I just purchased a subscription to the WWE Network so my free time is over.
So in the meantime, watch my brother and I beat each other up in backyard wrestling via this Xiu Xiu video?
Anonymous said: I just wanted to say, you and your art mean a lot to me. You told me once that things will sort themselves out and they did. I'm learning to see the good in life, like you told me to. Even when I'm depressed or suicidal, I come back to the letters I sent you and your answers and they give me so much hope and strength now. I don't know where I would've been if not for you, Freddy. Thank you.
It is really hard for me to respond to things like this, so please, please, just know I am happy to hear that you are finding your reasons for living.
some upcoming things:
-I have a new short fiction appearing in an upcoming issue of print magazine Caketrain
-a Former Ghosts / Funeral Advantage split 7” is in the works
-currently working on a side project currently titled Krait
-a solo show w/ Xiu Xiu in Prague on Oct. 31st @ Podnik
Anonymous said: hi. i just wanted to express my affection for you as an artist, and my happiness that you've found (some?) happiness as a human being. please never be embarrassed for the creations you've birthed into this world, whatever the manifestation, or worry over their perceived or actual quality. thank you for sharing your human experience with us--i know i'm always anxious to listen, even if you feel you're sharing and shouting into an apathetic abyss. i hope all is well; take care freddy #javafanclub
I didn’t want to post this as it felt personal in nature, but as it was anonymous I had no other way to reply.
So, in short, thank you, it is appreciated.
Sun heat on stalks and wind fingers everything thanks God. Still air sits like pregnancy in Louisiana. They are breeding out there, beyond stinking vines, filthy as meat pocked bones. Someone asked a question once over dragon scaled instincts out there. Beyond clocked footing. This is how you break a child: show her a glance at your stiff face in the silent moment. Once you are clogged you are going to end up like gators when they go dormant. When you get to Louisiana be sure to look me up. When you get to Louisiana it is best to experience the sadness. Wet dogs to prayers at air: barking Louisiana. On that, keep on it. Take care, pass the mean onto mother, lose Steeple Bar fuckers, take anyway on A, angle past your trailer dirt legs. Right home. Road ticking domestic dispute. Out ticking. Cow glass on your right where murmurs keep your aunt crying. Sleeping, driving, sleeping, driving.
"maw maw did you want to toss some?"
Your grandmother melted out there in the field where your mom’s ashes necked dixieland dirt. Drove, slept, drove, slept, drove.
This is an excerpt of a track called Louisiana to be released as a part of the Folktale Records Postcard Subscription series. The track will not be available on anything else or via any other format.
The series is available here:
The following originally appeared in New Wave Vomit:
I wait until you sleep, then I sift my parched body in. Shambling through the kitchen of our old house (the one your brother figured himself out in after bricking the living room window) until we slip into the orange dinette. You recall the yellowed tiles of the floor covered in hair clumps. We had both laughed until you cried at the solidarity. My prison body is leveled by two purple craters sunk in the chest. I grip at my silver tufts and they twist apart like tails of cotton. Blue veins map false rivers across stretched skin. We both know nothing of any real substance grows here. Mom, are you ok? Mom, are you ok? I heard you the first time. Squint, squint, squint. From the back of my throat gallons of red dust in a cloud of antique smell purges.
For the next 40 nights I will wait until you sleep and then I will sift my parched body in. And even then, you will only be in the first stage mentioned in the book the neighbor lady gave you.
"Tell me about your mom."
She looks like how I remember her from photographs and home movies, her outline kind of slurred,
the colors of her dress all runny.
You watch home movies over and over so you can remember the way that person waters the lawn or the way they fold the laundry into crisp little stacks.
Eat half of what you are given.
The smell of rain on dog flesh.
The smell of rain on the flesh of an elephant in the room.
The following originally appeared in nnatan issue 2:
First, people asked me, have you lost some weight? I said yes. Yes I have. I cut the meals down. Now I drink some milk, and eat some red peppers. They said, you look great! Later they said, maybe you should eat some more. Now no one talks to me. I think anorexia would be the least embarrassing. I hope they do not think I have a tapeworm because that would be embarrassing. They think I have anorexia. No, they think I have bulimia.
The police would come. They would shine a flashlight in my face. They would bark at me. I’d say to them: No, no, no, you’ve got it all wrong. My grandma is dead. It’s for myself. You think you are a goddamn know it all, don’t you, Chief Fuck Face? Smart little fucker. Fuck Face. But the cops didn’t come. He just walked off. Maybe to the back room. Maybe he took a break, maybe he drank a coffee. Maybe he had a lunch break followed by a coffee and a cigarette.
Would I sit down in there, or lay down? Would I crawl into the death mill? Probably a combination of both. But never stand. It just wouldn’t be reasonable. If you are hanging out inside of a death mill I don’t think you are ever standing. It just wouldn’t make any sense. It wouldn’t be logical and it wouldn’t be reasonable. If I lay down in the death mill and my feet stick out the end that would be fine. It would probably be easier for someone to recognize. Some kid would pick up a rock and throw it at the side of the death mill hoping to wake me up with a scare. The joke would be on him because he would see his first dead body. I would be dead.
My dad, he was always handy. When my brother and I were young, he built a large fort for us to play on. It was actually two stories high with a pole to slide down like a firehouse. How many trees does it take to make one piece of plywood? It has to be at least three. Therefore, if there are three pieces of plywood left over, that’s three times three, that’s nine trees.
I say it again loudly. I bought this milk yesterday! I look towards the living room. There is still no one else in the living room. Did I check the date on the jug before I bought it? I must have. I must have just assumed it was fine. I must have looked at the date without reading it.
A photo of my grandmother on my dad’s side. She died of a stroke at 86. She had been living in an old folks home for years. Once she was placed in the old folks home she hated all of us. There is a photo of her with mint green ice cream dribbling through the black hairs on her chin but that isn’t the one I tape to the wall.