theNewerYork Press

Marina and the Marine

Michael Naghten Shanks — Wed, 15 May 2013 18:00:13 +0000

Birth by Aniela Sobieski www.anielasobieski.com

And so just as I finish saying what it is that I want to say there are three beats of silence – beat, beat, beat – and she starts to open her mouth, but then I notice a bird sticking its head out from between her pink lips, its beady eyes blinking in the harsh light, and it jumps onto her protruding bottom lip, using it like a perch, and flaps a bit before flying onto the top of my head, and I look at her and she looks at me as if to say “Understand?” right before a wind carries her away like sand over a dune, and then I feel the weight of the bird lift off of my head and I see it fly towards a tree where it perches itself on the lowest branch, within arms reach, and so I run to the tree, jumping and grasping, but I can’t get to it, and then I see all these other people jumping and grasping for frisbees, balls, knapsacks, food, clothes, rifles, books, but then the bird flies past my face and up towards an open window of a building I had not seen was behind me, so I run in and up the staircase, two steps at a time, sometimes three, sometimes missing a step and falling, and I see the bird on the window ledge and just as I dive to grab it it swoops down and takes a shit on JFK and everyone in the cavalcade starts to scream and run around, and no-one notices the bird skipping along the grassy knoll because all of their eyes are zooming in on me, so I run back down the staircase and out into the street, but it’s empty – not a car, not a building, not a tree, not a blade of grass, not a person to be seen – it is just me, the bird, and a white nothingness that stretches on into the ether for eternity.

#IQUIT: A TWITTER FEED

Yann Rousselot — Mon, 13 May 2013 11:47:22 +0000

“Smoking is harmful to your breath. National Committee Against Tobacco www.cnct.org“

Day 1 of my attempt to change my own DNA after 15 years of self-inflicted genetic modification. Wish me luck.

Day 2 of the end of the world. It’s dark in here.

Day 4 of the Apocalypse, something ate Day 3. But this is easier than I thought.

Day 5 of constant hallucinations. Ghost cigarettes flare alight in my hands, making me drop things in a panic. Smoke rings over my tea mug.

Day 6 of my Escape from Tobacco. (Furious hyperbole adds colour to this journey: reality is too boring.) “They” are after me. Must push on.

Day 7, or is it 9? I am losing track of time in my hellish world of bone-ache and vomit (read: slight anxiety). I keep rolling random shreds of paper into tubes and cones.

Day 10 of incessant questions. Am I doing this for myself? Peer pressure? Will cancer get me anyway? Is fatalism cool? Am I still cool?

Day 12 of thinking I’d pick a filterless Gitane over a BJ right now.

Day 13 my Nicorette inhaler tastes like a spicy fart. Sense of smell returning, hopefully will maintain trend until superpower levels are reached…

Day 14 of holding my breath. “Either write something worth reading, or do something worth writing about.” Achievement is relative.

Day 16 of riding blind into the future. Look Ma, no hands! (Mom, if you read this, I love you. Call me please.)

Day 17 of juggling with 2 rabid, hog-tied kittens and a chainsaw. (Because tightrope imagery just doesn’t cut it.) All is A-OK.

Day 19 of my MMA training regime. Today, splits, jump-rope and kicking a concrete pillar. No pain, no gain.

Day 20 of chewing my fingernails down to the bone. Os à moelle snacks at any time of day? Priceless. (And bloody.)

Day 21 of open-heart surgery, my pulse is strong and the tar-sands in my lungs might actually have market value to BP. Win win.

Day 22 of grieving for a lost cerebral hemisphere; like a semi-facial paralysis; an amputated ego; a phantom sixth finger, itching like mad.

Day 23 of my exile from French nonchalance, from a baritone voice I shouldn’t have, from a strange and misplaced sense of carpe diem.

Day 24 of my campaign for presidency of the Self-Control Committee. Am procrastinating at work, but I digress…

Day 27 of my lonely walk, the wind in my face is unabated, and now there is hail.

Day 28 of oxygen starvation, finally adapting, hallucinations now fading, reality is creeping back. It’s ugly, but it’s all there is.

Day 29 of kicking the ass of a small, pencil-thin guy with one orange foot and a mouthful of dry leaves soaked in petro-chemicals. Still winning.

Day 30 of sink or swim – it was a doggy paddle, now I’m doing the backwards butterfly while saving two blond bombshells from drowning. *Cue Baywatch theme.

Day 33 of my rejuvenation treatment. Nanobot functions at 100%. Skin and lung tissue repair progressing as expected. Status: Ongoing.

Day 34 of holding a malfunctioning lighter in my hand and staring at the flint sparks and wondering if lung power is really worth it in the end.

Day 36 of wondering why I waited so long. And immediately thinking: stupid question.

Day 39 of my self-help poetry recital, last day of speaking to a mirror in an empty room. Life goes on, outside, and Spring isn’t that far off.

Day 1 of writing about something else.

Heterodox Readings of Contemporary Musical Culture Assembled by a Machine in my Garage

Max Miroff — Mon, 13 May 2013 10:50:10 +0000

the lost ear

Roddy Williams — Sat, 11 May 2013 19:00:57 +0000

i lost an ear in starburger once, not one of mine obviously. it had been left outside my door, on the step some days before. ‘it’ll be a kidnap victim,’ said mam, ‘and they’ll have gone to the wrong house.’ i took it down the pub in case the kidnappers realised their mistake. they could jump me and make me let them in to get the ear back, so i carried it about with me in a richmond menthol superkings packet so that i could hand it back if manhandled, until i was distracted in starburger by a fajita option.

‘Ear Found In Starburger’. i thought it a bit cheap even for ‘the daily star’. they had an artist’s reconstruction of an ear poking out of an open richmond ciggy box, and a pic of van gogh with a bandage round his head. no one-eared people have turned up to claim it they say, but as mam said ‘if they were still kidnapped they wouldn’t, would they?’ now they’ll have to cut the other ear off to send to the right house but at least the victim’s head will be symmetrical. i find asymmetry very offputting in a person.

i had a boss with an eye-patch once and i had to leave.

made new friends over the internet. if only i knew their real names…

Some of my favorite hobbies are archery and stamp collecting.

Bri LaPelusa — Wed, 08 May 2013 12:00:29 +0000

Examine the following statements and choose the answer option that best applies to you:

1) I am not a person who turns down a dare.
2) Most people look forward to a trip to the dentist.
3) If I get poor service at a restaurant I let the manager know.
4) I’m an affectionate person.
5) I have had no difficulty in starting or holding my bowel movements.
6) I’ve thought about how others would react if I killed myself.
7) I have a lot to live for.
8) I’m reckless.
9) I frequently have diarrhea.
10) I flew across the Atlantic thirty times last year.
11) When I’m alone I often feel the strong presence of someone nearby that can’t be seen.
12) Even when I’m awake I don’t seem to notice people near to me.
13) I’ve seen my face on the front cover of several magazines last year.
14) I have not seen a car for the past ten years.
15) Sometimes I get ads in the mail that I don’t want.
16) When I get mad at other drivers I let them know.
17) I’m a loner.
18) I’ll do most things if the price is right.
19) My favorite sports event on TV is the high jump.
20) Most people win more than they lose.
21) I don’t mind driving on freeways.
22) I have a bad back.
23) Some of my favorite hobbies are archery and stamp collecting.
24) Sometimes I wonder if my thoughts are being taken away.
25) Sometimes my vision is in only black and white.
26) I have a sixth sense that tells me what is going to happen.
27) Raymond Kertezc is my favorite poet.
28) People have had it in for me from the beginning.
29) I very much like checking that everyone has done what they were meant to do.
30) Superman is a real person.
31) Most people lose more than they win.
32) As a child, I enjoyed Alice in Wonderland.
33) I think I would be a good comedian.
34) I believe people should never take vacations.
35) No one understands me or my plans.
36) There are people who try to control my thoughts.
37) I could go several weeks without food or water.
38) I could never imagine myself being famous.
39) My mother was a woman.
40) I dislike incoherent theories.

The Exquisite Collection of Buffula Cheffalo

Adam Davis — Tue, 07 May 2013 15:30:19 +0000

Review files for confirmation. Process outstanding claims. Some phones. Miscellaneous office duties. Squeeze into chair that’s too small, between the armrests that press a dimpled hourglass shape into what is usually round. Adjust the black ergonomic pad that runs the length of the keyboard.

“Buffula, can you watch the phones? I need a smoke and Jamie’s at lunch.”

“It’s not my job to cover phones for smoke breaks.”

“Buffula, can you just watch the phones for five fucking minutes?”

Review files for confirmation. Process outstanding claims. Phones, when the receptionist and secretary are out, although they should never be out at the same time (with the exception of sick days). Miscellaneous office duties. Produce files for review. Place files in file folders, stack file folders in baskets, organize reviewed files in file drawers, pull files for continuing cases and stack in baskets, produce transcripts for inclusion in files, document everything, make piles. Everything must be done on paper. If it is not on paper there is no record, and if there is no record it doesn’t exist. If a file is lost, it must be remade using available documentation, which is difficult to locate and compile, and often insufficient. Insufficient files go to a special office; those responsible are reprimanded. Files must be accounted for.

“Claims Department, Processing, how may I direct your call?”

“Yes, I’m calling from the hospital, and they’re telling me there’s a problem with my insurance. I’ve been here three days . . . “

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll direct you to a Claims Manager, who will instruct you on how to . . .”

“I’ve spoken to a Claims Manager, to three of them, and now I’m sitting in a hospital bed being charged a thousand dollars a day and I need to know right now if I need to leave this hospital before they bleed me dry.”

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to talk to a Claims Manager . . .”

“I don’t want a Claims Manager. I want someone who can give me some actual answers.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but policy . . .”

“How about you? Can you answer a question? Are you capable of talking to me like a human being?”

“Ma’am, it is the Claim Manager’s responsibility to . . .”

“Are you a human being? Do you have feelings? When you go home from this job do you talk to people like a robot, like some soul-drained piece of machinery? Do you? Do you have a soul?”

“I’m sorry for your concern, ma’am. I’ll transfer you to a Claims Manager who will be able to address your queries directly.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me . . .”

“Hold, please.”

Review files for confirmation. Process claims handed down by Claims Managers, in triplicate. Answer phones, be professional, do not allow conversations to become personal. Miscellaneous office duties. Light cleaning. Stock the creamer basket. Dust files and replace worn folders. Dismantle piles of paper to make them less threatening. Spread them out on an empty desk, when there is room. Open folders. Occasionally, unstaple large documents. When things get really hard, take a file apart completely and spread it discretely in disparate parts of the office. Remember where all of the pages are, and which order they were in, and which were stapled. Files must never be taken home.

“I’m never sleeping with a temp again. You know? What’s the point.”

“I don’t know.”

“Temp-o-rary, it’s in the job title. What am I thinking sometimes?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe I want it to be temporary. I mean, I’m not that type of girl, or at least I don’t think I am. But why else would I be sleeping with a temp?” “I suppose the relationship could last even if the job didn’t.”

“Right. With someone whose employment is temporary. ‘Oh, he can’t hold down a job or provide for a family, but he’s a wonderful man and a beautiful lover.’ Please.”

“I was just saying that it’s possible.”

“Not really, Buffula.” “Then why did you sleep with him?”

“I’m not desperate, if that’s what you mean. I’m just putting myself out there a little so I’m not sitting at home alone every weekend, watching some goddamn movie of the week and eating a giant bowl of popcorn by myself. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

If you do take files home, return them promptly. Do not crumple them. Do not pee on them, just a little, in the bathtub. If you do, wash them carefully with baby wipes, hang to dry and flatten with phone books. Return before they are noticed missing. Active files must be returned by the next morning; inactive files may be kept longer. Files for families can be easily identified by the presence of blue sheets in the front of the folder indicating coverage for children. Thin files typically mean healthy households. Happy children, well cared for. Happy families. These files must be returned by the next morning. Review files, process claims. Miscellaneous office duties.

“Buffula, I can’t find this file anywhere. You’re good with the files – can you track it down?”

“I’ll look for it.”

“I seriously don’t know how this place doesn’t drive you insane. You’ve been here, what, twelve years?”

Review files for confirmation. Stay late on occasion. Take more files home. Keep a few in a special place under the bed. Pull them out at night and flip through the pages. If a bit of paper dangles from an incomplete hole punch, tear it off. Ingest it.

“Buffula, if you have some time this afternoon, we’ve got to go through these cabinets and find the seven that are missing. I’ve checked everyone’s desks, and they’re not upstairs, either.”

“We can maybe remake them, if they can’t be found.”

“I don’t want to remake files, and besides, the point is that files are missing, and that’s a big problem.”

Cull files more carefully. Try to find outdated files that haven’t been pulled for a long time. Occasionally, when bitter, take files from other people’s desks when they are out to lunch or haven’t come in yet. Be the first one in the office in the morning.

“You didn’t hear? Geez, Buffula, it’s been going around the office for a week.”

“What?”

“Well, don’t talk about it too loudly, obviously, but the rumor is that Alton is having hidden cameras installed in the office.”

“Did he?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen anything yet, but I definitely wouldn’t put it past him. I’m surprised he didn’t think of it earlier.”

Make photocopies instead. Start with a hundred files, replacing them carefully. Bring a larger bag to work. Organize the files into piles at home. Start on the bedstand, then the counter and kitchen table. Another hundred files. When the piles get too large, start piles on the floor. Keep files in every room. Sleep amidst your piles.

“Shut the door, Buffula. Thanks for seeing me. So, how goes the battle?”

“What’s that?”

“How are things? You know, in the office, at home. What’s the latest?”

“Nothing much, Mr. Alton.”

“Doug, call me Doug. A boss should be your friend, right?”

“I suppose so.”

“Friends do favors for one another. You get in a jam, you call a friend, right? And they help you out. You know what I’m saying?”

“I guess.”

“Well, I’d like to do you a favor today. As a friend. See, I have a bit of video footage here . . . that’s you, right? Well, that’s okay. We both know it is. And we both know that taking files out of the office will get you fired and possibly sued. Right?”

“Yes.”

“So this conversation could definitely go a certain way. But . . . we’re friends, right? And you’ve been a loyal employee, in most respects. Hell, you know these files better than anyone. To be honest, I don’t know what we’d do without you around here. So, why don’t we make a compromise?”

“A compromise?”

“Sure. You have needs, that’s clear. Some fucking strange ones, but that’s your demon to deal with. I have needs, too, Buffula. One big one in particular. And I know how much you love your job . . .

Review files for confirmation. Process outstanding claims. Some phones. Miscellaneous office duties. Stay late when required, twice a week. Be loyal to the company. Never stop making piles, or you will die.

Stones

Yevgeniy Levitskiy — Mon, 06 May 2013 19:00:25 +0000

Novastructura by Giuseppe Randazzo

The smell of fresh stones draws me inside the store. I look past the counter at the stones cooling on display. Stone-filled stones, stone-glazed stones and semi-sweet stones crowd the trays. A man in an apron lifts a stone and a curl of steam escapes from underneath. Another employee makes layers for a wedding stone and licks some stone off his fingers. He points me toward the organic section when I ask him if they sell free-range stones. They do. I find some on sale when I get there. I get the stones just thinking what to make for the dinner party.

I buy a bag of fresh stones to make stones for four. First, I grind some baby stones and then I marinate some pan-seared stones. The trick is to get the stones just the right color before you plate them. That way, the bold stone flavor is retained. Then, I chop the remaining stones and use them as garnish. I serve this appetizer to my friends.

“These stones are outrageous,” George the geologist exclaims. “And they taste spectacular.”

Jane, who sells jewelry on 55^th street, cuts her stone softly with a fork. She takes a bite and says, “I love how sweet these stones are.”

“I don’t think eating stones is healthy,” Ricky the rock climber complains. He sets down his fork. “Our stomachs are not built to digest them.”

“Relax,” I say reassuringly. “It’s not like you’re eating stones every day.”

“That’s a good point,” George nods in my direction. “Besides, how can you not love the lightness?”

“The lightness is remarkable,” Jane says examining her dish.

“I agree,” I add. “It doesn’t feel like I’m eating stones at all.”

Ricky pushes his plate forward. “I can’t eat this.”

“I can make you something else,” I offer. “Would you like to try some of my scones?”

“That sounds better.” His chiseled face breaks into a smile. “How long will it take?”

“Not very long. I just throw them in the oven. Presto, they’re already done.”

Ask my friends and they’ll tell you: my scones are edible.

morrisey’s found diary 2002

Roddy Williams — Sat, 04 May 2013 19:14:14 +0000

(assembled from reported extracts of random overheard conversations on the London Underground during 2002)

I don’t love you anymore.

I just can’t get enough of Claire Sweeney.

I tried tying her up with the wire from the kettle, but it did nothing for her.

I get Seasonally Adjusted Depression, but only in the summertime.

All I can ever say is sorry.

I get so upset about the illegal sale of ivory.

I walked up the stairs at Covent Garden.

Halfway up I started regretting every second of my miserable existence.

I can’t wait to get home to the cribbage.

I can tell you one thing for sure. Robert Pires doesn’t eat in Nando’s.

I work out. I pump iron. I run miles. But still my soul is feeble and weak.

I think that man is dead.

I’d like to pave over the garden.

I have always dabbled in the Kabbalah.

I saw Chris Kamara singing Gershwin on TV. It was amazing.

I bought a prosthetic stomach so I can empathise with Emily through the pregnancy.

I’m tired. I am realising all the thick bullies I remember from school now have successful careers

in the media.

I have no money, and yet the credit card companies keep on sending me letters saying I have

been selected because of my wonderful credit rating.

I can’t face any more weddings.

I really can’t stand Hoxton. I can’t even find it. I get off the tube at Old Street and then get lost…

I love the sudden burst of arid sunshine when the train emerges from the tunnel at East

Finchley.

I only take the tube to avoid conversations with minicab drivers.

I hate it when the train stops like this between stations. The least they could do is make some

kind of announcement.

I wish this train would move, as I need the toilet and do not wish to urinate in public.

In my dream I hover a lot…I don’t fly, I just walk on air as though it were solid.

I walk until I fall over.

I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I just stay up all night listening to vintage Elton John.

I am not Spock.

I am the un-God. I am Anubis.

I am the immortal one. I was alive before the Pharaohs and will be alive when this world is dust.

Mock me at your peril, for you cannot encompass the scope and geometry of my soul.

I live in a Cindy Sherman Tank.

I am many. I am one.

I am the sun. I am the stars. I am the universe. I am very lonely.

I am Atlas, holding up the world at gunpoint. I am the leap year!

I am translucent. Some light just passes through me.

I kept on confusing love with pride. That’s how I lost him. Oh please, just give me a drink.

I love you Kate Bush.

I think perhaps we met in Poland? No?

I can ride horses. I can ride donkeys. But I can’t make love to you.

I think you have put me off sex forever.

I can deal with the past and the future, but the present destroys me.

I have terrible ulcers all over my tongue.

I heard that Scotland had detached from the rest of Britain and was floating towards the Arctic

circle.

I appear to have swallowed my tongue.

I love the smell of fried onions, burning greasy on an old-fashioned griddle.

I spent the whole day in a sleeping bag. I looked like some kind of a slug.

I light another cigarette before I’ve even stopped smoking the previous one.

I like girls with garlic breath.

I like Tic Tacs and Poppets.

I don’t trust men with nose rings.

I don’t trust Professor Gunther von Hagens one little bit. He is a showman. He wears a hat!

I have a deep yearning to appear respectable.

I want to be as sleek and invulnerable as a swan.

I have nothing to fear but fear itself, which I fear intensely.

I wish to be elsewhere.

I’m so glad we can still be friends.

I have made new friends over the internet. If only I knew their real names…