Andy Marlowe Riano – “The birthday boy has to wear the birthday hat”

There, in the corner of the bad Irish pub, was the peculiar man who had never taken off his birthday hat in twenty years. Well, by now, it was hardly a hat at all. It had become a small pyramid of tattered paper rags, the remains of what had once been a glittery, perky little birthday hat. See, years ago , when he was young and full of promise – “a rockstar to be,” in his own words – he and his then-princess, Grace, had been sitting at Cork and Craven’s. She had been adamant about him wearing his little hat for his Birthday. For you to visualize: the boy (now man) is two metres tall, quite lanky, and possesses a comical silhouette vaguely reminiscent of Slender Man. A kind Slender Man.

He declared that night, to his friends, while looking at his Grace:

If she is nicer to me, I shall marry her.”

” That was the first time the hat sat on his slicked-back black hair. Twenty years later, he still wore it.
Now you may ask me, what happened to them? Was she nicer to him?
Well, after all I am not a fortune teller, but I know that he kept his hat on.
Guinness after Guinness.

That was my birthday story for my friend Lew! I went to see him briefly the other night and found myself lamenting the fact that after months of promising him an essay for his ‘Sunshine Blog’, a collection of essays about Joy, I realized I could still not write a joyous piece. I came to his Birthday drinks at the Irish bar, sweaty after a pole dancing class, and usually I would have said no to this impromptu last minute get together with strangers, but I want to be more present for those who are important in my life. Especially in the light of my friend and ex boss passing away. It is funny, when people die, everyone who shat so gladly on them, becomes so sweet on their IG story eulogies.

I mean, I understand how can you talk badly about the dead? Especially the freshly dead.
I went to our DMS, and flicked through them, feeling my tears well up at the absolutely stupid curation of brain rot and sporadic updates we had sent each other. We really knew each other. I have so many of his pedicure foot bath pictures on my phone, that he would send me with no context, even when we hadn’t talked in ages. I would reply ‘gorgeous.’ No reply. A month later another foot pic.
I remember the last thing he posted on his story was ‘Going off on a holiday for the first time’, and I smile now thinking he must be at peace, the old troubled man. I hope he has his seventh heaven moment.

Tess Petronio – “BENSPURPOSE”

Curtis Croll – “Take it easy”

Shane Downey – “Do spiders get excited ?”

Lew Zatonski – “LAWS OF PERSPECTIVE”

Maceo Nightingale – “JELLYFISH NIGHT TIDE”

Morning lingered on like
expired coffee in a bowl of cereal.
I have no enemies
because I see the light in everybody.

A cup of orange juice
sat on the table
and a raspberry garden grew in
the backyard.
Sprinklers splashed through dog door

The mind is stronger than one can think.

Beeping trucks drove past the graveyard
Red stop signs melted in butter
And flashing streetlights dipped in gold.
The train engine roared through the window
And an ear stuffed between two slices of bread.

Marc Grossman – “Jolly Chan”

Maresz Miciula – “More Jobs”

More Joy! Says Marc Jacobs campaign over and over again. Their merch, I think they even have an
Instagram account for that. I always thought their campaigns were genius but with a slight anxiety. Like
they exhaust the machine so hard. They take a star, shake it until its battery is gone, throw it to the stack of
used stars and move onto catching another ones. It’s an enormous machine, a cabin with chains and food
delivery service, with interns, managers, important executives and everybody wants to be the boss. But to be
the boss, you gotta have an idea of what to do. It’s not just sitting at the bar smoking —

“I work at Bluemarine!”

With huge power comes great responsibility, so not everyone actually becomes a boss. It must be hard and
you must feel trapped sometimes, like you can’t spend a day watching a movie about grandpas fucking
trash bins (shout out to Harmony Korine).

AI is taking over the jobs that can be took over by machines. Yay. AI, make a crashcourse of a three year
Sociology degree, then test me and print out a diploma. Everything is a time machine. Not the one
of transportation, but the one where:

L + T * C = MS

Life, Time multiplied by Concentration equals Machine Supply

I am still shocked that people are shocked by honesty. Wow, can you really admit anxiety? Then, the same
people are telling me they’re writers. OK.. I’m curious to read it.

There’s an infinity of matrixes to break through just to end up in another one. Or not, if you’re lucky. For
example, there’s this one of a Majestic writer:

                                          My darling

                                                  Your lips

                                                On my lips

                                                 Penetrate

                                                  And pull

                                                   My soul
    
                                                  Upwards

                             O’ how lonely (pinch of tragedy)

                                                     It gets

                                                In this blue

                                                      Room

                                             Full of Feathers

      She is gone now (even bigger tragedy, in third person)

                                  Perhaps she’s never been

                                         Where? (surprise)

                                               And roaches

                                             Eat her bones

                                           Until she floats

                                         Above the Earth,

             A frozen lake of her imagination (abstract)

I am no expert, in fact I am an uneducated lazy who’s arrogant and thinks she knows better. I’m just
mimicking some people I know.

This had to be about joy and excitement. Why? Are you depressed, Authors? Do you want me to bring
sunshine and encourage people to stare into it? I just payed $120 for a website. Now I need a beer. Life
Ain’t easy. Easy is suspicious.

More Jobs Marc Jacobs! I hope you pay your interns.