TFMA goes live!

It's been a long road, but we're finally here.  The last few months have been difficult ones, as I've cast off the shackles of conventional living (i.e. making money, eating food, etc.) and...

The Flying Monkey Apparatus

Monthly Archives: December 2010

(Late) Christmas Greetings & Loot Lists

Loot includes: a stack of beautiful books that reaches several feet into the air, the 2010 anthology of Best American Comics, my personal Holy Grail: copy 257 of the extremely limited, entirely too expensive first and only edition of Melinda by author Neil Gaiman and illustrator Dagmara Matuszak, and an ungodly pile of coffee and tea that should keep me caffeinated enough to work well into the wee hours during the long nights ahead.

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Embers, Fissures, and the Blue-blossoming Snake

The lines aren’t always clearly drawn. Sometimes we’re never quite sure if the Right Choice, that veiled and slippery thing, moving like a blue blossom on the end of an oiled snake, ever evading our grasp as we cry for both its venom and its medicine, is the thing that we have allowed ourselves to accept or the thing that we have told ourselves we can never have.

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Gutless Beginnings and the Giving of Gifts

A few weeks ago this would have been the tail end of my lunch break and I’d probably have been spending it munching on vegetables and a bowl of rice in my cubicle, but since I’ve gone to all the trouble of building this website, people expect me to have something to say. To be honest, I’d sort of forgotten about that part. I’d also like to take a second to talk about a couple of charities: the Humble Indie Bundle and one that’s better presented to you by Patrick Rothfuss himself.

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TFMA goes live!

My sincerest thanks and heartfelt gratitude to all who have been so supportive and optimistic and told me that dooming myself to the life of a writer was a good idea. I’m looking forward to dragging you all down with me.

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  • From “Lucid Interval”

    She's three years old again, sitting alone on the living room floor. The room is filled with the sounds of Cookie Monster eating on the TV, and she glances up from her toys. But she's confused. Cookie Monster isn't there. He's been replaced by an epileptic fit, a head wrapped in white cloth that struggles against some half-seen restraint.

    Something heavy moves in waves from the TV. She smells fear and disease but can't understand.

    And then it's over. Big Bird is back, talking sense to her, admonishing her with his eyes for even thinking she saw something so adult. Shit like that doesn't happen, little girl. We're one big happy family here.