Shine Out In The Wild Kindness...

How it is

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 22:13:57 GMT

It came to me in a dream. The night swept in, through my bedroom window, and I swore I heard a voice calling… not for me, but for someone close to me. I stood up and I was naked. My body breathed the cool summer air from the open window. I looked out, the moonlight flow of the trees shined and danced on my eyes. I could feel a presence out there, cold and terrible, like dark secrets. A warm, tangible sensation filled my body, and I had a sudden, definite desire to run naked in the woods. To have animals scurry from my path. To hunt elk and bear. To sleep huddled inside an alcove of a hundred year old tree. To let the world see the beauty of my body. To know I was a part of it all.

I woke up. My window was shut. The curtains did not drift in the breeze. I looked out the window to the street below. A man was calling out a woman’s name underneath the lamplight. I went back to bed.

Hello

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Wed, 02 Apr 2008 05:49:35 GMT

I just deleted a bunch of people from my livejournal friends' list. Can anyone out there recommend me some people to add?

How I feel.

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 03:30:01 GMT

I like Obama, and I'm going to vote for him. I'm even seriously thinking about giving him some hard earned cash. But his charisma and his message of HOPE(tm) make me at least a little wary.

I've been listening to these guys a fuck-ton since getting back from SLC.

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 12:35:56 GMT

Brian Gibson: "...We're not a classic rock band tho--"

Brian Chippendale: "I know we're not classic rock."

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 17:37:26 GMT

Plans are overrated.

I wish I were Cab Calloway

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 20:41:19 GMT

ATTN: SLC friends! I'll be in town for a week starting tomorrow. Check yr local listings for time and station.

Where the Wild Things Are

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 07:32:17 GMT

I'm excited for this. Test footage (not an actual movie clip) from Spike Jonze's new movie Where the Wild Things Are

This makes me filled with warm feelings.

EDIT: Except they may Re-edit the whole movie which does NOT fill me with warm feelings AT ALL.

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 23:37:08 GMT

Internet returns to my life, Jan. 22

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 22:20:19 GMT

I bet you thought I was going to post a lot more posts, didn't you?

Still no internet at the apartment. Looking more and more like a 2008 possibility. Until that time, I will continue to post on the only computer at work.

Coming back from the semi-dead.

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Wed, 31 Oct 2007 20:24:00 GMT

How has everyone been?

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Thu, 17 May 2007 20:48:40 GMT

Goldaline (the Neutral Milk Hotel cover band I play bass and accordion for) got some ink on its very first show! The Alt. Weekly The Stranger wrote about us for their "Party Crashers" article, where members of The Stranger go to parties they'd heard about and write about about them. I don't think Mr. Paul Constant realized we were a cover band, but at least we (and he) had a good time.

http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/Content?oid=223831

a meme I made

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Fri, 11 May 2007 21:15:05 GMT

If you were trapped on a desert island and had access to one book, movie, tv show, and album, what would they be?

Movie: The Shawshank Redemption

Book: The Boy Scout Handbook (it would probably be essential to my survival.)

TV Show: Mystery Science Theater 3000

Album: Flemish Altruism by A Minor Forest

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Fri, 04 May 2007 10:31:00 GMT

1. What bill do you hate paying the most?
Cellblow

2. Where was the last place you had a romantic dinner?
Some Chinese restaurant in downtown SLC.

3. Last time you puked from drinking?
Not in a long while. I used to puke all the time back when I was a heavy smoker.

4. When is the last time you got drunk and danced on a bar?
You mean AT a bar? Not since the last time I saw The Rodeo Boys play, probably.

5. Name of your first grade teacher?
Ms. Ashbacher. I remember she had long, jet black hair that came to down to her waist and she was absurdly skinny. Nice, though.

6. What do you really want to be doing right now?
This is it.

7. What did you want to be when you were growing up?
I was that kid who couldn't make up his mind and would change imaginary occupations every week. I'm still that kid, basically.

8. How many colleges did you attend?
One

9. Why did you choose the shirt that you have on right now?
It was clean and longsleeved

10. GAS PRICES?
N/A

11. Where would you move if you could move anywhere?
London, New York, Paris, Chicago, Sydney, Reykjavík

12. First thought when the alarm went off this morning?
Gotta pee.

13. Last thought before going to sleep last night?
I like this band (Espers)

14. Favorite style of underwear?
boxer-briefs

15. Favorite style of underwear for the opposite sex?
All of the above. I guess a diaper would be kind of creepy though

16. What errand/chore do you despise?
Taking out the trash. Cleaning the tent.

17. If you didn't have to work, would you volunteer?
I'll always have to work, but I'll do what I can.

18. Get up early or sleep in?
I work nights. The crack of noon is early-rising to me.

19. What is your favorite cartoon character?
Captain Murphy (R.I.P.)

20. Favorite thing to do at night with a girl/guy?
watch movies

21. Have you found real love yet?
Pass.

22. When did you first start feeling old?
The first time I had to check someone's ID at work.

23. Favorite 80's movie?
Back to the Future, natch

24. Your favorite lunch meat?
Chicken

25. What do you get everytime you shop at sam's club.
I haven't been in a Sam's Club in 15 years.

26. Beach or lake?
These days, lake

27. Do you think marriage is an outdated ritual?
Probably

29. Favorite guilty pleasure?
Friends (the tv show), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the tv show), "Nothing Compares 2 U" (the song)

30. Favorite movie you wouldn't want anyone to find out about?
The Rundown. The Rock is the most underrated actor of my generation

31. What's your favorite alcoholic drink?
Rotgut wine

32. Cowboys or Indians?
Injuns

33. Cops or Robbers?
Both

34. Who from high school would you like to run into?
Jordan Duff

35. What radio station is your car radio tuned to right now?
N/A

36. Movies or Documentaries?
Documentaries ARE movies, silly

37. The Cosby Show or the Simpsons?
Simpsons by a mile

38. Worst relationship mistake that you wish you could take back?
Never sleep with someone you're not attracted to.

39. Do you like the person who sits directly across from you at
work?

Does not compute

40. If you could get away with it, who would you kill?
Killing is wrong

41. What famous person would you like to have dinner with?
The bones of William Shakespeare

42. What famous person would you like to sleep with?
The bones of Emily Dickinson

43. Have you ever had to use a fire extinguisher for its intended

purpose?
nope.

44. Last book you read for real?
For real, though? The Thin Man by Dashiell Hammett

45. Do you have a teddy bear?
Nope

46. Strangest place you have ever brushed your teeth?
McDonald's bathroom

47. Somewhere in California you've never been and would like to:
San Bernadino

48. Do you go to church?
Nopers

49. At this point in your life would you rather start a new
career or a new relationship?

Ask me again in three months.

50. Just how OLD are you?
24

Bacchus, God of Wine

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Sun, 22 Apr 2007 16:24:28 GMT

Woo! I got just the right amount of drunk last night. Lots of fun. Lots of friends. No making a fool out of myself (as far as I can tell.) No drinking and dialing besides a slight case of texting people J-Kwon lyrics for seemingly no reason. And I even got some new numbers in my cell. I may be singing a different tune when I see the photographs, but for now I'm just going to enjoy the blissful ignorance.

They try to make me go to rehab/ well I say 'no no no'

*Does the Jordan Scrivner dance*

Hi ho

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Thu, 12 Apr 2007 07:13:24 GMT

1922 - 2007

Here was what Kilgore Trout cried out to me in my father's voice: "Make me young, make me young, make me young!"

The writer who had the most infulence on me both as a writer and as a human being has died.

So it goes.

The Jam

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Mon, 09 Apr 2007 19:08:53 GMT

It's impossible to not like this band.

Better stop dreaming of the quiet life -
Cos its the one we'll never know
And quit running for that runaway bus -
Cos those rosey days are few
And - stop apologising for the things youve never done,
Cos time is short and life is cruel -
But its up to us to change
This town called malice.

Waking up at 6 a.m. on a cool warm morning -
Opening the windows and breathing in petrol -
An amateur band rehearsing in a nearby yard -
Watching the tele and thinking about your holidays -

That's Entertainment.
That's Entertainment.

Waking up from bad dreams and smoking cigarettes -
Cuddling a warm girl and smelling stale perfume -
A hot summer's day and sticky black tarmac -
Feeding ducks in the park and wishing you were far away -

That's Entertainment.
That's Entertainment.

Rezolution

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Wed, 28 Mar 2007 20:58:25 GMT

From now on, I'm not going to give an opinion on an album or band until I've listened to their album for, like, two weeks. This is the estimated time an album takes to grow on me. Here are the albums that I didn't like on the first listen but now I absolutely love.

Silver Jews "Tanglewood Numbers"
Woif Parade "Apologies to the Queen Mary"
The Knife "Silent Shout"
Modest Mouse "We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank"

Can anybody else think of albums that fit in this description? What are some albums that you would consider an acquired taste?

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Tue, 27 Mar 2007 21:57:17 GMT

A family of four sit at the dinner table whilst the mother is at the kitchen karate-chopping some zucchini.

A family of four sit at the dinner table whilst the mother is at the kitchen karate-chopping some zucchini.

NARRATOR: Has this ever happened to you?

MOTHER: Hi-yaa!

(Family of four seeing the once-chopped zucchini and looking at the camera all disappointed)

MOTHER: (to the camera) There's got to be a better way!

NARRATOR: There is!

MOTHER: (still to camera) Really?

NARRATOR: Yes!

(A knife appears in her hand)

NARRATOR: Now there's new KNIFE! With knife, chopping up your favorite vegetables is as easy as one, two, three! ONE - Simply put the "knife" over the spot you want to cut. TWO - Use "knife's" patented "pushing down" capability to cut whatever you'd like!

MOTHER: (To camera) I'm down-pushing!

ANNOUNCER: And THREE - Serve!

MOTHER: I didn't think it could be so easy!

ANNOUNCER: Don't be fooled by false imitators

(Cut to a man trying to cut vegetables with something called a "nife." The blade of the nife flies off the handle goes into the man's eye.)

MAN: Arrrghh!

(Cut back to the Mother serving zucchini to her family.)

SON: Wow, mom, this food looks great!

DAUGHTER: Your kung-fu's improving, mom!

FATHER: Thanks, honey.

MOTHER: Don't thank me... (to camera) thank KNIFE!... But wait, will my knife work on fruit, too?

(At that moment, a ninja drops in from the ceiling and slits the FATHER's NECK. The children continue eating like nothing's happened.

ANNOUNCER: Of course! The "knife" not only cuts assorted vegetables but assorted fruits too!

(Quick montage of knives cutting fruits.)

SON and DAUGHTER: (to camera and at the same time) Wo--ow!

(They are kidnapped by ninjas)

MOTHER: (to camera) But wait, does knife have any uses OUTSIDE the home?

ANNOUNCER: You betcha!

(A dart pierces the mother's neck, and she goes down.)

(The camera has turned to black and white and gets erratic, a la typical informercial dramatizations. The MOTHER is tied to a chair and is struggling)

ANNOUNCER: The yakuza has killed your family, tied you to a chair, and is burning your ENTIRE house down! How will make your escape?

MOTHER: (Freeing her mouth from the gag) With "knife" it's a cinch!

(She frees herself from the bonds)

(Cut to four or five criminal types sitting around a table playing poker and laughing)

ANNOUNCER: Now, after years of tracking down the perpetrators, and bringing their criminal empire to its knees, you find that the police have deemed you too mentally unsound to own a handgun. How will you get your revenge?

MOTHER: (Dropping from the ceiling in "Commando"-style make up.) Hi-yaaa!

(Camera focusses on one criminal as blood splashes all over him.)

CRIMINAL: No! Not knife! Anything but that!

(Blood is thrown everywhere. Finally, everyone but the MOTHER is dead. MOTHER looks at camera with crazy look in her eyes. She is covered in blood.

MOTHER: Thank you, knife!

ANNOUNCER: Order now and get the complete knife set, including our Ultra-deluxe Knifey knife "knife"-thousand!

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Sun, 25 Mar 2007 08:41:42 GMT

Short Story!

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Sat, 17 Mar 2007 12:52:42 GMT

It's been a whiiiiile.

Three weeks ago I was hanging with the roommates and an image of a man walking away from a car that had flowers and grass and living creatures sponatneously flowing from it popped into my head. The rest of the story I made up as I went along. It's 5,177 words long and the middle kind of drags but I like it and I'm going to try to publish it.

Soooo..... here's

The Dust That Danced

by

Jordan Scrivner

Roderick Jonesy, 22, pressed hard on the accelerator. The truck buckled and belched and threatened to die. The day was getting late and he was miles to the nearest town. Now was not the time to have a breakdown. And the more gas he gave his truck, the more a breakdown felt imminent.

He hadn't spoken to anyone since he left the small town of Starr, Nevada six days ago. He slept in his truck, and snacked on the large case of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and juice boxes he had spent two hours packing. For the entirety of his trip, he reached behind himself to grab a sandwich and a juice box twenty-six times. He stopped for gas 8 times, and had slept in five motels. It had been like this since he left Starr for the first time ever last week. After his parents' death, and their subsequent resurrection, Roderick Jonesy decided it was time to leave town.

The truck lurched and gasped. It came to rest. It had had it. Roderick sat there, a moment or two, letting the feeling of futility have its way with him. Finally, he exited the truck and walked to its hood. It was a red truck with a nose like a seasoned pugilist, presently perched precariously near a ditch on the Interstate. Roderick opened the hood and muttered grimly. Within the engine's pattern, he began to see little tufts of grass grow and form themselves within the confines of the metal. Roderick's often inexpressive face curled into a sneer. The truck no longer belonged to him.

He slammed the hood shut. He reached into the back seat and grabbed his bags. He left the sandwiches and juice there and made his way down the road. The car looked onward like a dog. Within its skeleton, a field was blooming: Grass began to grow itself in its steel coffin. Daisies and hollyhocks bloomed in the glove compartment. Small froglike, creatures muscled their way past tears in the leather interior, and the windshield turned to foggy spider-webs, thickened, and were launched into the ether by the wind. The sudden outburst of life was too much for the insides to bear. Leaves and nature overflowed out of the open windows, leaking into the scenery.

Roderick kept walking, oblivious to the spectacle behind him. It was like that everywhere he went. As he sped along the highway, roadkill would stand up and start moving. Dead moths on the windowsills of motels regained flight. And all the dead cars on the side of the road became big, hulking gardens of green.

The man, when he was a boy, had lived with his parents. They owned a general store. The boy's father, Rupert, had bought the store with money saved from his work for the Nevada State Actuary. Rupert had worked there for 15 years (this was before the Salvador Savings and Loan firm bought out the government-owned businesses.) Rupert made a modest living. And with his wife, Petunia, they lived their days out quietly with their solitary son.

The town the boy grew up in was caked in 10 feet of dust. The dust of the Mojave desert was his his constant companion. He could know on sight the different varieties of dust and dirt that permeated his life. There was the softly smooth sand that shifted under the weight of the boy's bare feet. The sand the boy would have known as beach sand had he grown up a little farther west. There was the solid cake-y dust, that could be walked on and pushed up just as hard as you pushed down. There was the whisper sand that came from the clothes and boots of the workers of the nearby Starr silver mine. That dust was invisible to the boy, but he could taste it in his mouth and in his throat. Finally, there was the dust the boy saw early in the morning when he woke up. This was the dust that danced. The dust that floated in a beam of nowhere. The dust that saw the manifestation of the boy's power.

***

Once, there was an accident in the silver mine. His father, who often did volunteer work for the city government and happened to overhear the mayor getting the news, volunteered for the rescue effort at. Rupert Jonesy was often a man who volunteered for things that didn't concern him. He was an accountant by trade, but had the build of a firefighter. He won any game of physical strength whenever the county had its seasonal fairs. It made sense that Rupert would volunteer for something as physically demanding as rescue work.

Roderick remembered the day his father died quite clearly. He was very young then, having just turned eight. He had put on his father's tan leather cowboy boots, and was walking up and down the front yard, kicking up the dirt, and letting the sand drift off like a ghost. When he got tired of this he headed back inside.

His father's boots enveloped him from the shins downward. He kicked the edges of the three wooden steps to his house as he climbed. The whisper sand shook off from the boots and glided between steps, into the caverns of the porch.

When he opened the front door, he immediately heard his mother crying. Her face was buried beneath her arms, and her shoulders heaved and shook. The boy with the loose boots dragged them across the floor, walked in sub-time toward his crying mother. Behind him, the dust that danced twinkled in the the twilight of technicolor glory.

He put a small hand on her mother's shoulder. The shoulders were rough with the feeling of dust.

"Mama... What's wrong withchoo?"

His mother lifted her head. Her face was caked with dust. There was so much Earth on Petunia’s face, and tears streamed down and the salt water made a trail of mud that made Roderick think jack rabbit.

"Oh, Roderick," she said, holding her boy close. She felt the boy numbly tighten his grip on the collar of the shirt she wore. Roderick was glad his mother's shoulder wasn't covering his mouth and nose so he was allowed to breathe.

"Oh, Roderick." she said again. And shook him slightly with her sobbing.

***

It had been fifteen years from that moment to this. The diner's bell rang, and the jukebox, probably the last vinyl jukebox in the American south, sprang to life. Every patron in the bar turned their heads toward the machine. The jukebox hadn't been working in years. Hank Williams powered on and filled the room. The song only sounded for a moment, before the grass growing in its hull blocked a crucial wire to the speaker, shutting off the sound. Flowers like daisies poked their way through tiny holes in wax cylinders. The glass panel of the box stirred, and formed the thick tissue of spider webbing.

The patrons of the bar focussed on the man.

***

Roderick Jonesy, after his father died, hardly ever played with dust anymore. He spent most of his days staring out the window, watching the world go by. In the daytime, the sunlight was so bright it almost made a sound. The sun blared its drone into the boys tiny eyes, until the sounds faded away into the Sierra Nevada mountains. The sun got deeper behind those mountains. The boy watched the darkness appear like a thing and envelop the desert, All the light went away, and the night was right outside Roderick's window. The dark stayed, and its face became Roderick's face, staring at himself blankly.

Sometimes, the darkness would show his mother, standing behind him like a background object in a movie.

His mother would clasp her hands together, and beg her son to move away from the window. That it wasn't natural for a boy to go so long (almost since the funeral) without saying anything. That it was frightening her, the way he was acting.

The boy didn't acknowledge the mother's presence in the room. He barely knew she was there, and didn't seem to care a lick when his mom gave up and went back to bed. He didn't move, nor spoke until morning came. The sky above the mountains gained shine and shimmer. So gradual it was beyond notice. Then, at last, you couldn't not notice. And the glowing red ball advanced and dominated the sky.

In the room, the dust began to dance again. It made Roderick, at last, look away from the window.

He focussed on a particle like a solitary star. The bit drifted and glowed a bright, christmas-y green.

Other bits of dust began to sparkle and shine. Some red, some orange. Some purple and pink. The dust became light, still dancing, and filled the room with its kinetic shine.

***

Roderick Jonesy sat at the table and ordered himself a drink.

"A whiskey and soda, please." He didn't look up at the bartender's face. Instead, he looked at the bartender’s hands. He thought about how white and markless they were, and how much they were tremblng. The bartender looked at him, and the saw the cold and hollow blue of Roderick's eyes. The eyes made the bartender think of the side of warships.

He approached Roderick. Drink in hand and towel draped over his shoulder.

"So, what's the story, stranger?" The voice was steady.

The bartender put the whiskey soda on the bar. Roderick looked into it, watching the ice drift into spiral.

"Ain’t no story, mister. Justed drifted in here. "

It seemed like the thing to say.

The bar was silent. The bartender shifted his weight and cleared his throat.

"Couldn’t help but notice our jukebox come back to life when you walked in here. I reckon you wouldn’t know a thing about that, would you?"

Roderick Jonesy at last looked up. The bartender, bald, chewed some excess hideousness that seemed to be growing out of his mouth. Chewing tobacco that had turned permanent. The edges of his mouth had turned opaque.
Hearing his voice made Roderick feel sick and wavy.

“Reckon I do.” said Roderick. “Reckon some people have said I bring dead things to life.”

Again. Seemed like the thing to say.

Precious few people living in the bar laughed. This surprised Roderick, and he tried in vain to remember what the name of the town he pulled into.

"That include people too?" Roderick caught the hint of desperation in Earl's (the nametag said "Earl") voice and blinked. Earl saw a glimmer of clarity in Roderick's eyes. Roderick looked back down into his drink, and Earl caught Roderick on his forearm. A big meaty paw making an imprint deep beneath Roderick's tan jacket. Roderick thought of a horse that bit him when he was a kid. The whiskey soda sloshed around in Roderick's glass, 'til a tiny wave spilled out and landed in Roderick's crotch.

Roderick looked up. The eyes of Earl were broken, and his brows seemed pleading.

"Please mister, you got to help me. My daughter... she drowned in the creek a week ago. Her brother turned around and... ah please, you just gotta."

Roderick wrenched his arm out of Earl's grip. His drink got knocked over. He turned and made a b-line for the door.

"You gotta help me, you know? You just gotta."

Roderick turned around, cocking an eye at Earl.

"You don't know what you're asking me, mister."

***

It had happened a week or two later. The horse had taken a chomp out of Roderick's arm and had broken it. His arm was in a sling and he had gotten a few days off from school. Roderick was not enjoying his days off. In school, he was riding high on his newfound popularity wave after he brought Allison Pistoni's dead hamster to life simply by putting his hand over it. After that he brought back to life a rotten apple, a snake, three field mice, a roadkill rabbit, a horny toad, and even a stinkbug (Harold Jamison, Roderick's best friend, was particularly impressed with this.

Roderick enjoyed the newfound attention in his life. It lifted him with a feeling unlike anything he’d imagine. For the first time, it was not the dead dust that Roderick played with. It was not the disappearing father nor the loving mother that Roderick strived to please. It was the desperate eyes of the children as they brought to school dead rabbits, dogs, fish, and reptiles to life. They adored Roderick for saving their friends, their only friends in this desert town.

It was during one of these days off, the second one, that his mother had taken Roderick to his father's grave. She had visited every day since he had died, but this was the first time she had brought the boy along.

It was a windy day. The boy remembered the date. The grave. The epitaph on the stone. He remembered the tufts of grass that had already grown on the grave. He remembered the tiny look of misery that appeared on her mother's face, as the breeze made her hair dance like fire.

At least her face is clean thought Roderick.

At that moment, an antelope appeared. It walked into the graveyard, following the smell of grass.

Must have been an old antelope because it moved very slowly toward the grass, not seeming not to care one way or another about the mother and her son. The antelope looked at them, bleated once, and trotted away.

Stupid animal thought Petunia.

That night, became the night Roderick's father came back to life.

He dug himself out of the dust. His every inch covered with it.

The mother was over the moon. She smothered her husband in kisses. "I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it."

She must have dreamt of this. Thought Roderick, and smiled.

The boy Roderick noticed it first, and his mother probably never did, but the father acted very strangely since he had come back. Oh, he would say the same things normally, but he spoke as if the context floated on a string.

"Yes, sir, that was three cracker jacks for ten dollars? " He interrogated the mirror as he shaved.

"Watch that fastball, Petey." As he stared at the engine of his car.

"You're getting to be a big boy now." He said to the bewildered faces in town.

This went on for three days before the incident on Valentine's Day. It would be the last time Roderick would see his father occupying his own body.

***

Earl had taken Roderick to the church where his daughter, Lauren, was buried. It was a small church built on the edge of the swamp. Over time, the swamp had invaded the church. Now it was hard to tell where the church ended and the swamp began. A small crowd had gathered in front of the strange house of God. All the patrons from the bar had come, including some of the people from town the crowd had assimilated. They were mingling amongst the gravestones. Some had family buried there, but few paid any attention to that. Their sights were set on Roderick.

Roderick sucked on his lower lip, letting his tanned teeth clamp down over it. He wasn't the least bit nervous. In fact, he felt sorry for the people who were about to give witness to the supposed miracle. There would be the initial shock and amazement, various hands would approach Roderick, and they would drape themselves onto his shoulder and ask him serious questions in frightened, hushed, hurried tones.

After the girl had come back to life, it would become apparent that this wasn't the same girl who had died in Earl's arms a few weeks ago. Oh, she would behave herself all right. Now, she wouldn't try to eat anyone's brains of anything ike that. Instead, the girl would spend a few good days wandering around the streets of the town, often wearing her nightgown, sometimes when it rained and sometimes in the middle of the night. The girl's mother, Carl's wife June, held her baby tight one night when she found her standing in the only intersection in town with a stoplight. She smothered her daughter in her arms and kissed her all over face and her daughter would stare off in some southern distance and she would say to the space and to the mother...

"Jack took my ball and I want it back."

By then, Roderick had already skipped town. A trail of lilies sprouting in the dead grass

After a few days, his father sat in the living room chair, his paunch belly resting in his middle like a bowling ball on a couch cushion. His thin, gray hair, which bordered a crescent moon hairline, was so thin as to be translucent. He strared into the turned off tv. His eyes looked vacant and open.

"Dad?" said Roderick.

No response.

"Dad?" Louder.

Nothing. Young Roderick reached over with his hand and shook his father's shoulder. His father's neck went slack, and his head fell on his shoulder. His eyes metastasized into something mean. A trickle of white... what was it? Foam? dripped down the corner of his mouth. The quivering foam started out a stark white and then changed to a moss green as it dribbled down the side of his face.

Young Roderick's lip quivered as he stepped back. His father began to smell like mulch.

When his mother had explained to Roderick that his father had died trying to rescue the silver miners, the gravity of the situation had barely registered to Roderick. The funeral had been closed casket, and it was easy for Roderick to imagine that it was just your standard six foot long box they were burying in the earth and not his father. As far as Roderick was concerned, his father was still very much alive. His father would come back, as if from vacation.

And then he did.

Now, seeing the green ooze coming out of the corner of his father's lip, there was no question now about whether his father was dead. He was. He was dead down deep inside Roderick's heart, which is where it mattered. Roderick's father was ugly with death.

And that's when the corpse blinked its eyes.

Young Roderick backed away. So quickly he stumbled and fell. He was now flat on his back, looking up at the still still corpse on the chair.

Was it a dream? Did it happen?

The body's lips quivered, then shut. A hand came up shakily and wiped some of the fluid from its mouth. The hand now had a line of green, sickening saliva on it, and Roderick could see his father's fingernails ended in that same
shade of green his saliva had changed into. The father moved his hands on the armrest,and hoisted himself up on his feet. Young Roderick remained on the floor, looking up at his dad, looming tall in the dusk. His skin changed to a slightly sickening green tint, and his hair, too, turned a perceptible green hue. Aside from the change, in color scheme, the alien looked identical to Rupert Jonesy in every way.

"Y'ello." said his father, in a voice different from his own. The voice was deeper and fuller than the man it belonged to. But the voice did not come in a boom. It was more dependable than menacing. More like an oak tree than a diesel truck.

"My name is Jeunelle Langley. I am from the planet Xerxes. You must be the Link. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

Roderick cocked his head into a question.

"Dad?"

A pained expression melted itself into the tall alien's face. "Oh dear," it said, and its voice became a babbling brook. "My host is very familiar to you, yes?"

The former body of Rupert Jonesy bowed low. He did so uncomfortably, as if he was just getting the hang of moving around.

"Please accept my apologies on behalf of Xerxans everywhere. What you are witnessing must come as a terrible shock to you. You see, as a Vanguard, I'm used to these types of delicate situations. But it isn't often that I incorporate myself to someone with such an emotional connection to The First Cipher." The alien shook his head in a herky-jerky motion, apparently signifying embarrassment. "Oh, how stupid of me. I forgot your planet is an "'Automatic.'"

You could practically feel the air quotes.

"What?"

"Oh my my my my my my my. You must be dreadfully confused, young sir. We know that your planet's civilization is a young one, but we didn't think... Why you probably haven't even gone through an out and out Apocalypse, have you?"

Roderick blinked.

"Well, let me explain it to you, then.

And so, Jeunelle Langley, Vanguard of the great planet Xerxes, explained to Roderick Jonesy, American, that when a civilization (i.e. species) out in space has one of its individuals perish, much work is to be done to make sure the soul of that person is preserved for reincarnation. Otherwise the soul would extinguish itself in the atmosphere. This is also true of plants, animals, and machines. New places have to be found for the old things, and the only place they will fit is within the dead.

"Which brings us to our planet, Xerxes." said the Xerxan. "Our planet is dying. Soon, all the native life forms of Xerxes will be no more. In order to continue our existence, we had to transfer all our life to a new planet.

Roderick blinked again.

"I know, right?" said Jeunelle. "In order to transfer our world to yours, we had our scientists create 'the Link,' a gateway from our planet to yours. You, sir, are that Link. We grew you in a lab in order to transfer all lost souls to their new home. You don't bring life to the dead, true, but you are, in fact, doing something even greater. Soon, this planet will seem as much the home of Xerxans as it is to Earthlings."

Roderick, as one could imagine, was speechless. As was Roderick's mother, who was in the kitchen, listening and holding her breath.

"What IS this? What IS this?" she screamed, waiving the knife around like she was swatting flies."

"Please... please calm yourself Mrs. Jonesy. I know what you just heard must have come as quite a shock."

"Shut up," she blurted. She slashed the air in front of her wildly.

From the floor, Roderick started to stand up. "Ma'am please, put the knife down."

Silence. Nobody moved.

"Mama."

Roderick's mom looked down at Roderick. Eight-year-old Roderick was crying. Having a fit.

"Mama, you're scaring me."

A desperate expression creased across her face. "i'm scaring you? I'm scaring you?" Her grip on the knife tightened and she aimed it like a gun, switching her aim between her dead husband and her living son.

The Xerxan put its hands up and walked slowly toward the mother.

"Mrs. Jonesy, I understand the confusion you must be feeling now. But I can assure you tha--"

The moment the alien was in striking distance, Mrs. Jonesy plunged all eleven inches of steel deep into the alien's heart. A torrent of green blood flowed from Jeunelle's chest, which became a burst dam, letting loose the flood of foul blood. The blood reeked. The unholy reek of beer that's been stale for weeks. The bitter taste of mold spores. The kind of foul stench that laid eggs in your throat.

Petunia Jonesy was covered in the sticky green stuff. The alien dropped to its knees and clutched the hem of her robe, his eyes looking up at the human plantively.

The creature at last fell to the floor and died.

For the second time, they buried the father's body. Only this time they did it secretly, in the middle of the night, there hearts filling with shame.

Roderick went back to school after his arm healed. But he never took advantage of his popularity again. In fact, he became a total loner, sitting in the shade of living trees while the children played kickball. He didn't want to be around the dead things, and especially didn't want a dead thing to come alive because of what he was. So, he stayed by himself and surrounded himself with life.

It was not enough. After it was all over, Petunia, too, began acting very peculiar. She had forgotten she ever had a husband, much less one that came back from the dead and claimed to be an alien from the planet Xerxes. She also began to grow distant from her son. She started referring to him as "my little backwater freak of a son." She would even do this when her son was well within listening distance. She eventually started acting like she didn't even have a son. She never spoke to her son directly, but would only point at something when she needed it. Eventually, even this stopped. When his son spoke to her, she acted like he simply didn't exist.

For the longest time, Roderick thought his mother was simply punishing him.

A doctor's x-ray revealed a tumor in her brain. The tumor was eating her from the inside.

***

Earl had killed himself shortly after pushing the Xerxan that had taken over his daughter's body down a flight of stairs. The fall had broken the little green girl's neck so that it faced the wrong direction. This did not kill the alien in the little girl's body, the Xerxan Kitty Langley. The only way to kill a Xerxan was by penetrating its heart, as Mrs. Jonesy demonstrated earlier. The heart was where the whole of why they were resided.

"I can understand you may be upset, Mr. Jonsey," said Kitty from the floor.

She couldn't see Earl from her vantage point. So there was no way for her to realize he had just stuck a shotgun into his mouth.

"But I think if you hear our side of the story, I think you'll see that--"

The splash of blood on her face stopped Kitty in mid-sentence. Her face registered the surprise, then melted back to neutral like silly putty.

"Well, back to the ol' drawing board."

***

When Petunia finally died, years later, Roderick stayed by her side right up to the end. There were tubes coming in and going out of her. And Roderick was right at her side, praying. He knew he wasn't any kind of savior any more, but he prayed at that moment that God would spare him. Spare him the agony of watching his mother never recover her self. To not only die, but too die and have her body implanted with the tiny soul of a Xerxan.... At least grant him one last repression of death.

"I love you mama, please don't leave me." Roderick was now 20 years old.

"What was that? I thought I heard someone speaking."

At that moment, her body went slack. Roderick watched as her prematurely gray hair began to grow a mossy green. Her eyes twitched open, and Roderick knew that his prayers had been answered. With a resounding no.

While Roderick grew quieter and angrier, Abigail Langley, the Xerxan occupying Roderick's mother's body, talked Roderick's ear off about the Xerxan's plan to inhabit Earth.

" It's simply tragic for us to see all that dead matter to go to waste. You'll see. Pretty soon, you won't know how you got on without us."

"How do you mean?" Roderick was humoring her, but part of him genuinely wanted to know.

"Well, just think of all these dead things that serve no purpose. Their souls are all gone. And this planet's got tons of dead stuff to it. We've seen acres of dead matter from our ships. Nobody knows what to do with it all. But we do, boy howdy. With your help, we'll convert miles of useless matter into a Xerxan cityscape in nothing flat!" And she clapped old Petunia's tiny bones as she said it.

That night, while Abigail Langley snored on the couch, Petunia's slippers dangling from her toes, Roderick lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. He remembered the time he tried to walk in his father's leather cowboy boots, and how large and unwieldy those things were. He thought about the moment he realized he was nothing special. He thought about how huge the universe was and how tiny Starr, NV was and how His whole world really was made up of dust that smothered a sleeping town so small it barely made the map.

He stood on the edge of the cliff. His arms at his sides, looking off into the vast expanse. Diamond, née Earl, had followed him from the motel Roderick had been living in. The whole back of Diamond Langley's head had been torn to
shreds and his skull was as hollow as a seashell.

"I really wish you wouldn't jump, sir. You are the Link after all. The future of an entire ancient civilization rests in your capable hands. Forgive me for speaking blunt, sir, but you really would be acting like a total cheese."

"You think I care about your stupid civilization!?" Roderick shouted from the edge of the cliff. The wind was picking up, and Roderick was teetering.

Roderick tried to cry, but couldn't. He felt he'd been cheated out of even that.

"You're still special, man. You've got a mission. Maybe it wasn't the one you wanted, but--"

Roderick fell from the cliff without ceremony. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.

Kitty Langley, her head straightened with wood and twine, but her spine still too damaged to walk, crawled on her belly to the top of the cliff.

"Did he jump?" she asked.

"Yeah." Diamond Langely replied.

Kitty Langley tsked her teeth three times.

"What a selfish bastard."

***

When they found the body, they brought it back to the mothership. The Xerxan scientists cut out Roderick's heart. Buried deep within, was the Link. The thing that brought dead things to life. It looked like a lady's razor on Earth.

"What should we do with this?"

"Beats me. Give it to someone more deserving, I guess."

The scientists used tongs to put the Link back into the ionic chamber.

"We gave that guy a destiny, and he blew it."

" Such a shame. It's so rare that anybody gets to have a calling in this universe."

The Link began to spin faster and faster. A heart began to form around the Link, and the heart became surrounded by flesh and bone.

"I couldn't agree more. You know, there's nothing sadder than wasted potential."

The heart and lungs swelled, and became wrapped in tiny ribs. A forest of nerves and tiny muscles became wrapped in baby skin.

"But thank goodness for second chances. Am I right?"

The End

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Thu, 15 Feb 2007 00:34:42 GMT

Now, as I understand it, the bards were feared. They were respected, but more than that they were feared. If you were just some magician, if you'd pissed off some witch, then what's she gonna do, she's gonna put a curse on you, and what's gonna happen? Your hens are gonna lay funny, your milk's gonna go sour, maybe one of your kids is gonna get a hare-lip or something like that — no big deal. You piss off a bard, and forget about putting a curse on you, he might put a satire on you. And if he was a skilful bard, he puts a satire on you, it destroys you in the eyes of your community, it shows you up as ridiculous, lame, pathetic, worthless, in the eyes of your community, in the eyes of your family, in the eyes of your children, in the eyes of yourself, and if it's a particularly good bard, and he's written a particularly good satire, then three hundred years after, you're dead, people are still gonna be laughing, at what a twat you were.

--Alan Moore

Obamarama

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Sun, 11 Feb 2007 07:29:27 GMT

I am ready for Black Kennedy.

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 07:46:41 GMT

.

An informal link, to the outside.

.00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

world

??

.

Too Many Questions...

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Fri, 02 Feb 2007 23:34:31 GMT

1. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?
Assuming everyone else will mention someone in the Bush administration, I'm going to go with hack screenwriter Akiva Goldsman (A Beautiful Mind, The Da Vinci Code, Batman & Robin)

2. You can flip a switch that will wipe any band or musical artist out of existence. Which one will it be?
Lynyrd Skynyrd, becayse thyy wroyte ""Fryybyrd"

3. Who would you really like to just punch in the face?
This guy who comes into work everyday who has a very specific way of talking and asks the most annoying questions of all time. And all he rents is tranny porn.

4. What is your favorite cheese?
Pepper Jack

5. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your immediate disposal. What kind will you make?
IT'S PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME!

6. You have the opportunity to sleep with the movie celebrity of your choice. We are talking no-strings-attached sex and it can only happen once. Who is the lucky celebrity of your choice?
Jake Gyllenhaal's sister.

7. You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who do you pick?
Joanna Newsom. I would treat her right.

8.You seem to be having an excellent day because you just came across a hundred-dollar bill on the sidewalk. Holy shit, a hundred bucks! How are you gonna spend it?
It's going into savings. I know, I'm so boring, right? But trust me, I got big plans. BIG PLANS.

9. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?
London, England

11. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the beverage of your choice. It is?
All odwalla products.

12. Rufus appears out of nowhere with a time-traveling phone booth. You can go anytime in the PAST.
New York City, 1932. For research purposes.

13. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place?
Marijuana gets legalized.

14. You have been given the opportunity to create the half-hour TV show of your own design. What is it called?
I would ask fot three more half-hour segments and then bring back Mystery Science Theater 3000 and have it starring me, trapped on the Satellite of Love with my robot pals, forced to watch bad movies and comment on them... Basically what I actually do in my spare time.

15. What is your favorite curse word?
Cunt. Because it manages to offend just about everyone.

16. One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything what do you do?
Ask them what they want. Duh.

17. Your house is on fire! What are you gonna take with you?
My journal. My guitar. And try my damnedest to take my computer.

18. The Angel of Death has descended upon you. Fortunately, the Angel of Death is pretty cool and in a good mood, and it offers you a half-hour to do whatever you want before you bite it. Whatcha gonna do in that half-hour?
Streak the hell out of this town.

19. You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! what super-power is it?
I can read minds!!!

20. You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?
I plead the 5th on this one.

21. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?
Probably seeing that one dude get shot two blocks from my house.

22. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world?
London, England or Paris, France or Montreal, Canada or Tokyo, Japan or...

23. This question still counts, even for those of you who are under age. Check it out. You have been eternally banned from every single bar in the world except for ONE. Which is it going to be?
Prost! in Seattle, WA

24. Hopefully you didn’t mention this in the super-powers question…. If you did, then we’ll just expand on that. Check it out… Suddenly, you have gained the ability to FLOAT!!! Whose house are you going to float to first, and be like “Dude, check it out…I can FLOAT!”
My brother'z

25. The constant absorption of magical moonbeans mixed with the radioactive vegetables you consumed earlier has given you the power to bring back one famous dead person, who would it be?
Bill Shakespeare. We should collaborate, holmes.

26. You can bring back one person whose dead for the day.. who would you bring back?
The girl in high school who ended up killing herself that I thought was attractive, but not attractive enough to go for.

27. What’s your theme song?
"Pencil Rot" by Stephen Malkmus

28. Whats your Dream Job if salary weren't an issue?
Portraying James Bond. I'd get to travel to exotic locations, blow shit up, sleep with beautiful women, and speak some inane dialogue. It's pretty much what I do anyway.

ATTENTION FANS OF THE BAND THE ARCADE FIRE!

jordan.scrivner@gmail.com — Tue, 30 Jan 2007 23:27:49 GMT

If you liked Funeral, Neon Bible will fucking knock you on your ass.