Raise Up Lights

Raise up lights. An old signal using a flint, atop a watchtower. Power hour. Our our (hour). Doorves. Smelling like a small man on a big day. Party tank. Ovens over Tuesday mining drove alep shmoo. Oiv. Was. Billbank and Sherman Butt, family name was once Bute now Butt. Sherman Butt and Billbank Butt are friends and brothers, they share their lovers and they love beer. They listen to Radiohead but they aren’t stupid, they went to college and never listened to college rock for longer than a few minutes because it wasn’t their scene. The Butts were epic and needed epic music, out in the rain in the gray city darkened by supernatural night. They’re the ones to rise up, to save the day… Billbank and Sherman.

Eyes like sushis, and eyes… and plants, too, flora like both sushis and like eyes. To some, it’s a land of horrors. Not hell, exactly, but a nightmarish place. A place not reached in sleep, but through the other, less known horrors of reality. Falling through codes. Beyond the geometric structures. First, he wakes to a slapping sound, but it’s important to note that he does in fact wake- thus it’s not a dream. Oilive. Gruz. Myep. That was the end.

Two peach pits!? Sherman Butt was ecstatic. Nearly hysterical. Surely this was the end of days or a good omen or some nonsense. Not even on the internet had he ever heard of a peach having 2 pits. No one had even attempted to fake it with photo-editing software or grainy old found-footage. The idea was apparently so inconceivable that no one had ever conceived it. Yet here it was, in Sherman Butt’s hot little hands. He felt the urge to get somewhere, but he didn’t know where to go. Holden’s house? The bank? To where prostitutes stood? His mind was on fire. Sherman hadn’t lost reason or control, but he was in some sort of lucid reverie or psychotic breakdown…

Gold Bond. Your name is Gold Bond? Like the stuff? The stuff? Cream. I’ve never heard of that, no.

Todd Russell, Chrunchytown PA

Todd Russell, Chrunchytown PA, eating Oklahoma flapjacks. Drills sound in the background- the sound of construction, corruption. Mopes. Moaps and oats. Two guys have a dumb argument, you can hear them from across the street, though neither raises their voice. Clobber. Someone thinks “I wish they would fight.” Lost in thought, this person walks into traffic and is hit by a car. Possibly a taxi.

Words in burns. Craaawww! Says to officer, the policeman. Phillip Polly, the policeman. That’s how Mike Jacobs, the postman, saw himself. He never believed in ghosts, but after becoming one, he began to rethink his beliefs. An archday, a fortnight. A egg. Aegg. Aeggon. Strange Aeggons. Sailing ships, sophomoric faggot “THAT WORD!” says running and screaming people. Arglesby. Formerly Arglesbee, by way of Spain by way of Canada by way of Spain. Arglesby leads and is leader of the running and screaming people. This isn’t a movement or culture, just a thing that happens, and when it does, it is sometimes with Arglesby, who leads.

Grass in the cracks of butts in pants that don’t quite fit, green tufts over belt loops. Vegetable. Is grass a vegetable? It’s a plant. So is these guys, with the pants. The green tufts. Side effects. Just effects, really. Because A, B, C & D. Just effects. Unintended consequences, maybe, but just effects. Additional. Subtractional Effects inlcude: Non-existent things. Barcodes. Watch batteries. Mexican stiltmen. Wum. Wum, by the way, being very popular. No ad campaign campaign. An add campaign. Add Wum to your life.

No, we haven’t gotten them yet. Shoot. Here… put it… any problems last time? Distress. Fuzziness. Other people’s thoughts- ok, so find out- I would, I would OK uhm He’s on 3 we… on every 3 weeks now – and what happens if… Other people’s thoughts. Not what their thoughts ARE, but what they ARE thinking. They weren’t, before. They are now, which is weird. Changes things. New development. Been almost 3 weeks now. A long, long time ago. Another collaboration day. I wish we had that when we were kids. Yep, gotta collaborate. With Wum. Wum makes collaboration EASY:

in BG, sound of adult laughing, fighting game, baby noises.

Javier Mullmort

The dull click… the dull click.  He rolled the words around inside his mind.  “I’m going to write a story, and it’s going to start with ‘the dull click,'” said Javier Mullmort to no one in particular.  “I’m going to be a pretty good writer.”  Javier’s thoughts drifted to his middle initial, the letter J.  J for “Jaaaaaaaaaaaalllll,” like his parent had fallen into a pit while christening him.  “Isn’t it weird and stupid that my first two initials are J and J, but one sounds like an H?” continued Javier as he tapped his pen against a blank piece of notebook paper.  “A ‘H’ or an ‘H’?” asked Javier.  “Language…”

Sniffing the sniff of a man with a booger in his nose that is just beyond a finger’s reach, he checked the watch he was not wearing, then looked through the large windows to his right.  Gray and rainy.  Tap, tap, tap.  Javier drew a smiley face on the otherwise blank page.  Briefly, his eyes glaze over, and then he turns the smiley face into a smiling flower.  “A daisy,” he says, as if in response to the previous sentence.  Black and red images of this daisy cutting up human bodies with a chainsaw flash through his mind, and he looks back toward the window.

A truck drives by.  Half a thought forms in Javier’s mind- “fly off the road and crash into here…” Just then, he sneezes.  “Damnit,” he exclaims, barely getting the word out of his mouth when another sneeze cripples his body and rattles his nerves.  Sniffling a couple of times and stretching a little, Javier reaches for his coffee that is actually tea.  He does not notice, though, as he scrawls “the dull click… the dull click” across the top of the page.