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Welcome back to DC’s Writers Workshop. This is the twelfth in a series of days on the blog where writers who are part of the blog’s community present work-in-progress in search of the opinions, responses, advice, and critiques of both readers who don’t normally post comments here and local inhabitants of this place. I ask everyone to please read these works with the same attention you give the normal brand of posts here and respond in some way in the comments section below. Obviously, the closer your attention and the more you’re able and willing to say to the writer the better. But any kind of related comment is welcome, even a simple sentence or two indicating you read the piece of writing and felt something or other about it would be helpful. The only guideline I’m going to give out regarding comments is that any response, whether lengthy or brief, praise filled or critical or anywhere inbetween, should be presented in a spirit of helping the writer in question. I’ll be responding to the work too in the Comments section towards the end of the weekend. So, I guess all of that is probably clear. Giving support to the artists of different kinds who read and post on the blog has always been a very important aspect of this project, and this workshop series represents an opportunity to make that aspect more formal and explicit. This weekend’s workshop features a new short story by Postitbreakup — writer, blog/site proprietor, and one of this blog’s longtime distinguished locals. He asks for any thoughts, support, or criticism you can give him. I thank him greatly for entrusting his work to us, and I thank you all in advance for your kind participation. — D.C.
FECAL MATTERS
—-I founded the premiere excrement-based social network, RateMyDump.com. It’s not the only place online appealing to both frat boys and scat fetishists, but it’s growing and profitable. (At least that’s what I tell my father.) So when I get Morrison’s email, I’m naturally intrigued, both by its subject line—that Nietzsche quote about the abyss—and the attached image, a scanned Polaroid of a shit the size of a baby.
—-Of course, it’s probably Photoshopped, or at least trick photography: a regular-sized turd in a kid’s training toilet, maybe. You’d be amazed the lengths people will go to get their shits Liked and retweeted. Usually I’d delete such a picture, or just upload and forget it, but the four vodka martinis I’ve swallowed (sans vermouth) convince me to do otherwise. A phone number’s written neatly on the Polaroid in brown Sharpie; I dial.
—-A gruff man picks up mid-ring, startling me.
—-I say, “This is Craig Richards, responding to your Dump Submission?”
—-“Christ…” Without muffling the receiver, he shouts, “It’s for you!”
—-A meek kid picks up, presumably the man’s son. “This is me, I mean he. Morrison.”
—-I tell him that I’ve seen a “shit-ton” (he doesn’t laugh) of submissions, yet his stands out by far. “Unless”—I pause here for drama, and to take another sip— “it’s fake.”
—-“No!” His voice cracks. “It’s real. I can prove it.”
*
Meeting an anonymous shitter is certainly not something my father—Mr. Arnold Richards, CEO—would have done, which makes the idea even more appealing. Plus I’m grateful to have plans on a Saturday night, and Morrison lives only fifteen minutes away.
—-I consider taking a cab, but my money’s tied up in paying for bandwidth, not to mention rent. Though RateMyDump gets a decent number of hits, the Google AdWords and the Amazon referrals to Everyone Poops haven’t generated much revenue. So I gargle mouthwash and stumble to my car.
—-Morrison instructed me not to ring the bell, said he’d come outside, but I’ve been waiting almost ten minutes and I’m starting to get uneasy, starting to think my night would have been better spent beginning the paper that’s due Monday—for someone who’s just changed his major to Art History, I sure hate writing about the Renaissance—but then a freckly kid with stringy hair is knocking at my window, which I awkwardly roll down, then up, before finally opening the door.
—-“Sorry I didn’t come out sooner,” Morrison says. “I thought my dad might have woken up, but it was just his restless leg.”
—-Morrison leads me inside, past the kitchen, where my first thought—to snag one of the liquor bottles from the cabinet—makes me wonder, not for the first time, if I’m developing a problem. We tiptoe past the recliner where his father sleeps, twitching, and head upstairs to Morrison’s room.
—-He shuts the door behind us and begins digging around in the closet while I pace, not wanting to sit on the bed, though it’s the only furniture in the room. I briefly worry that he’s going to pull out an axe and murder me or something, and I imagine how, at the funeral, my father would point out—in an impromptu deviation from the eulogy his secretary wrote—that I had it coming, God damn it, and this never would have happened if I’d completed an MBA.
—-Instead, Morrison presents me with a tremendous Tupperware, and there it is, the enormous poo, dry and crumbly, but unmistakably genuine. The smell makes my eyes water, almost buckles my knees.
—-I wasn’t initially that interested in feces; RateMyDump started as a passive-aggressive response to an odious assignment for the entrepreneurship class I eventually dropped. Yet the project soon began swallowing more and more of my time, as I—driven by the same childish mix of voyeurism and awe that causes one to watch pimple-popping videos on YouTube—couldn’t look away. Here was this natural but filthy thing we all pretend not to do, for once on display.
—-But Morrison’s shit seems like something beyond all this. Maybe even art.
—-“So do you like it?” he asks, sounding like a kid showing a bike trick to his mom.
—-I nod, but ask him how he did it, if it hurt. He tells me that he’s trained for this, that he’ll wait for days while the crap builds up inside him before unloading. “This is my biggest yet.”
—-Morrison stands there beaming, so proud, so hopeful. I’m nauseated, knocked back into sobriety.
—-“Well,” I say, “I’ll definitely upload this one to the Hall of Fame. And be sure to send me any more you… create.”
—-When I reach for the door, he asks, “Don’t you want to stay?” He clenches his Tupperware, unable to mask a frown.
—-“Sorry,” I say. “I have other pictures to authenticate.”
—-For a moment I’m pleased with my cleverness, but downstairs, creeping past Morrison’s father, I’m filthy and ashamed. The feeling worsens when I decide to snag a liquor bottle on my way out after all, and doesn’t abate until I return to my apartment and send my an advisor an email about switching back my major, an email I forward to my dad..
*
A few months later, during an excruciating accounting lecture, my phone buzzes. It’s an email from Morrison’s father, who evidently found on his son’s computer all the unanswered emails Morrison had written to me. Morrison is dead: fatal bowel obstruction.
—-I delete the email, pocket my phone, return my attention to the lecture. Shit happens.
—-
*
p.s. Hey. So, yes, please give your attention, thoughts, and some commentary to Postitbreakup’s short story this weekend. I would appreciate it greatly, and, obviously, so will he. I’ll pipe in with my own comments towards the end of Sunday. Thanks very much! I got okay sleep last night. My jetlag is sort of just a fuzz so far. We’ll see. D.l.s Joakim Almroth and Disco 3-way are in Paris, and I get to hang out with them today. I’ll tell them hi for you. ** Thursday ** Sypha, Hi. ‘Death Note’ … that’s a TV thing or what? I’ll find out. Thanks. I kind of want a movie theater franchise too. Some kind of quality populist dependable thing. Hm. Oh, you’re playing that Skyrim game. A few people I know are in its midst. I would play that in less than a heartbeat if there wasn’t so much battling and fighting all the time. It looks incredible. The ‘American Psycho’ remake is, obviously, an incredibly stupid, ghastly idea. I’m sure you know they’re going to set it now rather than in the ’80s. Why would Bret agree to that? I’m completely confused. ** Bernard Welt, Well, it was supposed to be a 5-way gang banging orgy type of deal, but none of us was able to make any of the rest of us hard, so it’s kind of a soft core deal. ** Posing at the Louvre, Hey, buddy! Yeah, I got the email/post, and it’s super awesome, and I’m very grateful, and I’ll give you the launch date very shortly. Some people have found melatonin helpful for jet lag. I take it every night, so I don’t know if it helps or not. I’ve scoured the net, airwaves, my fellow afflicted, you name it, for any help on that gruesome condition, and I’ve never found a thing that makes much difference. From Europe to LA is, whoa, hard. My strategy is just the simple one of doing what it takes to stay awake until at least 9 pm the first night. In my experience, the first night isn’t so bad, so you might be okayish for the thing you need to do. It’s the second night onwards when the lag really kicks in. Serious sympathy and hugs, man, but I would guess you’ll be okay. ** MANCY, Hey. Thanks, man. Wow, very cool that your friend’s band played with later era Sky Saxon. I had a few brief encounters with him in the 90s, and trippy is the word. I know of The Birds, but I’m not sure that I’ve ever actually heard them. If they’re kind of like The Creation, I’m definitely geared to dig them. I’ll hunt. Thanks again! ** Killer Luka, Who’s JKR? I know I’m going to slap myself and go ‘duh’ when you tell me. I do remember you talking about ‘House of Dolls’, sure. Well, it sounds intriguing to ay the least. I’ve already started looking into doing a Stalag post. Maybe I’ll have beginners luck. So, I’m guessing that bacon flavored floss tastes more like Bacos? I love Bacos. I eat them like popcorn. ** Kyler, The first cigarette post long flight is always a mixed blessing, which is strange. I think in my case it’s because I wear a nicotine patch when I fly, and so the reunion with my cigarettes feels more like a detour. Well, cool, about your novel. Look forward to it. G’morning. ** Pilgarlic, Hey. Great Garage Rock stories, man. I knew I could count on you. I saw Tommy James/ Shondells at one of those festival situation you describe, i.e. at a big, very hip LA rock festival in the late ’60s. Devonshire Downs, for the record. Same deal with groans upon their arrival and then a gradually won-over enthusiasm. That Tommy James fella was kind of a pop rock genius. The band on the bill at DD that arrived to groans and did the opposite of winning the crowd over was Creedence Clearwater, who did not sound good when one was tripping, not even in their famous attempt at trippiness, ‘Suzie Q’. Super glad the rehab has started and is making you feel good. Great! ** Bollo, Hey. I don’t when that NYT thing comes out. If I find out in advance, I’ll let you know. Soonish, I guess. Nice Xmas gift there, man. Nice lil brother. I’ve flown Air France so often lately that I ended up running out of movies that I could tolerate watching on that last flight. I did watch ‘Submarine’, which I liked ok. Still, how many more movies like less daring ‘Rushmore’ clones with a stick up their butts are people going to make? You hate Love? That’s crazy talk. I don’t even know what to say to that. Holy shit. ** Ken Baumann, Ken! Yeah, I mean, I walked to the photo studio (Chelsea Piers) in the rain from SoHo and they didn’t powder me or anything. I just wrote down that Lebanese restaurant’s name for future NYC reference. Cool. I ate at this kind of very good noodle place, Kelley & Ping. Greene Street between Houston and Prince. It’s been there for almost forever. Good stuff. My caffeine comedown is pretty mild. It doesn’t get emotional for me. It’s just a slow energy drain thing. I probably drink a lot more coffee more regularly than you do, and my body has probably built up some kind of defense system against the let down part. That sounds awful. How are you with sugar, sugar rushes, post-sugar come down? ** Misanthrope, Didn’t meet Amis, no. I hear he’s super short. I’ve met people who’ve known him a little, and some say he’s nice, and some say he’s a total prick, so maybe he’s both. I’m happy that, within your top 5 writers photo shoot, I’m still the weirdo of the bunch. Thank you! I’m starting to get this ‘Twin Peaks’ vibe from your work situation, which is not a bad thing, obviously. It was big Jim’s birthday two days ago? I’ll bet Pere Lachaise was hopping. ** Alan, Ooh, that sounds good. ‘Possession’. I’ll get myself an uncensored torrent from somewhere, you bet. I’m not too lagged, thanks. I’m really glad to hear you’re submitting the novel. Yeah, diligence, stay the course, don’t let any rejections you might receive mean much of anything to you. It’ll happen. ** Steevee, You saw ‘Possession’ too. Hm, yeah, it sounds well worth seeing. Thanks! ** David kelso-housman, I don’t think I’ll be writing any blockbusters. If I ever speak of such a goal, I hope someone here shakes me back to my senses. In fact, if I ever speak of wanting to write any kind of ‘genre’ book, even a YA book, I’ll expect a wake up call from people here. Originally, my Horror Hospital story was going to be the beginning of a YA kind of novel, but as I had apparently already crossed the no-no line within about six sentences, according to my agent, it never happened. ** James, Hey, James. I was put up at the Mondrian Hotel, Soho, on Crosby St. just south of Grand St. New, chic, but not obnoxious about it. If you ever stay there, ask for a room high up and on the corner of the building. That’s what I had. Really, the walls — or two of them — were windows. Crazy view. Love to you too, bud. ** Bill, Hi. The flight was okay. Great that you got to see Bill Jones. Yeah, he’s terrific, as is his work. 40+ dronesters? Excuse me if I get excited by that prospect. Can you say more? Will you do a sound drone or a visual drone or both or … ? ** Friday ** Marc Vallée, Hey, Mark. Yeah, Cameron is trying to bring down Europe singlehandedly, ha ha. Good luck with that one. Oh, Dom Lyne, awesome! He’s great! That’s fantastic that you guys are going to work together. How is that going to work? I would love to see the results, obviously. Give him a hug for me. Very cool! ** David Ehrenstein, Thanks for the Buckaroo hologram link. I remember that now. Nice. Very, very sad about Gilbert Adair’s death. Amazing guy for so many reasons. His Perec translations alone are totally heroic. RIP. ** David kelso-housman, Oh, ‘Wild Palms’. Back when TV took some chances briefly in the light of the initial popularity of ‘Twin Peaks’. ** Steevee, Hm, I’ll give Jacques Vallee a look. I don’t know his stuff at all. ** _Black_Acrylic, Nice to be back, thanks! Great about finishing your YnY article. The anticipation builds. Bawbag is quite a word for a scrotum. Wow. I’ve got to use that somewhere. ** Chris Cochrane, Hi, C. Well, Ira’s job change affects me in that he’s not my agent anymore. I have a new one now. It’s great for him, but it is weird ‘cos he had been my agent from the beginning, and I’ve always relied on his advice and counsel. Even though he’s younger than me, it kind of feels like losing a parental figure. But my new agent is going to be great, I think. That Fight Magazine thing isn’t online, right? All I could find was the issue’s cover. I do know ‘River of Orchids’, yes, and it is a very swell song, I agree. Bon weekend, my friend. ** Shannon, Hey, Shannon. I slept okay, thank goodness. Tonight’s the real test. Great, thank you for the link to your essay! I’ll read it when I’m done with the p.s. Everyone, it was mentioned here the other day that a nonfiction piece by the ultra-fine writer and d.l. Shannon has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and she has kindly linked us up. I very highly recommend that you go read it, ‘cos she’s awesome. She has a little pre-reading advice for potential readers, and here it is in her words: ‘Fair warning, if anyone does not want to read true words about my pussy don’t read this piece. It’s an essay about the first girl to ever make me squirt.’ Okay, now head over there. Can’t wait to read the piece. It’s fantastic that you’re on a writing jag. I’m sure someone will want those new pieces, strange or not. If places are foolish enough not to grab them, listen, this blog would be honored to have any of them anytime. ** Chilly Jay Chill, Hi, Jeff. I don’t know when the photo thing will run, but maybe I’ll be told in advance, and I’ll let you know, if so. Split on ‘Gummo’ is better than I expected based on their reticence with the other films you showed. No, I don’t know that Coleman Dowell novel. I think I’ve only read his diaries. I’ve been meaning to read his fiction for yonks, so maybe I’ll try that one first. Have a free as a bird weekend, pal. ** Okay. Now, please do spend some time with Postitbreakup’s short story over the next couple of days, and please give him your thoughts, however brief or in depth. I’ll see you in the comments arena on late-ish Sunday, and I’ll see you back here on Monday morning.
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