Published Fiction

Here are some publications that have done me the honor of including my stories.  This will be updated as more stories come out but I figured I might as well compile these.  

"Max and Tony - The Satirist - July 4th, 2015
"A Garbage Bag Full of Blood" - Bizarrocast - Episode 55
"Static" - Slink Chunk Press - June 19th, 2015
"Blackout" - Hypertext Magazine - Featured Fiction (April 23rd, 2015)
"Meatball Sandwich" - Hobo Pancakes - Issue 21

"Lucky" - The Missing Slate - Story of the Week (February 20th, 2015)

"Ashes" - The Oddville Press - Volume Two, Issue Four

"Pennies" - Roadside Fiction - Issue Nine

"The Bed" - Feathertale Review - Issue #10

Man in the Mirror

I smashed my mirror on a column in the parking garage at my apartment complex.  I was a little too excited to see Battles and I was laughing at my roommate doing something stupid, and then boom.  Shattered glass and curse words started falling out of everything around me.  Luckily, the mirror thingy had a little give in it so it didn’t completely rip the whole thing off, leaving behind a cracked mirror that gave me three different angles of the area behind my left shoulder.  After a few days of trying to deal with it, I colored in the smaller sections with a black marker and tried to get by with the tiny corner of mirror that I had left.

The mirror was fine for backing into a parking space or making sure the bum behind the car didn’t have a bat, but it inflated the blindspot to a dangerous degree and made changing lanes on the highway into more of a neck-straining exercise.  I decided earlier today that I would take the twenty minutes to go to the auto parts store down the street and buy a new mirror.  It’s not hard.  I just needed to take the time.

Every Time I Die/GWAR - Atlanta, November 22

I saw GWAR.  It was nuts.  Read about it here.

Happy Birthday Alameda!

I grew up watching cartoons and movies where every pet was a dog or a cat.  Not every family had an animal.  But when they did, it was one of the two.  I, on the other hand, enjoyed the company of a few guinea pigs, a gerbil, some fish, and a short-lived attempt at having a rabbit (it died after three days).  We also had a chinchilla, but it hated us and my parents had to give it away after my brother and I gave up on the thing.  Basically, even though I loved all of my pets in their own special way, I envied everybody that had a dog or a cat.  They grew into becoming almost mythical animals.  The top-tier of petdom. 

Finally, after years flirting with the idea, I can call myself the proud owner of a dog.  Now that she’s done shitting inside, screaming her head off every time I leave the house, and eating every sock she can find, I can firmly say that all of my built-up views of living with the responsibility of keeping a dog alive were completely right.

Battles - The Masquerade, Atlanta GA - 10/28/11

Last week I saw Battles and it was the shit.  The review of the show can be found here.

Beirut - 10/27 at Variety Playhouse - Review

I saw a kickass show last week and wrote a review which can be found here.  Check it out.

Occupy Atlanta: The Eviction

I heard the news before I left for work:  Mayor Kasim Reed withdrew his offer to let the Occupy Atlanta protesters remain in Woodruff Park until November 7^th.  Apparently there was an unsanctioned hip-hop concert this weekend that pissed the mayor off, causing him to revoke his prior peace offering.  Everyone knew they would be kicked out, but no one knew when.

Work happened to be ungodly slow and I managed to get cut early.  I woo-hooed for a bit and then pulled out my computer as soon as I got home.  I checked a few news sites for any word on the eviction of the protesters and saw an update stating that it was going down at that moment.  I quickly grabbed my camera and hopped in my car.  As I pulled around a corner heading towards the park, two motorcycle cops blew a red light and blocked off the road in front of me.  “Oh shit,” I thought.  “This might get a little nuts.”

Minus the Bear live - Review

I went to see Minus the Bear on Saturday on their tour for the tenth anniversary of Highly Refined Pirates.  I wrote a review for Deckfight which can be found right here.  Enjoy.

The Bet

Throughout the years, I’ve really grown to dislike betting.  Not gambling, mind you, but betting.  Gambling is great.  Every lottery ticket or hand of cards or spin of the slot machine promises the possibility of unfathomable riches and a life of leisure.  Granted, it usually ends with a quick curse word and a moment of regret, but in the end it’s all worth it no matter the financial outcome. 

Betting, on the other hand, requires a certain level of trust between the two bettors.  This is where everything goes to hell for me.  I know that when I bet on something, I will pay if I lose.  Every time.  There’s no choice in the matter because I made a bet and you pay your bets.  That’s what adults do.  Don’t make a bet you can’t pay because that’s dishonest and a clear indicator that you are a complete asshole.  I’ve been burned by this kind of shit too many times and now feel like every bet I make is stupid because I only stand the chance of losing.  There’s no possibility of actually winning.  The most I can hope for is to break even because everyone is an asshole besides me.

The Occupy Atlanta protests won't accomplish anything.

“This is the most radical thing that’s happened in this city since the 70’s.”

Or at least that’s what I overheard from a member of the Occupy Atlanta protest currently taking place in Woodruff Park, downtown Atlanta.  Apparently, the group is protesting corporate greed and misappropriation of funds.  Just don’t ask somebody what they stand for, because it will invariably take them five minutes and a lot of umms to get to the equivalent of that succinct description.

Bjork - "Biophilia" review

I wrote a review of the new Bjork album, Biophilia for Deckfight which can be read here.  I believe the link will start you in the middle of the article, so you may have to scroll up a bit.  Enjoy.

The Georgia Dome is a backwards hell-hole.

When the tickets to the Falcons vs. Packers game fell into my hands on Friday, I wanted nothing more than to see the stupid Atlanta team get their dicks ripped off by Aaron Rodgers and stuffed down their throats. As expected, this is basically what happened as the game clock finally counted down to zero. However, I was not as elated as I had expected to be as this happened. Why not? Because the news came to me through a text message as I walked down Ivan Allen Blvd, away from the Georgia Dome and towards my lonely apartment.

Peacocks are awful.

Our internet has disappeared, so I’m forced to walk out by the pool to connect to some apparition called “linksys” to get my fix of the World Wide Web.  It’s not ideal, but it might be for the best.  I no longer sit in my bedroom until five in the morning watching videos of The Deftones from the nineties or videos of tigers mauling people on elephants.  Although those are definitely productive ways to spend time, it gets a little repetitive after a while.  Now the internet bill has disappeared with my roommate’s girlfriend and I have gained a little piece of my soul back.

Bums are Communists.

I walked to the store today to buy frozen fruit and Ramen noodles.  I figured if I was going to destroy my body with an atomic bomb of sodium, I might as well try to convince myself that I’m doing something good for it by equaling it out with nature’s dessert.  After gathering my foodstuffs, I bought a pack of cigarettes and two scratch-off lottery tickets.  I feel like my hopes of making myself rich are basically infected with terminal cancer, so I have nothing to rely on but blind luck.

I walked into the sun, opened my cigarettes, and sauntered down the road.  I remembered about fifty steps in why I decided it would be a good idea to wait to smoke before passing the park.  The reason being a large pack of bums that absolutely love that park.  Why else would they hang out there in packs at all hours of the night?  

Weddings are fun.

It didn’t dawn on me that I had never seen the ocean until I was crossing a bridge that seemed more like a roller coaster at about eight in the morning after driving straight through the night while I looked at the ocean.  We were approaching St. Simons Island (no apostrophe, apparently.  I guess there was more than one St. Simon and they decided to simply honor all of them at one time with a singular island) for a wedding.

Weddings are a little strange to me, because I love attending them but I don’t really plan on participating in one.  That’s like never eating your favorite food (kinda).  Everyone is always in a great mood.  Everyone always lets loose.  Everyone is having a great time except for kids.  It sucks to be a kid at a wedding.  You’re around a bunch of people you don’t know who are doing things you don’t understand and doing other things you are not allowed to do.  But I’m not a kid anymore so I don’t really give a shit about all of that.

Dumb Dilemma

You shouldn’t hate someone for something they can’t help, meaning race, gender, place of origin, etc.  This is easily apparent to anyone born after the 1800’s.  Being a bigot has fallen out of fashion, which is most likely for the best.  But I haven’t seen any research on that idea, so I guess I can’t really say for sure either way.

Why bring up such a mundane point?  Good question.  But shut up.  I bring it up because I find myself bigoting all over the place every day I leave my apartment (which is almost every day).  Race, age, gender, none of that shit matters to me.  You could be a baby Chinese girl or a Chilean grandfather (which, I believe, are opposites), it really doesn’t matter to me. 

Who needs planning?

As you may know, I don’t have the highest opinion of the way this city is run.  The fact that the roads, including the highways, will flood and the traffic lights will stop working after anything heavier than a light drizzle solidifies my viewpoint.  Tonight, I came across another Atlanta-fix that seems to lack all forethought and rational planning.

It was about 9:45 p.m. and the lane leading to the highway on-ramp was packed with cars at a standstill.  Although at work, I wasn’t busy, so I figured I’d just turn up the music and wait it out.  It shouldn’t be long, right?  It’s just a fucking on-ramp.  People can figure out how to merge with traffic.  It shouldn’t be too long and will still be quicker than taking the city.  Right?  

Dragon Con: The Final Chapter

Usually, today is completely awful.  A hangover rides in my head and clouds everything I encounter until I can finally go to sleep and try to forget the day ever happened.  Why is today usually so shitty?  Because it’s the day after Dragon Con, and if we’ve learned anything from past experiences, that means a pretty drunken, shitty Josh.

E-book

Deckfight, a music website that I occasionally write for, recently began releasing e-books under the pseudonym Deckfight Press.  They were genial enough to ask me to contribute something, and it is now up for you to look at/download over at their website which is here.  You should go here and get this.  Just go ahead and click right here, where it says here, and you can get this.  For free.  You've got nothing to lose besides a tiny amount of disk space, and everything to gain such as the e-book in your choice of a variety of forms.

Download it.

Inconsiderate Assholes

There’s nothing that pisses me off more than when someone is being inconsiderate.  Seeing as how I live in Atlanta, I am faced with this brand of horseshit every single day.  Seeing as how I drive around Atlanta for my job, I am faced with this horseshit in quantities that are not easily survived by the normal person.  Or maybe I have that backwards.  I don’t really know.

I have dealt with this selfishness in its truest, purest, concentrated form twice this week and even had a chance to have words with the offenders.  The first incident happened as I walked into work during rush hour.  The place I work is located on a busy street with four lanes of traffic that are usually packed straight across and backed up for a few blocks.

Anxiety attacks suck.

A few years ago, I had the privilege of watching a friend of mine have an anxiety attack.  We were at work, probably schleppin’ potato salad and complaining about Russian accents when all of a sudden her eyes grew wide and she started freaking out.

Journey sucks.

A few years ago (and when I say a few, I actually mean somewhere around six) some friends of mine and I got into a pretty heated debate.  It’s a simple question with a simple answer:  Who’s better, Boston or Journey?  The answer, of course, is Boston.  “Hey Josh, Boston only had one good album!”  You’re right.  But that album is fucking awesome.  And don’t tell me that “More Than a Feeling” is played out because that’s not even close to the best part of their self-titled debut album.  Find something as kickass as the high notes in “Rock & Roll Band” at the “Signed a record company contract!” part, and then we can talk. 

Let me look in.

A few months ago, I wrote a song based on a short story I wrote in 2004.  I recorded the song yesterday and then went on a bike ride.  On said bike ride, I recorded some video on my camera and plopped it together in a video editing program I stumbled across the other night.

Here it is:

Art can be idiotic.

I’ve always had a fairly tenuous relationship with visual art. I don’t know much about it, I have pretty specific tastes, and I think a lot of it is complete horseshit. Specifically, abstract and conceptual art is often horseshit. I’m not saying all of it is bad, but I’ve seen a lot of examples of horseshit in the few exhibits I’ve been to.

I’m sure you’ve gone to an art gallery with somebody that doesn’t want to be there, or at least stood near a group where someone was dragged along. Inevitably, that person will say something to the effect of, “Jesus Christ, I did a child draw this? Shit, I could do this!”

This adulation for the mundane has now been taken to a whole new level. In a few weeks, an exhibit by Aelita Andre will open in New York. Why is this notable? She's four-fucking-years-old.

Fuck the Postal Service

Not the band. I have no problem with them. I’m talking about the “Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow” assholes that only seem to be capable of bringing bad news. The only things I ever get from them are bills, unsolicited advertisements, or notices from my bank that could easily come to my attention by e-mail. “Did you know that if you open an account with a balance of $1,000, we’ll give you a coupon for a car wash?” Fuck you bank, I don’t care. I have bums take care of that for me.

I don’t receive letters (maybe once in a while), I don’t receive checks (besides the tax refund I just got), and I don’t receive toys/candy/beer EVER by mail. So what is the United States Postal Service good for? Turns out, nothing.

What’s the Postal Service’s job? To bring shit from here to there. Or from there to here. All you have to do is read the thing where it says, “Bring it to this exact location. Here’s some specific numbers to guide you,” and bring it there. That’s it. I’ve been a delivery driver for a while, and it’s basically the same thing. It’s simple. I’ve worked with some really stupid people, and even they were able to get it right. A person who doesn’t speak English or know the arrangement of roads could do it. Get a GPS, and match the numbers and letters one-by-one if you have to. Easy.

Do not pass "Go"

I go to jail almost every night. Sometimes more than once. It sucks. Every time. I’ve never left there and said to myself, “Hell yeah. That was kickass.” Now, I’m simply delivering there. I usually wait next to the metal detectors and try to avoid conversation with the guard sitting behind the table who’s alternating between reading a magazine, staring at the wall, or making a joke along the lines of, “They won’t notice one wing missing from that box!” That joke wasn’t funny the first time I heard it, and it’s still not funny after the thousandth time. Also, I don’t carry around extra food with me, which is another question that seems like common knowledge but apparently is not since I get asked all the time.

The funniest part about going to the Fulton County Jail is the electronic sign in the area that people wait for their family/friends to be released. It’s the same sign that might tell you balloons are on sale at the grocery store, or to inform you that you have just entered Spencer’s Gifts at the mall. It has the multi-colored letters that sometimes scroll from the left, sometimes from both sides, sometimes appearing pixel-by-pixel, sometimes exploding after the message is fully formed, etc. spelling out messages such as “Welcome to the Fulton County Jail.” The point being, it’s really festive. It’s supposed to portray a “fun” mood which is juxtaposed with one of the most oppressive atmospheres in our society.

Music!

I've had a myspace music page forever, but that sucks and I've forgotten my password long ago. So, imagine my excitement when I stumbled upon a new website (or at least new to me) where I can post all my music that never sees the light of day.

I've decided to put up a few new songs, as well as the album I put together last year called Luna Programme,



and an album I put together in 2008 called I Hate the Desert So Much.



The two full-length releases are available for free download, so if you feel like taking a stroll down memory lane (even though you most likely have no memories involving these songs) you can feel free to plop them right onto your computer without fussing with a CD case or any of the hassles involved with getting music the old-fashioned way. But, of course, there is the try-before-you-buy (for free) feature where you can simply stream the songs and hear what they sound like before commiting your precious disk space to them.

So there you go. Enjoy.

New Orleans pt.1

As soon as the Packers won the NFC Championship, the immediate question was, “What the hell are we doing for the Super Bowl?” A few stupid ideas got tossed around before the god’s of great ideas shined upon Ted and his eyes lit up.

“New Orleans.”

Everyone who was within earshot immediately knew it was a great idea. Everyone that eventually heard about it knew it was a great idea. Even if you never heard it, you knew it was a great idea. We had been looking for an excuse to go there since Ted’s brother Stu moved there a few months ago. The Packers in the Super Bowl, preceded by my birthday? Perfect excuse.

Watch your shit.

It’s a really good idea to hold onto your time-slips at work. This way, you can be sure you get paid for every hour you’re there. Every meaningless thing you do, every drop of garbage juice that spills on you, every time you trip and knock your elbow against a corner, it’s all made worthwhile by financial compensation. However, if you don’t keep track of your time, there’s no way to know for sure that you are, in fact, paid for all of this crap.

A long time ago, a coworker of mine was bitching about a mistake on her check and said, “You gotta watch these mother fuckers. They’ll rip you off. You gotta watch ‘em.” To which I nodded, smiled, and pretended like I understood what she was saying. However, after a while, I thought about it and realized that it doesn’t take much effort beyond remembering to grab my time-slip at the end of the week. And although I had absolutely no faith in myself being able to remember that on a frequent basis, I started doing it about a month ago.