Low Resolution Events

In January I finished another book and set about foisting it into the future, with the help of some expert foisters. The idea was to have someone I've never met say this is good.
Someone I'd never met said this is good.
Then the idea was to have an agent read it and say this is good.
An agent read it and said this is good, but it lacks what would make me love it, so you should send it to someone who, etc, good luck.
Now the idea is to explain it, in summary and at length and in various formats, to help the people employed to find new good things to figure out what it is and whether if it's new it could be good. Tell me again what exactly it is you're trying to do here or get out of my office.
I can't get much further than These words in this order seem alright to me and I'm a big fan of gaps. A man spends a year achieving nothing. It's called Yet.

Just A Few Questions Before You Decide

Greeting. Thanks for turning up on time.
Greeting. Self-deprecating quip.
Acknowledgement. Let's go upstairs.
It looks better than it does online.
Say hello to the current tenant who is only moving out because his wife would prefer it if they both lived in the same house, and now that the conservatives have fortified the economy, he and she can both find work in the same town again.
Carefully-pitched chuckling intended to create the impression that I know all about economies and wives and their just-between-us-three-young-but-mature-men-here outrageous demands.
And when would you prefer to move in?
Slightly after as soon as possible.
And is your monthly income guaranteed indefinitely?
No. But I've at least been getting demonstrably more sensible since my mind collapsed.
Alright. Will you be able to give us all your money quite soon?
And then a bit more, later?
I can promise to, and then we can see.
And can we legally compel someone else to owe us what you should be paying if, for example, you were to take a sudden and powerful fancy to the purchasing of elaborate liquids?
I'll ask.
And there's no washing machine.
Cleanliness is falsity anyway.
And if any bats move in you can't move them out.
I'm already my employer's Regional Diversity and Tolerance Ambassador.
Was there much bloodshed in that competition?
Not til I turned up.
And how's your citizenship?
And when you last checked yourself for defects, what did you find?
Only the usual.

An Announcement

Altar Ego Radio asked me to be on it a bit this weekend and I said uhuh, uhuh, when? and it said Saturday morning three til five and Sunday evening six til eight. And I asked it what else is on and it said shitloads mate, DJ Food, Old Apparatus, Miss Pink, Sage Francis, Solo One, Stanley Chow, a squadron.
So on the Saturday I'll be playing things that ooze and twitch, and on the Sunday I'll be merrily butchering your ribs with blades of black noise. There's much good stuff happening all weekend. Here's the line up. Listen in and shout at us.

Guided Distribution

We practised our huffs and laments in the medicine queue. The clocks were no help at all. When the next appointment was due, the name-display thing let loose a biblical alert-shriek which did nothing to soothe the anxious or calm the infants. The leading edge of the cloud of the mutterings of the man behind me slurped the top of my spine. The noticeboard said not to worry, none of these things are new or exceptional or temporary.
When the receptionist handed me my prescription she said here's your dinner, tasty bit of dinner, you're gonna eat it all up, with some water at a table for one, and tell me how it tastes.

Lughole Input Highlights Fri-Sun

Wind, mainly, like truckfuls of gravel being poured into the ears. But also a football stadium, either angry or delighted, roaring half a mile away into a next-door garden playlist that threatened Hotel California but didn't deliver. And a man whose brewery we invaded using the full phrase "the new north american-style hoppy beers" every time he compared his own (delicious) drinks to those (domineering) others. He had a wardbrode nailed to the wall three feet off the floor. And closed doors opened and banged themselves into splinters.


I went walking round a potential new postcode. I'm going to live on my own, in the special home for irritable bachelors. I just haven't found it yet. Soon though. Requirements include: the bed not being in the kitchen, the rent not being more than half the monthly income (ambitious, this, but not impossible), and the distance on foot to town being not more than twenty-nine minutes. This postcode turned out to not be good for aimless scuttling, but it did have a shop called World of Doors.
Later, in a crowd, I hit a man in the eyes with the back of my head and he insisted I not worry about it, and we carried on being riffed senseless by american hands.