Wrote another book of short stories this year: Cawlding Honey. There are two themes - one is the demon of desire, and the other is aliens that have formed an atomic priesthood over ten thousand years in order to protect humanity from almost wiping itself out again. Gave it to two people who promptly forgot about it. No spark. Strange how you can create something and it disappears into the ether, somewhere betwixt, “Who fuckin’ cares?” and, “So what’s it about, again?”

I recently received a dresser that my grandfather had refinished; I’m told it was my uncle’s. It’s pretty solid wood, real wood, that was sanded and stained a light color. There’s newspaper lining some of the drawers, but I’m not keen on pulling it up to read it. The dresser has something like fifteen drawers, too, and it’s just fantastic. Before this, like some kind of Fort Des Moines work-release drug addled fuck up in his mid-fifties, I’ve been using a series of Target fabric cubes inside a wire rack. Did that for something on thirteen years. Last dresser I had was off a curb and smelled like poop when it got hot, so I tossed it. You’d think I gave a shit, but I’m lucky to buy myself new socks. On that note, someone at work pulled up a picture of me from 2009 and I was wearing the same Dickies button up mechanic shirt and Dickies jeans I’ve worn since, well…about 2008. It’s been 14 years and I still don’t give a shit. Conservatives think I’m a slob, and liberals think I’m square, so I guess what I wear isn’t critical.

But this dresser, my new dresser, I do give a shit. Not only do all my clothes fit into it, but it’s a family thing. And son of a bitch, I can stack shit on top of it, like books. I have three stacks of books on it right now. One stack includes the book CHAOS: Charles Manson, the CIA, and the Secret History of the Sixties by Dan Piepenbring and Tom O'Neill. Another stack has The Hitler Book: The Secret Dossier Prepared for Stalin. The third stack is all 14 Fu Manchu novels written by Sax Rohmer (a pseudonym) with the (awesome) 1960’s Pyramid publishing covers.

I took a trip to DC recently, stayed in a Hyatt downtown. Got to see Alexandria, and the Capitol, and the White House, and all that other shit people go to DC to see. Also got to spend some time by myself at the “Hitchcock Steps,” now better known as The Exorcist Steps in Georgetown. As soon as we hit the air over DSM, I opened book four of the Fu-Manchu series: The Daughter of Fu Manchu. I read it during the two and a half hour direct flight to DC, I read it every night I was there, and I finished it on the flight home. It was a quick read, like all the other Fu Manchu books. Unfortunately, most critics paint Rohmer as a racist and for my two cents, I suggest there’s more to the story. However, half the internet is full of idiots who believe Donald Trump is communicating with the ghost of Dom DeLuise to regain power over Jewish space lizards, and the other half of the internet gnashes their teeth and wipes away tears every time Sean Hannity has a bowel movement.

Anyway, book four was good. I enjoyed it. If only I could finish book five: The Mask of Fu Manchu. It’s a goddamn shame this world has come to a place where people - writers even - don’t give a shit about reading. That’s why I don’t fault anyone for forgetting about my “books”. Reading is a dying art. Better to chew up a 100mg edible, turn on Spongebob and forget about that pizza you put in the oven rather than to pick up some racist old turd like Dr. Fu Manchu Shits All Over the Pre-War Asian Community.

The book I wrote, Cawlding Honey - it’s not racist, it’s not homophobic, it’s not even a million-copy seller. But I think it would be worth reading on an airplane, at least - that’s about the only place anyone reads anymore, and only because phones don’t work so hot up there. Actually, they tell me you can connect to the airline’s connection if you pay a little extra. Probably better than reading a book anyway. So yeah, never mind, I didn’t write a book. There’s a channel on YouTube where a turtle eats fruit really loud; it’s called ASMR. That’s the shit cool kids are into now because, I guess, they’re all self-diagnosed as ADHD Autistic. Which…you know, fuck. That’s cool. Definitely not a condition suitable for reading books anyway.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.