The Aching of the Fashion Man

Gino is the destroyer of inaccurate, nondescript, and confusing cities. Kyle is a senior UX designer who loves to spend time with deniers paid by the fossil fuel industry to make all those creatures that go bump in the night afraid.

What kind of men are they? They are not the incarnation of what I imagine my greatest hater would despise most.

I'm not mad about this, but I am a monster who love cannot fix. I’m in a mood today, and I DON’T CARE.

Hair Arcade

The enslaved grandparents are servants to streaming comedies. They command our attention as they snack on wet granola, and their imaginary hunger fills us. We've found ourselves comatose in public before, palpable. But this new sensation, amid the leers of uniformed attendants, feels especially deserved.

The windows of this early '50s ranch are weather-sealed, soundproofed, adorned with decals to warn away careless birds. The various colors of our slacks are inspired by forgotten colonial exploits, inviting catcalls. Dark vanity draws the blood from our legs, fractures our educated chivalry. There really aren't many athletes here. There aren't many style icons to guide us. Most men fail to achieve an optimum work-life balance.

Hard, Hard and Polished

G is sitting at a simple patio table reading a little book, upon the table sits a plate with some crumbs on it

There is only one chair and it is the one G sits upon

K enters

K: I have a qu-

G: Don't talk

K: Bu-

G: Please

K: ...

G: ...

K: Igottago-

G: Please

K sits down, eyes flared, nervous movements in their appendages

K stands swatting at their bottom and looking down at the ground in surprise

K: These ants-

G: SSSSHHHHH

K looks at G, a sense of growing anger in K's body

G: You didn't read the pamphlets?

G holds their finger to their lips

K shrugs, body expressing confusion and confirmation that the pamphlets were no read

G: There are ants ... If you'd read the pamphlet you'd know it ...

K slaps at their thigh, sharply

G: That's your fault

K exits and G goes back to reading the little book

Soon an ugly dragging abrasive sound is known and K re-enters, with a heavy chair

K sits on the chair and looks down suspiciously at the ground

K rubs their eyes and expresses exhaustion, bodily

G reacts with humor at the little book they are reading

K settles into the chair, staring at G for a while as G engages with their book

TBC

Upside Down in the Guy's Warehouse

I resemble Steven Tyler, Bostonian rock and roll star. He, like me, is native New Yorker. I've got that great accent you've heard in the programs or at the cinema. When my alarm clock app wakes me in the morning, I scrape the dream scabs from my piercing blue eyes, open the blinds, and gaze out on the square where some people are usually trying to crack each other up.

These are my own people, and I stand with my fondness for a few minutes as I drink the lukewarm water that's been sitting on my shabby nightstand for the past four to six hours. Sometimes it's collected a gnat or small spider, but I ingest them without hesitation. They are part of a beautiful life, too.

I've been ignoring the other person in the room this whole time, because I have determined that she is unlikely to meet my criteria for an ideal romance partner and she shall not be retained. Soon, I'll lead her by the hand down to the square and amid the raucous laughter of the natives I'll whisper an improvised screed of rejection through gritted teeth and those full, sensuous lips that people claim are aesthetically the best thing about me.

Then I'll board a subway car and try to meet another one in another square.

Signs of Neurological Inflation

There is no skipping over a self-image. We are never transcending. Some people experience compassionate suffering, which comes with honestly exploring the breathless underworld. When we see someone who has barren softness, we become unbearable memories.

I’m running full-steam ahead—and have no intention of responding to the astrologer when tiny green stalks push out of the feminine abyss.

Shining Baculum in Velvet Holster

Uber is the, Uber is the, Uber is the extracurricular survival.
Uber is the ceaseless interpretation of lifestyle.
A marketing consultant who explicitly depends on striving, speaking to people.
Uber is the, Uber is the, Uber is the fantasy of eroding.
If people see some sort of difficulty they favor toil.
Uber is the, Uber is the, Uber is the flexible popularity.
A college student can get the reality of slapping.

Boat Placard

Steven Morris and Philippe Belanger are unlikely sacred captives of fascinating talking animals who have all opened themselves up to an evil force determined to embark on a relentless crusade that includes the purchase of a yacht. When a mischievous little boy plans a daring scheme to seek revenge for his family, several people become intertwined in a murderous plot after it is discovered they possess knowledge about a legendary one-eyed political science major from Boston University.

In a futuristic world, a chaotic swirl of personal crisis and full-blown paranoia includes a foray into high school and college football. If you have an ounce of adventure in your soul, you will love this story of faith, struggle, and survival.