STARSAILOR is a sort of journal I have been updating weekly for nearly a decade. I write about all kinds of things. For some reason, total strangers regularly read it and send me emails and letters saying as much. I have sworn a blood oath to myself that I will continue to update it until the day I die. You gotta do something, you know??
KING METEOR is a little store I created at the beginning of the pandemic. I’ve designed about two dozen shirts, white ink on black cotton, and I’ve been slowly putting them up for sale. Most of these are maybe a little too esoteric, though hey, I’m just making stuff that I want to wear. That other people are into it is pretty cool though!!
DEAD TYMES envisions a newspaper of a dark future.
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago- never mind how long precisely- having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet.
GRITT CALHOON GAZED EMPTILY OUT THE WINDOW of his hotel room on the fifty-sixth floor and decided that nothing meant shit to him anymore. The lights of Buenos Aires twinkled in the infinite darkness below and Gritt scanned them with the ferocious hollowness of a man who had seen bamboo orphanages burn to the ground in the time it took for a man to conclude that children never deserve to die.
Gritt has spent his whole life fighting—fighting in wars, fighting addictions, fighting his dark past. Now, after a decade of carving out a sad nightmarish existence on the crater rim of total annihilation, Gritt returns to his hometown to save a local high school from a gang of punk-ass terrorists. Together with his best friend Shark Gladiator, the two old warriors once again do battle with the evil hearts of this world.
This is not only the first Gritt Calhoon story I ever wrote, but also my first novella. The sales from the eBook paid my electric bill for three months.
It is 2014. Scottish writer Cara Ellison offers to pay me $100 to drive down to Los Angeles to write an essay about the Electronic Entertainment Expo. Having little or no money in my pockets, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I get in my decommissioned police car and rip down there at a hundred miles an hour with a bag of Adderall and mushrooms. I sleep in the trunk of my car in Silver Lake. In the morning I head to the LA Convention Center to bear witness to it all. I am denied entry into the building. I spend the next twenty-four hours in a nightmarish haze, meeting strangers and getting mixed up in some bad psychic craziness. As the fever breaks and the sun rises again over the City of Angels, I retreat back to Oakland to write twenty-five thousand words of absolute nonsense about not getting into E3. I call it ELECTRIC HEART, NEON NIGHTMARE.