As A Novelist, I See Art Everywhere

As a novelist, it is my job to take a variety of drugs—smack, clappy, scrim-sham, bluppies, etc.—get really, really up there, then ride out the comedown with dark liquor and a tube of glue. Then, and only then, do I even think about writing a novel. You see, reaching these extreme highs and lows allows me to achieve the realization that there is art in everything.

‘Hey look, a tree!’ You, as a normal, drooling dullard may exclaim at the sight of a tree. But you’d be wrong. That tree is actually art. And I know that.

‘Wow, that cloud looks like a hamster!’ Your underdeveloped sense of vision may tell you. I’m sorry, but that cloud actually looks like Hobby Lobby, because that is the true birthplace of art. And also because the universe wouldn’t waste time sending you, a person who hasn’t even written a novel, a giant rain-filled rodent. Give the earth art, and she’ll give it right on back.

‘It transcends space, expresses the notion that there are no limits, no control; yes, chaos rules here—and it is beautiful,’ you cluck as you observe Autumn Rhythm. But as the novelist, I see…..a close up of ass hair? Maybe there’s some genitalia hidden in there somewhere. No, no. Just a bunch of ass hair clogging up a drain.

Autumn Rhythm by Jackson Pollock

The Novelist Encounters An Abundance Of Veins

As a novelist, one of the more annoying things I’ve encountered lately is when a veiny, curly-haired lunk walks right up to me and says “How are WE doing?” And I’m thinking, hey man, I want nothing to do with your vascularity and loafers with no socks. I’m a novelist, pal, a lone wolf, not some guy who eats a ten ounce pile of barley and six hard-boiled eggs in a sitting. “WE aren’t doing anything, yo,”  I say to this throbby, pumpy dude. And right to his face. No fear at all.

Actually I just write about it here. Because that is what novelists do. We write. And cower in the presence of wide-veined men.

Official Rebranding Post

Well, we officially hit rock bottom with that last post. A Vikings recap that didn’t even tell the score of the game? On a Wednesday? After not blogging for like five months? Time to flip this thing over and tickle it (that’s a new phrase being rolled out as part of our rebranding).

I am a novelist now. That’s the reality. In the next few days or six months, I’ll slowly unzip and reveal the new format of this blog, which is going to be an insufferable plugging tool in which I mention something about my novel IN EVERY SINGLE POST. But hey, I am a novelist now. This is what we do, as far as I can tell from observing other novelists. Also, I’m shut in a room with the litter box, and I’m a little baked from the cat piss fumes. Whew! I want to open a window, but the AC is on and I’m not looking to cool off the whole neighborhood. I was talking about something. Monday I’ll be back for rebrand. Cat piss. I wrote a novel. Read it. It hasn’t been published.

My nostrils hurt.

Rebrand. It comes soon.

Week One Minnesota Vikings Recap

The Minnesota Vikings defeated their opponent on Sunday. Good job. Way to go, team.

They will not win the Super Bowl.