This was last night. My dream, I mean.

Zombies, apocalypse, etc. The zombies had green, rotten skin and smelled like death, and they ate people, especially but not exclusively their brains. They didn’t moan much, or stumble around. They moved more or less like normal people, and they could talk and see and hear (and presumably taste, otherwise they probably wouldn’t be so hot for eating flesh)–but they were stupid: easy to fool, and not very good with deductive reasoning.

I was with a group of people and we had a hideout in a school cafeteria. It had big windows and a few doors, but we hung up curtains in front of the windows and doors that were printed to look like cinderblock walls. As long as you checked to make sure there were no zombies around when you went in or out, they would never know there was anything there. Dumbasses.

If you got close to the zombies (sometimes brave people would hang out just behind the curtains while they were on the other side) you could hear them talk to each other. They talked about cars and cell phone plans and TV shows and their kids and Call of Duty, even though they didn’t have any of those things–most of them had clothes, but that was about it. They were zombies.

There wasn’t much to do in the hideout besides not get eaten by zombies. We played cards a lot. I was nostalgic for living in a place that had a pool table. One guy had the idea to turn the place into a makeshift casino–thought we could use it to get more canned food or whatever. A lot of people were opposed, but he went ahead and did it anyway, and a lot more people from other hideouts started coming around. Inevitably, at least one of them fucked up and the zombies figured out how to get in. Shit got a lot more complicated from there. The dream went on a lot longer, but that’s the part that I felt like was more worth scrutiny. Like it had subtext. Subtext about people ruining something by doing something stupid and shortsighted, and letting the stupid in to feast.


I have been, like, off the planet for a long time. Let’s call it life events or chronic illness or some shit and move on.



Love Is Not Constantly Wondering if You Are Making the Biggest Mistake of Your Life by Anonymous is a very short novel. Practically a poem. It has been out for more than a year, and I found it via a review on Slate, via an ad on, I think, A Softer World. I tweeted the review because I was excited about the “choose your own adventure, but you can’t” gimmick, and I was the ~35th person to tweet it since it went up in May. So, some, but not all/many people are reading this book, as is the case for almost every single book ever published. It’s all meaningless.

Wait, hold on, I’m writing something that’s supposed to be coherent. Let me back up. LINCWiYAMtBMoYL–or, as I like to call it, “Link Why Am’t B’moil”–is a cool little book. It’s laid out in the format of the old Choose Your Own Adventure novels, such as Prisoner of the Ant PeopleWar with the Evil Power Master, and what sounds like it must have been the greatest YA novel ever written, You Are a Shark.

You are not a shark in Link Why Am’t B’moil (you are in fact a geeky guy in his 20’s), but other than that it’s pretty interesting. The artwork, cover, description, and choices at the ends of sections have to do with a plot revolving around crash-landing on an alien planet and being captured by ant warriors, but the actual story is about “your” long-term relationship with Anne, a hard-partying, irresponsible, alcoholic musician. Chapters are organized by date instead of the arbitrary numbers they used in those old pieces of crap. So, you’ll read something like “and the situation is really shitty, but its a situation we have chosen for ourselves: you choose to drink, and i choose to have problem with your drinking, and for us i don’t know if there is an alternative to this right now.” and then it will be followed by “If you agree to fight the other prisoner to the death, turn to October 24, 2003; If you refuse to duel for the Ant-Warriors’ amusement, turn to October 20, 2004.” Unlike the real CYOA books, Link Why Am’t B’moil (which I’m going to start calling LWAB) has only one ending, an underwhelming anticlimax which you move toward in a stumbling, random fashion but eventually reach no matter what, provided you can hold still for the hour or so that it takes to read the entire book.

The format and conceit is obvious and irresistible at the same time. You’re stuck in a co-dependent relationship and, while you’re given choices, you can’t make the ones that you really need to make. The choices you do make are essentially meaningless because, like any broken relationship, it’s going to end the way it inevitably was anyway. It’s hard to see your way out because of how the narrative throws you around from day to day, so that you never know exactly where you are or what is going on. This motherfucker found an unclaimed Stunt Anyone Can Only Pull Once and claimed it, and the result kept me entertained for a few days and gave me something to think about for a while after.

Make no mistake, with LWAB (which I’m going to start calling Lou Ab) the fun is in the form. The story itself is crafted with vivid emotional realism, but presented any other way it would be an unremarkable story that just gives off an icky having-to-watch-someone-else’s-relationship-fail vibe. But because it’s a story that hits so close to home for almost anyone, the choice to make it similar in structure and tone to a CYOA book adds an original spin to the reading experience. There are times when the writing breaks from this formula and drops the pretense of being anything other than a run-of-the-mill roman a clef, but you move between chapters so quick that it’s hardly noticeable.

In my opinion the existance of Lou Ab (which I think must be short for Louis Abner) is pretty heroic, and the nameless author is on my list of people who don’t have to pay. I recommend Louis Abner to anyone bored enough to read the kind of bullshit I engage in. I mean, it’s five goddamn dollars, people.


If there were a CYOA book about me, it would be called Master of Boylesque, which is what has been taking up a lot of my time recently. M. Shaw is also Serge Le Sinister of the Ooh-La-Las. We’ll be the only troop with a booth at Sexapalooza next weekend, if you’re in Columbus.

Found piece of paper with something in my handwriting that I don’t remember writing. Which happens sometimes.


There was an empty beer bottle sitting on the sidewalk. It rained and the bottle filled up with water. Someone walked by, picked it up and drank the water. Can you believe that? He was a CEO who owned 4 Lexuses and lived by a golf course. He drank it because he saw it and felt oddly aroused by the idea of getting herpes. He woke up the next day and he was an insect. He thought it was because of the beer bottle, but frankly once you’ve turned into a bug all bets are off on causality. He didn’t have herpes but he had spotted rocky mountain fever. He bit his wife and gave it to her. She died. It rained and she filled up with water. Bug man tried to drink it and drowned.


This was on the back of a business card for Steve Sikora, whose card claims he is an engineer at Allstrap Steel & Poly Strapping Systems, inc. I have no idea how this came to be in my possession. On the front someone (presumably Steve Sikora) has written “please true tire” in sharpie. You can’t true a tire. It’s made of rubber or some shit.

Like I don’t want food. I don’t want to play games. I just want to destroy everything.

I need to take my vitamins.

Head is empty.

I am a psychoemotional alternate reality. Happy new self.

The month came and went. If you live in Columbus and are tuned into the local coffee houses and/or burlesque venues then you probably heard about most of what I was up to. If not, then it’s because you don’t live in Columbus and I was too busy to write about it. There wasn’t a day all month that couldn’t be its own post, but all I’m offering here is a half-complete picture of what went on. It doesn’t even include the robot fucking a VCR. It doesn’t even include audio of “Hotaru no Hikari” which I suppose I can get later.

Good Night Fucking Moon

Whiskey tasting at Kafe Kerouac. With Peach Roulette and stream-of-consciousness tasting cards.

Billy Goat Dave at Holiday Hop. Freaking out the establishment, when the “establishment” is the arty gallery-going alternative crowd.

Billy Goat Dave Dance-Off

Offshoot Productions Christmas Hootenanny… with Billy Goat Dave! (photos and videos by Roger Heartsun) Excellent show. Much love to Brett Morehead, The Ooh-La-Las, Houndstooth Bindles and our venue, the Knock Theater, and Tony Vargas for saving Christmas’s sound.

Christmas cookies. One of them is me.

Electro Cult Circus Christmas eve eve show.

  • Basically enjoyed it, but probably my least favorite installment of the series so far.
  • POV characters whose chapters were all they were cracked up to be: Jon Snow, Tyrion Lannister, Davos Seaworth, Theon Greyjoy, Asha Greyjoy, Quentyn Martell, Jon Connington
  • Melisandre is not as interesting a POV character as you would expect. Without looking at the book I could not tell you what happens in her one chapter to save my life.
  • My favorite characters are still Davos and Dolorous Edd. If you are a Dolorous Edd impersonator in Columbus who I can hire for parties, please e-mail me.
  • Found myself genuinely wishing that Rhaegal and Viserion would burn Meereen to the ground so we could move on. The intrigue going on there is basically like the intrigue going on in King’s Landing except that it’s happening to characters who are less interesting. Also feels like it’s taking longer to actually happen.
  • Areo Hotah is still a non-character who pops up when we need an omniscient narrator.
  • I like what’s going on with Wyman Manderly/White Harbor, too bad it takes up like 3% of the book.
  • I miss Jaime, Brienne and Sansa.
  • Have never been more sure of the identities of Jon Snow’s actual parents.
  • I like it when the series is cruel and people die.