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

Author Archives: Mikey

About Mikey

Used to work for The Man, decided to quit and make stuff up for a living.

Back is the New Forward

It’s been a long time, pre-algebra. Please be gentle.

Posted in Life | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

Nothing Sucks Like a Roommate

Admittedly, the lady I rent from would probably drive any reasonable person nuts, and honestly, I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. If anyone knows of a nice, cozy alley somewhere, preferably one with a coffee shop nearby where I can leech wifi and recharge the occasional electronic device, do let me know.

Posted in Diatribes, Life | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

Momday

While I sometimes have trouble remembering what day of the week it currently is, what year it is, and how old I am, at least I can say with confidence: today is Mom’s birthday.

Posted in Life | Tagged , | 1 Comment

Mitzipit 2: A Great Lack of Creative Titling

So I’m really in need of help. I love Mitzi to death, and I’ve invested a lot of time and money in trying to help her as much as I can, but I’m about at the end of what I can really do for her. My back is a major issue, and I can’t take her to adoption drives with local rescues unless I can get her to calm down around other animals, which at this point looks like it will take more money for training, money I can’t spare.

Posted in Life, Mitzipit | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

Mitzipit!

Nearly two weeks ago, before I was really up and dressed, having just sat down to submit some more stories to a few lit mags, my landlady knocked on my door and said, “Uh, Mike, there’s a strange dog outside and he doesn’t look too good.” And so it was that Mitzi the pit bull wandered into our lives.

Posted in Life, Mitzipit | Tagged , , | 14 Comments

The Benefits of Not Writing Anything. At All.

It doesn’t mean you should get up every time you feel stuck, as the best method for accomplishing writing remains and always will remain ass in chair; but if you know you need a break, don’t be afraid to give yourself one. Sometimes the simplest solution really is the best.

Posted in Life, Work | Tagged , , , , | 6 Comments

Words and No Pictures

So after a brief apology for trying to kill her—and this is by no means a guarantee that I won’t try again—we were back on our way, exploring a new world together. It’s… different. The place the story began and the place that it went were both surprises, and I think that’s important. That’s the exciting part about writing for me. To relentlessly plot something is to remove from it the joy of discovery.

Posted in Life, Work | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

The Meritocracy of Tiny Tower

At least we aren’t beholden to some dictator who’ll immediately evict anyone whose dream isn’t to fill the opening at the Mexican restaurant.

Posted in Diatribes, Life, Work | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

New House, Old House

For those few who may have been concerned about my near-complete absence from the blog, rest assured that I have not fallen off the face of the earth as reported. I’m still clinging desperately to the edge of it, which as it turns out is somewhere around N 28th and Decatur, not too far past the 7-Eleven.

Posted in Life, Other Reviews, Work | 1 Comment

eBooks and the Ownership Machine

While I don’t claim that eBooks have no purpose as useful tools, I don’t think a world where parents have their iPads read animated books to their children before bedtime is going to be a better world, and that’s a story I already hear far too often. If I said it didn’t alarm me, I’d be lying.

Posted in Diatribes | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments
  • 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.