A den of bright magic indeed. I welcome all to attend the progressive building of this hive of pumish sovernty. Or something like that. I’m developing a new language for a new world, see, but it’s only my dialect.

Anyway, here’s a video:

I really need some beatmasters up in here. I’ve got some really ill bits and pieces written but as you can tell making the music is not my strong suit. I’m getting everything together. Holler at me if you’re anywhere near the Wild West Side of Bodymore Murdaland. 443-560-8640. We stay up all the time grinding and I’m turning this apartment into a certifiable studio. All supplies are within walking distance or we can order online. If Momma Sherry don’t like you, though, you’ll have to go, but that’s the only rule. Oh and we have an obvious monopoly on certain goods. NO COPS.

THE LABOR MOVEMENT: THE PEOPLE WHO BROUGHT YOU THE WEEKEND.

I just wish you’d believe me when I told you it is your right to be wealthy, to be happy, and never to be imprisoned; that the world belongs to those who seize it, not those who are seized by it; that self-determination is the only legitimate kind; that your salvation lies not with any gods but within the confines of the intellect, fortitude, beauty, and might of the gifts you were born with.

“I was 22 and reasonably attractive.”

Mary Miller is the reputable and well-published author of Big World and a maker of air quotes. She has no officious website; she is not to be confused with that other Mary Miller. While this is the least polished episode of Madore’s Corner, I believe it’s probably the most entertaining and interesting.

save it

• Palm Reader
• Elizabeth Ellen
• Big World
• Thought Catalog
• HTMLGIANT
• Roxane Gay
• Chloe Caldwell
• Charlie Mars
• Joseph Young
• Flagpole
• Yuengling
• Amelia Gray
• They Could No Longer Contain Themselves

Future episodes, Madore may abstain from drinking as a result of idiot statements made in this episode.

No public place should be silent when I walk in. Fuck you, Post Office and other government buildings. People should have something to slide into and keep their mind occupationally at ease. I don’t think I’m wrong about this.

Listen to this song.

Whenever something like this happens, I think about your old-world notions of “privacy” and how utterly precious it is to you, and I get disgusted. As fresh air makes a room smell better, dissolution of the secretive culture will bring about a better society. Call me inflammatory, call me nosy, call me a prick, call me what you will, but I know that what happens behind closed doors happens that way because it wouldn’t happen if the doors were open. Those of us who lack shame and live on purpose? We build glass houses on purpose, fuck you very much, and we’re not going to stop just because it makes you uncomfortable. Until every respectful desire is freed from the chains of taboo, until every lie is exposed for what it is and every liar punished for what they are — until we are at liberty to live, my generation, or the best and brightest therein at least, will pioneer to the bittermost end of your decrepit, outmoded, and enslaving notions of “private life” and normality. And then? Further and forevermore.

Ingredients:

• 1/8 pound thickly sliced corned beef
• 2 cups mushrooms
• 1 Maine potato, sliced thin
• 1/2 med. onion, chopped med. (optional)
• 1 tsp fresh ground pepper
• 2 tbsp EVOO
• 1 cap white vinegar

Directions:

1. Layer frying pan with EVOO on high heat
2. Add potatoes & beef
3. Cover
4. Cook 15 mins., stirring occasionally w/ spatula
5. Uncover
6. Add mushrooms, onions, stir in well
7. Add pepper
8. Cover
9. Lower heat to medium
10. Cook 10 mins., stirring occasionally w/ spatula
11. Lower heat to low
12. Cook 8 mins, stirring occasionally w/ spatula
13. Meal is complete when all ingredients are browned (darkness as preferred)
14. Place in bowl
15. Splash vinegar on, eat with fork

Fort Hood, TX – 1:32AM

I am this close to securing my residence in Baltimore. It’s in Hampden, which is a hip neighborhood with ample coffeeshops, bookstores, vinyl record shops, bike repair places, and vintage clothing shops. Perfect for me, really.

It’s also about three streets from H, who “can now talk to me again.” Apparently she was seeing someone for awhile. We’re always doing that. She re-appeared on my Facebook, in a weird flurry, and called me out of the blue. I answered the call. It’s my own fault. She’ll never believe that the landlord actually contacted me.

I’ve been losing weight by nature of working my ass off, not exercising, forgetting to eat. Today I composed my 3,000 word shipsinking article. I submitted it to a blog with lots and lots and lots of traffic. It’s a great article. I think they’ll publish it. And I think normal people — that is to say, people who don’t read/comment with the sole intent of ingratiating themselves with people they think can do them a favor or whatever — will enjoy the story. It’s a twisted love story. Such are the narratives of our lives.

My big concern is that I’ll have to foot the bill for getting to Baltimore, because my residence is still Maine. Oh yeah, the Maine thing fell through. My aunt, with all her support the troops neo-con nonsensicality, decided to give my job to someone else. And so it goes. I’ll work it out. I mean, the rent is low enough that my disability checks will actually cover it. So I’ll be fine. I’ve got more money coming in from the business. I blew my wad on that trip to LA and this new computer. The new computer was basically a necessity. Or so I like to convince myself.

I’m so super-fucking-stoked about going back to Baltimore, about returning to life outside these gates. I feel much older than I am. Wiser.

I have to work on this fundamental denial I have, though. Things will go wrong. Things can go wrong. If things can go wrong, things will go wrong.

I’ve been catching up with the KEXP Songs of the Day for a few days. There are like 21 hours remaining. Made some discoveries. We Were Promised Jetpacks. Years late to the party. The thing about great music is that it’s great long after everyone else likes it.

Can’t wait to smoke some weed, relax, and find a job. Some kind of easy job. Cash. Maybe I could wait tables. I don’t know. I definitely want to get over to Brooklyn, NYC and hang out with AM sometime this summer. Seems pertinent. I could stay at that 3B place. Be very unassuming. Not introduce myself to Catherine Lacey or anything. Maybe pay in cash and use a fake name. Grow a beard. See what kinds of things happen around there.

J. will be there by then, anyway. She’ll be living in Greenbush, if I remember. Or not Greenbush. Who knows. All these little neighborhoods. Whatever the one that’s known for being overtly Polish. She’ll be living there. So I might just crash with her, but I might not like that, she might not like that, it might not be okay. She might not be happy with how good things are going for me. She’s still pissed at Atlanta, I bet. But anyway, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Well, all of that. And then some. Got to remain positive and try not to wonder what the weeks will bring. If all else fails, I can always just work the labor pool and drink forties with the down and outs. It worked when I was a teenager.