eiffel Pillar, Eiffel Rampart, not even the physically deformed cousin Eiffel Plateau who sadly isn’t long for this world; that’s what happens when glaciers from the same family get together.

Maybe the Eiffel family was invited, but perhaps the Eiffels just don’t agree with same sex marriage. I mean, it couldn’t possibly be the case that the Eiffel’s aren’t a real family because the Eiffel tower isn’t a fucking person.

800px-Erika_Aya_Eiffel_Texas_Shootout_Archery

No, Lance, your stabilizer is big but, come on, it’s the Eiffel Fucking Tower

What would Eiffel’s parents say?

Considering that the Eiffel Tower’s erection (heh) wasn’t unanimously supported to begin with, original tower designers Maurice Koechlin and Émile Nouguier are probably happy that their baby is now loved, even if by dirty American porc.

During the tower’s planning phase a group of architects and artists, led by Charles Garnier drafted quite the heated condemnation of the tower, published by Parisian newspaper Le Temps in 1887 (yes, that Charles Garnier, the mind behind Panorama Français, The Cercle de la Librairie, and lesser known Bâtiment Stupide). The petition, though irrelevant considering it was written after the tower was already under construction (typical lazy artists), reads with a beautiful verbosity that, should my kid ever be called ugly by a stranger, might make me consider for a moment that perhaps my kid is ugly, and that strangers, despite their stinky vans and poisoned candy, maybe should be trusted. Who could argue with conviction like this:

“We…protest with all our strength, with all our indignation in the name of slighted French taste, against the erection…of this useless and monstrous Eiffel Tower … To bring our arguments home, imagine for a moment a giddy, ridiculous tower dominating Paris like a gigantic black smokestack, crushing under its barbaric bulk Notre Dame, the Tour Saint-Jacques, the Louvre, the Dome of les Invalides, the Arc de Triomphe, all of our humiliated monuments will disappear in this ghastly dream. And for twenty years…we shall see stretching like a blot of ink the hateful shadow of the hateful column of bolted sheet metal”

Eiffel seems to have been the awkward nerd of 1880’s France. It makes you wish for a “Proud of My Honor Roll Tower” bumper sticker to slap on the back of the Nouguier and Koechlin’s new-fangled Daimler wire-wheeled car. Luckily, self-esteem for the lanky tower isn’t a problem any longer with Mrs. Erika Eiffel by her side.

Does all this Eiffeling get you excited? Check out my novella As a Machine and Parts for an equally classy exploration of a person-on-non-person action. At least click the above link and read about the book.

What’s the next person-on-non-person situation I’m going to explore on this blog? I’m not sure. Come back often to find out, or subscribe to never miss a post.

As a Machine and parts

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Google Honors Franz Kafka (and me, by proxy…)

Posted on by Caleb J. Ross in As a Machine and Parts, Book News | 1 Comment
KafkaDoodle

Okay, the title of this post is a bit misleading. Google isn’t honoring me by proxy or by anything. Google is honoring Franz Kafka, specifically his novella The Metamorphosis. This strange story, about a man who turns into a cockroach, was a huge influence for my novella As a Machine and Parts.

Why is The Metamorphosis Google-doodle worthy? I’m sure there are plenty of cultural and literary reasons, many of which are beyond my contemporary, America-centric grasp. The story of a human man—a traveling salesman—changing into the most reviled household insect pest ever is certainly a commentary on something.

More important to me, though, is how The Metamorphosis affected my reading and writing aesthetic. Specifically, the idea of an un-acknowledged—and in this case, origin-less—change. There’s something magical (Magical Realist, some might say, others might not) about a surreal event that garners the level of non-reaction it does in The Metamorphosis. A similar example that immediately comes to mind is Gabriel García Márquez’s short story “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings,” in which the titular character, a very old man, has enormous wings. The magical element—in this case, the enormous wings—are treated as a very real element to the characters in the story. In other words, the magical becomes the real. “Oh, that old man has enormous wings…what’s for lunch?” Or in the case of As a Machine and Parts: “Oh, I’m changing into a machine…got any more pot?”

If you enjoy the strange, the slightly twisted, the magical realist, and have (or hell, have not) read Franza Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, give As a Machine and Parts a try. It’s a short read, but a damn good one, I must say. I even stole Kafka’s opening line, massaged it, and stuffed it later in my book:

“The Metamorphosis”:

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.

As a Machine and Parts

I awoke from unsettling dreams, as they say, to find my left elbow replaced by a rotational hinge joint.

As a Machine and parts

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The True Stories behind Missing Pet Posters

Posted on by Caleb J. Ross in As a Machine and Parts, General News | 2 Comments
As a Machine and parts

Buy this book. Now.

In my newest novella, As a Machine and Parts, a character named Ferret seals a pet llama for the purpose of creative taxidermy (he turns the animal into an IED of sorts, though only for show, not for explosions). The resulting missing llama posters that pepper the neighborhood are heartbreaking, in a sense, as most readers can sympathize with a missing pet.

But too often we allow sympathy to cloud rationale. Maybe the pets aren’t missing at all. Maybe the pets escaped. Maybe the owners didn’t deserve the pets to begin with. With that in mind I bring you The True Stories behind Missing Pet Posters


(source: http://www.smosh.com/PC/smosh-pit/photos/16-ridiculous-lost-animal-flyers)

(source: http://www.smosh.com/PC/smosh-pit/photos/16-ridiculous-lost-animal-flyers)

#1. Fraternity House Novelty Goes Missing; Says Pledge Responsible: “Now I’ll never get to do pushups in Alpha Chi Ro piss garbage.”

When you’ve got capslock-worthy testicles it’d be a crime to keep them to yourself. Our dear pretentiously named London Brown isn’t lost at all. He’s simply decided that after years of free-balling for spectators it’s time to start charging. London Brown now services peanut-butter-toting coeds on the Vegas strip, where his similarly capitaled FRIENDLY personality comes in handy to garner quite the word-of-mouth clientele.

(source: http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-cutest-missing-pet-posters)

(source: http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-cutest-missing-pet-posters)

#2. Slug-Cat Hybrid Goes Missing. Only Witness is a Retarded Five Year Old Opium Mule

This fever-dream of a therapist couch homework assignment implies two things: 1) the parent needs to stop hiding her emergency opium stash in the Frosted Flakes box, and perhaps more importantly 2) the parent did not want this pet returned, which is a shame because a pet cat is probably the only friend this high school prom afterthought of a child will ever have.

Mother: “Sure little Susie, draw your cat with no eyes, two legs, and a lower torso half-emerging from Wilfred Brimley’s abandoned swimming pool cocoon. That’s a perfect representation of, what’s your cat’s name again? Meow? Yep, that sounds appropriate to your mental disposition.”

Susie: “Durrrururrrr.”

(source: http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-cutest-missing-pet-posters)

(source: http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/the-cutest-missing-pet-posters)

#3. Missing Leg: Last Seen Attached to Four Identical Legs and What Appears to be a Lethargic Wad of Fur

Okay, I get this one. When you’re a three-legged cat with a processed-meat-based name you can at least take comfort in the fact that when you escape your home your owner will have a substantial collection of scrapbook Glamour Shots to choose from when posting your photo all over the Hobby Lobby calligraphy stamp aisle (and let’s not kid ourselves, one less leg isn’t enough to keep any sane cat from attempting escape from that hell).

As a Machine and parts

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The 5 Most Painful Masturbation Techniques You’ll Probably Still Try Because, Let’s Face It, Men Are Gross, and Sometimes Romance Can Be Just As Painful

Posted on by Caleb J. Ross in As a Machine and Parts, Object Sexual | 2 Comments
As a Machine and parts

Buy this book. Girls will let you put your wiener in them.

Ever since man discovered his penis he’s dreamed of sticking it into things. It seems unfair for a single extremity to have so much power over a person, but the way I see it, if it weren’t the penis it’d be something worse, like the brain. And you don’t want that; a man’s brain can be dangerous. So dangerous, in fact, that it’s been known to drive men to stick their penises into strange things.

I know, that’s circular logic, but I’m not thinking so well right now. All this talk of penis-sticking is starving my brain of blood. And is it just me, or is the term “circular logic” just begging for a good pounding?

The inciting incident of my newest novella, As a Machine and Parts, involves a woman’s unfortunate hospitalization after unwittingly having sex with a machine. I promise you, the situation is nothing like you’re imagining…unless you’re imagining that this woman got her leg crushed by her boyfriend who is slowly, and inexplicably, turning into a heavy hunk of metal. In which case, I’m impressed.

So, what happens if you don’t have a cyborg boyfriend handy but you still yearn to hospitalize yourself in an incredibly embarrassing way? Do what these dummies did. I give you the Top 5 Reasons to Believe your Husband when he Says that he has “Urges that Need to be Fulfilled;” because only a true need would drive someone to plug a Bissell handheld vac, which brings me to #5 of my more accurately titled

The 5 Most Painful Masturbation Techniques You’ll Probably Still Try Because, Let’s Face It, Men Are Gross, and Sometimes Romance Can Be Just As Painful

#5 You Dirty Devil, You

Most household appliances involve some form of insertion, whether bread to a toaster, hot dogs to a hot dog toaster (which, come to think of it, should probably be on this list), or dirt to a vacuum cleaner hose. This latter scenario seems the most appropriate (if I can use such a word) considering not onlythe cylindrical opening of the hose, but the sucking force as well. Actually, now that I think about it, it’s entirely feasible that the vacuum was originally invented as a sex robot and only later went the way of dirty floors.

Man dies while having sex with a vacuum cleaner

Typical man, he’d rather die than cuddle afterwards.

Per a report in the American Journal of Forensic and Medical Pathology (Vol 9, No. 3, 246-247, 1988) as found at the aptly titled Masturbation Horror site, a woman found her 57-year old neighbor dead after doing the dirty in the dirt trap of a vacuum cleaner. The official cause of death was heart attack. But the official cause of coitus was love.

What’s even more odd about this story is that by judge of the image above, this man seems to have bypassed the hose attachment altogether, going right for the main sweeper. Is this the equivalent of anal?

#4 Georgia O’Keeffe would approve

This story comes from a reader submissions section of the Masturbation Horror site (selectively quoted for maximum hilarity).

“I had this flute-style glass flower vase, and it looked perfect for masturbation…I opened this old trunk I had and put it between the open lip and the lid. When I got on my knees it was the perfect height. Well, it was working great until I put too much pressure on the lid and it crushed the vase with my cock inside it…There was blood everywhere, and I had to have emergency surgery…”

And that is where the story should have ended. But no.

“…and I contemplated suicide many times, and almost did it once. I have lived with the terror and humiliation beyond all description.”

You’ve chosen the right way to curb humiliation, sir, by submitting your story publicly on the internet to a site called Masturbation Horror.

While this story cannot be validated by a fancy American Journal of Forensic blah, blah, I include it because, well, honestly I’m quite proud of the title I came up for it. Come on, O’Keeffe’s famous paintings of flowers that look like vaginas…sticking it to a flower vase…it’s poetic in a way.

Georgia O'Keeffe flower vase

Don’t let FTD charge you for two vases on Mother’s Day. That other hole is exit only.

#3 Cleaning up with Tissues and a Staple Gun

I almost considered not including this one in the list. It definitely qualifies as “painful masturbation” but the way this gentleman remedies his self-pleasured/ -inflicted injury should elevate him to a different Top Five list altogether, perhaps a Top Five Things Chuck Norris Wishes He Were Man Enough To Do (is the Chunk Norris meme thing still relevant?…no…shit).

An article in the July 1991 issue of Medical Aspects of Human Sexuality (which I would love to subscribe to if magazines were still a thing) an “unmarried loner” had “begun the regular practice of masturbating by holding his penis against the canvas drive-belt of a large floor-based piece of running machinery” in the machine shop where he worked. I know what you’re thinking: this being a “regular practice” for the man should immediately nullify any harsh judgments. He’s practically a professional. Next story, right? Wrong.

One particularly non-concentratey day his “scrotum suddenly became caught between the pulley-wheel and the drive-belt, he was thrown into the air and landed a few feet away.” Okay, even David Copperfield has an off-night. Next story, right? Wrong.

“Unaware that he had lost his left testis…he stapled the wound closed and resumed work.”

Chuck Norris staples his testicles

Resumed work on what, is the question. I mean, he has all day to make widgets and metal whatevers, but his coworkers are going to be back from lunch any second! Better hurry up and finish literally rubbing that one out.

Bonus points for this guy, as his injury allowed all of us to learn that the singular form of testes is testis.

#2 Chuck Palahniuk Shows Us All How Sexy Swimming Pools Can Be

Between 2003 and 2007 author Chuck Palahniuk read his short story “Guts” aloud to numerous live audiences, resulting in over 60 people reportedly fainting during the readings. One particular aspect of the story is blamed/credited for the faintings: a character attempts homoerotic asphyxiation in a swimming pool, causing his rectum and lower intestines to prolapse when he gets stuck to the water intake valve at the bottom of the pool. Tangled innards ensues, followed by the narrator having to gnaw through the prolapsed accoutrement to avoid drowning.

But Caleb, isn’t this fiction? Well, according to Palahniuk this is a story he heard while shadowing sexual addiction support groups for his 2001 novel Choke. And I’m simply not willing to believe that sexually addicted people would lie, you know, except for claiming that they are addicted to sex.

If you want 100% truth, the eternally sexy swimming pool still delivers.  In July 1994, the St. Petersburg Times reported in a blame-displacing and spoiler alert ignoring article called “Swimmer’s Penis Gets Stuck in Pool” that a swimmer’s penis got stuck in a pool. There’s not much more to the story. Man + Non-Human Hole + Florida = Well, it’s Florida.

Florida is a penis

Really, Florida itself is just a giant penis lured into the ocean’s sexy suction fitting

#1 So it is Possible to do it too Much!

There’s this condition called Fournier’s Gangrene, which I will pray to the god of hilarious legacies is named after a real person, a la Lou Gehrig’s disease. But unlike the lifestyle neutral diagnosis of Lou Gehrig’s disease, Fournier’s Gangrene implies a lot about the hygiene and fap habits of our infamous Mr. Fournier. How so? Please continue.

Fournier’s Gangrene is, as Case Reports in Emergency Medicine defines, “a rare and often fulminant necrotizing fasciitis of the perineum and genital region frequently due to a synergistic polymicrobial infection.” In masturbayman’s terms: waking your junk so hard that the skin splits and those dirty, dirty germs from your dirty, dirty hands causes an infection that ultimately leads to the death of your undercarriage.

Who knew harry palms and blindness could be the least of your problems?

Masturbating Bigfoot

“It’s a coincidence, I swear”

Feel free to leave your best tragic masturbation stories in the comments below. No, actually don’t do that. Please don’t do that.

But do give my novella, As a Machine and Parts a read. There’s one scene in which the main character mentions dreaming about injecting Twinkies with crème filling, which he interprets as a wet dream, so, that’s masturbatory enough to fittingly cap this article, right?

As a Machine and parts

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Why don’t I use guns in fiction?

Posted on by Caleb J. Ross in Mind Effed | 4 Comments
GetInTheFuckingBoat

(This post isn’t so much a cohesive argument but more of a textualized exploration. I welcome contributions to the topic)

I rarely incorporate guns into my fiction. To me, the (sudden) presence of a gun shifts the trajectory of a story much too easily. No matter how a character has been established during the preceding pages, a gun suddenly—and more importantly, unfairly—gives ultimate power to that character. When given a gun, either 1) a lackluster character becomes the fulcrum of a scene (or story) or 2) a well-developed character gets robbed of all the reader investment by artificially becoming the fulcrum of a scene (or story)[1]. Either way, a gun generally says to the reader “I’m a lazy author, and I don’t respect your time, reader.”

LazyAuthorBut I do incorporate what I would consider valid character traits/histories. Some of the more common traits I use being difficult childhoods, physical deformities, and general familial strife.

However, this morning, I asked myself what’s the difference between a physical deformity and a gun? Aren’t they both, in some way, just crutches used to advance plot. Some perhaps more nuanced than a gun, but still, aren’t they all simply elements designed to steer the plot’s trajectory?

Is there a universal hierarchy of character traits, ranging perhaps from the most subtle (re: most acceptable and vetted) to the most obnoxious (re: the most potential to artificially steer a plot; re: gun)? Of course the answer is no; nothing is universal and there are plenty of examples of guns in quality fiction. But the question is worth exploring.

Perhaps a better way to approach this topic is by asking, is it possible for a story to work without containing any narrative crutches at all? When asked this way, the same response, no, means so much more.

Now that we can accept that a story MUST contain character traits (crutches), especially when we acknowledge that the very purpose of a character trait is to advance (re: steer) plot. The original concern then returns: are guns simply an especially lazy character trait. Yes. Yes they are.

  1. [1] Of course there are exceptions. If the gun itself is important to the character’s makeup, or if the context of a story supports guns (a war story, for example), or, as in the case of one of my novels, the very power of something like a gun to quickly change a story’s trajectory is exactly one of the points of the novel.

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Short Story Every Day: “That Lombardi Thing” from Phil Jourdan’s What Precision, Such Restraint

Posted on by Caleb J. Ross in Short Story Every Day | Leave a comment
Click to buy

Click to buy

I read an early version of this collection, What Precision, Such Restraint, a few years ago, during which time I must have been drunk, since though I recall enjoying the collection I don’t remember it being so front-loaded with genius.

I read two stories today, the first and second, chronologically. Both are amazing, but it’s the second I want to mention here, “That Lombardi Thing” which encapsulates what I consider to be the absolutely best kind of story: voice-driven, thought-provoking, and never too full of itself. This is why I love Saramago. This is why I love Brian Evenson (though his characters do tend to be a bit full of themselves, the stories aren’t). This is what I try to write.

“That Lombardi Thing” explores the made-up (I think made-up) concept of Freudhacking, which is the practice of switching a person’s conscious with their subconscious. Thought-provoking: check. The narrator is a one-time practitioner of Freudhacking who wants nothing more than to be left alone, never to practice again. Voice-driven: check. The occasion for the story is that this old man practitioner is approached by a man who wants to know what it’s like to live without language. The old man thinks he’s nuts. Never too full of itself: check.

The author, Phil Jourdan, tries to pawn this collection off as just a literary experiment without any merit beyond its own pages. He even calls the book a bunch of terrible names during a live reading in Boston a few months ago. It’s just proof of his genius that by telling the world of the book’s insufficient origins Phil can then be free to write whatever he wants, and the reader, having been briefed of the rubbish, can’t complain. Well, the reader won’t want to complain, so you failed, Phil.

Rules for Short Story Every Day posts, designed to make me have to work as little as possible

  1. I’m not allowed to take notes as I read
  2. My commentary on each story should involve as little research as possible. I’m reacting to the story on a visceral level, not an intellectual level (though I reserve the right for overlap should my visceral mix with my intellectual)
  3. “Every Day” should be taken as the headline grabber it’s intended to be. I probably won’t

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