Author: foxtongue

for his sake I hope he was kidnapped by aliens

365 2009: 28.01.09
365 2009: 28.01.09

My lovely friend Mark, who I hold dear like hardly anyone else, has been standing me up this month. Yes. Month. First we ran into each other on the street and decided that Sunday! We will get together Sunday. He will make me dinner and play me music he wrote and it will be a lovely time. Then Sunday came and when I called, he had to cancel. Cousins unexpectedly in from out of town, he said. Ah! I said, that is unfortunate and completely understandable. Wednesday, he said? And I said yes. Then on Wednesday, I did not hear from him and when I called, it went directly to voice mail. Wednesday passed without him. Thursday night I got a call, "Migraine," he said. Ah! I said, again, that is unfortunate and completely understandable. I hope you are doing better. I am, he said, let me make it up to you on Sunday. Alright, I said. Sunday then. When Sunday rolled around, he called again. Jhayne, he said, you are going to hate me. What has happened now? I asked. Band practice. An accidental double-booking. Ah! I said, again, that is unfortunate and completely understandable. Wednesday? Wednesday. Now it is Wednesday and I still have not heard from him, though I have left two messages on his phone. The latest one was very amused, "Now you owe me dinner without question. I am going to put this on my calendar, The Month I Did Not See Mark. Then I will write a short story called The Month I Did Not See Mark and publish it. I think it will sell. It’s a good title."

Making the impending mayhem official

Cross-posted from the ever sassy Cherie, cat mother, darling friend, and author extraordinaire:

paranormal_bender_tour Mario Acevedo (Jailbait Zombie), Mark Henry (Road Trip of the Living Dead), Caitlin Kittredge (Second Skin), and Cherie Priest (Fathom) are cruising the west coast (Las Vegas, San Diego, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Portland) for five evenings of witches, vamps, shapeshifters, zombies and all things weird. Just look for the classic Impala and listen for the questionable content, as the authors read choice selections from their latest works, bandy about prizes, and sign their new releases.

The Paranormal Bender Tour is for mature audiences only –- though an immature sense of humor is welcome and even encouraged. So bring your fangs, your cauldrons, and your appetite for brains. This is a night for kindred spirits and killer stories, from the demented minds of four of the most twisted purveyors of paranormal fiction (and a few special guests).

Think you’re brave enough to attend the Paranormal Bender Tour?

Mark, Cherie, Caitlin and Mario are terrorizing the population in the following urban areas:

    March 11th: Las Vegas • Clark County Library, Jewel Box Theater @ 7 PM
    March 13th: San Diego • Mysterious Galaxy @ 7 PM
    March 14th: Los Angeles • Dark Delicacies @ 2 PM
    March 15th: San Francisco • Borderlands @ 7 PM
    March 16th: Portland • Powell’s Beaverton @ 7 PM

part of this is real

When she danced, I fell in love all over again. The handles fall off my doors, leaving me open as my skin to her hands, as the keys I carry in my eyes click my locks open, letting her in. She could reach in past my ribs, stain her fingers on my blood, and all I could do is lean in. I am a massacre before her, astronomical, strained, prostrate. Her fingers spell my name…. Okay. Sorry. I have to stop writing a moment. There is a freaking dragon in the elevator. I can hear it. Banging. My co-workers can hear it. It is there and getting closer. ….

(The maroon beret is the international symbol of elite airborne forces.)

RECEIVED AT EIGHTEEN THIRTY:

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thee sharpe teeth of thee hare

And so though fweete Y haf been bytten by the vypr and now my hyaert turnd greene. Yt myt haf been wonderfull thiff hard case oft worn, thefe lips nown as thine, exept for the esoteryc maladeis of the flesh, how burdonsomme, how unkynde. The mappe Y draw to thee ys lyk a mappe of my own hart, though stagge and horn collyde, all ventrycles and photographyc, vayns most vayn and darke besyde. “Wayt for me.” he said, one hande holdyng myne. “Y cannot.” y cryd, unwylling, my voyse madde of paynt ynd turpentynne. Y ftay payned he was untrue, that Y was not ynoufe for hym, that hys luft drove hym to dysmay. Y do not fee myself in nowe, infstead Y am unglued, ynvysyble though comewat maye. Does thyse thynges contynue? Fhouldde Y ftay?

spreading the love

Canadian fetishwear designer Slinka, (an especially darling acquaintance of mine), has recently come upon a pet-related financial crisis. Her cat Pooh needs dental surgery she and her partner can’t quite afford. Thankfully you can help her by helping yourself, (if you’re the sort who’s into such things), by buying her sexy, sexy latex designs for you and/or your loved ones, just in time for Valentines:

Ego-Assassin

ps. wristbands are only $20.

ominous

Riding through Crackton this morning, there was no one on the street. It was suspicious, so suspicious, even the Theives Market was gone. The corner of Pigeon Parked looked like an abandoned movie set. Benches were not huddles of homeless, forts of shopping carts and tattered blankets, shouting about drugs, threats, or Jesus. I could see police farther down one street, bunched at the mouth of an alley, clapping their dark gloved hands together against the chill, but no other evidence of anything that could have happened. My bus went by too fast. Yesterday our regular junk strip was our regular junk strip, all howling, dirty, and dangerous for tourists. Where did everyone go?