The Moon was a pale disk in the roiling sky,

The Moon was a pale disk in the roiling sky, casting its leery gaze over the landscape: trees, barren of leaves, bending under a screeching wind. Black dust, the choking ash, swirl

ies visited upon the earth by the heavens. Wait, what? "Argh," I grumbled at the half-filled page on my desk. "How am I supposed to describe an ash storm when I've never even

..." Darius leapt up, switched the fan on full power & emptied a bucket of BBQ ash in front. A whirlwind of ash filled the room. The muse descended. "Clear this up! I must type!"

Darius hated the muse. It was the Muse of Vomit. Darius tried all kinds of things to lose the muse. Traveling to undisclosed locations. Hiring thugs. Nothing worked.

The Vietnamese monks were called in to help. They were quite effective in getting Chicagoans to not stare into my windows, plastered. I wanted to move, as did Darius. We installed

metroshades with Semiotext(e) patterns and radio lanterns with moth fields. Darius and I even considered having our apartment raised by large screws to the next floor, but then wh

at to do with the giant lawn chair sculpture that we had in the foyer. It would never survive Darius's screwy floor raising plan. It was called Dead Virgin with Cat. We bought it

at that art show where they had spiked the punch with LSD, and didn't know what we were doing, but had grown fond of the giant lawn chair and didn't want to see it destroyed. So we

Formed a dandelion chain of chemical regret. The lawn chair rocked back in apparent delight. It'd seen that film with the Depp. It'd seen evil dead 2. How the art shows walls laugh