Folks from the 'burbs don't live in the hills.

There is one flat neighborhood in our town. Everything else is twisted, winding hills where trees touch both sides of your car and you can't turn around. When we moved here I demanded that we live in the flat part of town near stores and theaters and the college. I have to be able to walk somewhere for coffee and maybe leave the house and see some people without making a huge trip uptown, finding a parking spot and dealing with coins and meters.

On Halloween everybody comes to our section of town for trick-or-treating because they can hit a bunch of houses at once and it's a spectacle of a crowd for the kids. But, fuck, they do it from 4-6 and it's the entire street full of cars parking and driving 10 miles per hour and then waiting and looking at their watches 'til the hour strikes. I don't even have kids and feel like I can spare myself the task of having to remember to buy an expensive hoard of sweets so I can stand on my front porch for two hours and wait on the line of children forming around my house from all sides.

And then I feel like the asshole that ruined Halloween and hide in my house with the lights out and try to be unseen like I am right now. Too bad I only smoke outside, and a cigarette would be nice right now.

Goddamn kids. I always said kids and addictions don't go well together.

Why don't they just have everybody throw their candy in a huge fucking pile and then let the costumed children push and shove as much candy into their bags as they can all at once. It would be really fun to watch so I'd probably even buy candy for the pile 'cause then I'm kinda involved. Why not include everybody, right?

I'm not down with this current, exclusive trend of only celebrating family-style holidays and leaving everybody else out. Let the little sugar-munchers battle it out for my amusement. The thrill of the fight and the rewarding satisfaction that comes with out-smarting the opponent for treats would probably be a more appropriate way to celebrate the family life anyhow.

Time Change

Back where I come from "The Time Change" usually referred to that badass split-second drop when the metal goes from being climactically built-up to suddenly dragging the rythmns in half-time with a lot of double bass kicks rolling behind you. And you would bang your head. You wouldn't have been able not to.

I'll bet you need cool art to look at:

This man mocks me with his talent.

Maggie Taylor

Sugarboy Press


Oh yeah, and speaking of time changes and metal and cool stuff to look at . . . do you like really big hair and capes?

Inside looking outside
Through a goldfish bowl
In each hand of the masters
Make me lose control
If Im an outcast
Im not the last
Im gonna have my say
They'll never take me in alive
Im gonna make em all pay

Hey Web Stalkers!

If you're up for some fasicanting viewing, there's a webcam
up in the main street of my town. As you watch, try and ponder how it is that I manage to uphold my measure of sanity.

They say that during the school breaks there are 7000 people here who are in the open. This is opposed to the rest of the folks who live in the hills and are rarely seen, with exception to the always-full WalMart parking lot.

If you wanna set up a viewing date with me, drop a line. I should really plan some sort of spectacle for you all. Let me know what's good for you.

Put these in your eyes.

Only Revolutions
Mark Z. Danielewski



I'd like to think that the word "novelty" is the linguistic step-cousin-in-law to the word "novel". I'd like to think that over time ideas turn their course and gain momentum. I would especially like to think that one day this writer will out-do his first novel and leave me damaged and needing to make some of it go away. . . again.

So get some:

This Novel has no discernible front or back. You pick it up and it rolls and tumbles in your curious palms like a pet doing circles around the carpet before finding it's "spot". Then you realize you've already made a choice and it's stuck. You'll probably think about it a lot when you're not reading and wonder how it would have been different the other way.

Inside both identical but vertically reversed jacket flaps is an inconspicuous box that reads:

"The publisher suggests alternating between Hailey & Sam, reading eight pages at a time."

It comes fully equipped with two opposing cloth bookmarks.

The Holy
Daniel Quinn



What if all the religions, at once, proved without a doubt that their faith was the truest reality? What if Santa Clause grew a pair of serpentine horns and vacationed amongst the dead in the mountains of Colorado? What if that robot fortune teller decided to walk and frequent hotel bars that don't exist anymore?

It's a detective story, a fable, a myth and a self-help book. The fantastic truth of religion is, at best, a true fantasy from the perspective of detective Howard Scheim. He's recently retired, divorced and the most youthful member of the Herman Litvak Chess Club on North Sheridan Road in Chicago.

Seems Howard has one case left in a nine live cat and a dog eat dog sly smile.


Oh yeah, and no talking apes.