GIVE ME EVERY LITTLE THING
The Juan Maclean
Less Than Human
DFA : 2005
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YOU CAN'T STEAL A GIFT
El Perro del Mar
From the Valley to the Stars
Control Group : 2008
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ECONOMIC THEORY
Christian Kiefer
Dogs & Donkeys
Undertow : 2007
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MOISTWORKS STORYTIME CORNER PRESENTS:
"The Devil is a Busy Man"
by David Foster Wallace
from Brief Interviews with Hideous Men
Back Bay Books : 2000
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Plus when he got something that was new or if he cleaned out the machine shed or the cellar oftentimes Daddy would find he had a item he didn't want anymore and had to get shed of and as it was a long haul to truck it to the dump or the Goodwill in town he'd just call up and put a notice in the Trading Post paper in town to give it away for nothing. Shit like a couch or a freezer or old tiller. The notice would say Free Come And Get It. Yet even so it always took some time after it run before one soul even called up and the item would sit around in Daddy's drive pissing him off until one or two folks in town would finally come out to his place to look at it. And they'd be skittery about it too and their face all closed up lik at cards and they'd walk around the thing and poke it with their toe and go Where'd you all get it at what's the matter with it how come you want shed of it so bad. They'd shake their head and talk to their Mrs. and dither around and about drive Daddy nuts because all he wanted was to give a old tiller away for nothing and get it out of the drive and here it was taking him all this time jickjacking around with these folks to get them to take it. Then so what he up and starts doing one time he wanted to get shed of something is he puts his notice in the Trading Post paper and he puts in some fool price he just makes up there on the phone with the Trading Post fellow. Some fool price next to nothing. Old Harrow With Some Teeth A Little Rusted $5, JCPenny Sleepersofa Green And Yellow $10 and like that. The oftentimes folks called up the first day the Trading Post run the notice and up and come out from town and even would haul in from further out in some little other towns that got the Trading Post and pull up spraying gravel and scarce even look at the item and press on Daddy to take the 5 or $10 right away before any other folks could take it and if it was something heavy like that one couch I'd help them load it up and they'd up and haul it off right then and there. Their faces was different and their wife's faces in the truck, fine and showing teeth and him with an arm around the Mrs. and a wave at Daddy as they back out. Tickled to death to get a old harrow for next to nothing. I asked Daddy about what lesson to draw here and he said he figured it's you don't try and teach a pig to sing and told me to go on and rake the drive's gravel back out of the ditch before it fucked up the drainage.
Labels: brian, fiction
PRAYER OF DEATH
Entrance
Prayer of Death
Tee Pee Records : 2006
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LIKE BIRDS POURING OUT MY SIDES
Blake Miller
Together with Cats
Exit Stencil Recordings : 2006
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BLACK TONGUE
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Fever to Tell
Interscope : 2003
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MOISTWORKS STORYTIME CORNER PRESENTS:
"Altmann's Tongue"
by Brian Evenson
After I had killed Altmann, I stood near Altmann's corpse watching the steam of the mud rising around it, obscuring what had once been Altmann. Horst was whispering to me, "You must eat his tongue. If you eat his tongue, it will make you wise," Horst was whispering. "If you eat his tongue, it will make you speak the language of birds!" I knocked Horst down and pointed the rifle, and then, as if by accident, squeezed the trigger. One moment I was listening to Horst's voice, his eyes brilliant - "the language of birds" - and the next I had killed him. I stared at the corpse next to Altmann's corpse. It had been right to kill Altmann, I thought. Given the choice to kill or not to kill Altmann, I had chosen the former and had, in fact, made the correct choice. We go through life at every moment making choices. There are people, Altmann among them, who, when you have sent a bullet through their skull, you know you have done the right thing. It is people like Altmann who make the rest of it worthwhile, I thought, while people like Horst, when killed, confuse life further. The world is populated by Altmanns and Horsts, the former of which one should riddle with bullets on the first possible occasion, the latter of which one should perhaps kill, perhaps not: Who can say? I felt remarkably calm. I prided myself that moment on my self-composure, taking a minute to sit down next to the two corpses, Altmann and Horst, and to feel the calm to its greatest extent. This calm, I supposed, was not the result of killing Horst but, as one might expect, of killing Altmann. There are two types of people, I thought - type Horst and type Altmann. All people are either Horst or Altmann. I am the sole exception. I repeated the phrase sole exception, alternating it with unique exception, trying to decide which was the better, unable to decide. I flew blackly about, smelling my foul feathers and flesh. I stuttered, spattered a path through the branches of trees, sprung fluttering into blank sky.
Brian Evenson
Altmann's Tongue
Bison Books : 2002
[Buy it]Labels: brian, fiction
