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Published in: on January 28, 2008 at 7:35 pm  Leave a Comment  

end

000_0093.jpgEnd

That was the beginning.
No, that was the end.
No, that was the beginning.
No, that was the end.
No, that was the beginning.
No, that was the end.
Too clever. What?
Too clever. Too clever. Everything.
Everything.
Everything is too clever.

Pure force, allotted,
when nothing seems besotted,
well, to now we go, again, to now, again, we go.

Your mind is little, too pieced,
too formed in such a way away from who We are.
You are the last best hope, but you don’t know it
and we don’t want to tell you anymore.

If I fell from the sky
I would land in a field
and a cow would look up
and say moo
and the moon would just stay there
throwing glow upon everything,
including me,
and the silence that was mine
would melt in the night
with crickets, the moo,
and a trickling stream.
It’s police work from here.

You failed.
You failed.
In everything,
not just that thing,
you failed
and now everybody knows,
including me.
They say words will disappear soon.
Go away. No more.
I don’t believe that.
I think that words will disappear
into the images that we see,
the sounds that we hear
and when we need them
they will arise
and we will know through them
like fingers pointing at the moon.

Skip before you jump.
Look down.
Fear (most of all) so that
you don’t even want to go.
For if you fear before you go
then you will not go
and you will not die
and you will not have to care again
and that will be good
because caring hurts
when you are the only
who seems to do it.

There is no laudatory eye.
Your work is done in the dark
and when it is finished
it is kicked into the shadows
and over time will disappear
like a body.

But be spry
because otherwise a Younger eye
will see things
and its moist craws and tight bends
will attract
and the animal that we are
will pounce
because all of us,
all of us
are afraid to die.
And we will be mid-list.

Stop
because everything you have ever done
has been a waste of time.
Everything you have ever written
has been written before.
You just wrote it through your lens.
You think other lenses haven’t already written it?

rakescoldheart.jpgrakescoldheart.jpg

Published in: on January 28, 2008 at 7:18 pm  Comments (1)  

Is Jed Dead?

The beginning

Whaaa. Crack. Whaaaa!

The ending
clllieeeeeekuk, cilllieeeeeeeeekuk!

My bro….

(That was first chapter. Chapter 1. Here is Chapter 2)

Hello.

(First chapter first and second chapter second, that’s the way it should go. First the first chapter and then the second chapter and then the third)

Where’s the third?

It’s over here.
Over Here?
Over here!

Owhaaaaahaaaahaaaahaaahhhaaahhhhhhhhhahhhhhaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhahaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!

So, as the chipmunk watches, Teardrop falls off down the mountain toward the river below.

Chapter 3

first there is a word: there. There is the very first word: there. Why there? Because if there were no “there” then we wouldh’t have a “here.” so if we don’t believe in there then there is no here, so we first look at there, there, There.

Chapter 4
Even if

Could you watch a novel coalesce, need we be saints when we unravel in our own work the mystery proposed in another’s? No. As writers we choose to be semi-self-conscious, that is, I choose what I think that I can get you to think about me any way that I can, and yet, that seems bad because it means that I am manipulating you. So, by semi-self-conscious I mean that I want to tell you what I may and point at some things that may resonate a little bit in the world today even if

Love is American made. Love is American made. It’s not orange juice or a peach. It’s not sunshine in easy reach. It’s not love, love, it’s not love, not love if love ain’t American made.

Song sung by Albert six months after the Twin Towers Sabotage.

Chapter 5

Welcome back to the novel. We’re glad you’re here. Well, you’re not really here, but it’s like you’re here, you know what I mean? Like a spaceship here a spaceship here there and everywhere here, here on the internet. We’re glad you’re enjoying the show. In reality the story went on like this….

The Story Went on like This…
A live internet Novel by Albert Jones, 2023, called The Fargo Kantrowitz’z Literary Campsite.

Chapter 6

We believe that Jed is suffering from depression.
No! No! No! Not my son! Not my son! No!!!!

The response of Mary Mills concerning the diagnosis of Jed.

Chapter 7

Insert Chapter 7 here.
Make sure that it is a long chapter, one with a lot of boring, fake writing in it. Make sure it is oone of those because people, by now need a little fake early writing of a story being told now. Make sure it’s a fake early writing…
Rose Applethorpe to her brother Kenneth, a musician and writer, concerning a novel he is writing. On a Tuesday night, 1985, while she is still a cocaine addict.

Chapter 8

this can’t be chapter 8?

Chapter 9

This is more like it. More spacious. You don’t have that pretzelly 8 letter all around you going this way and that and ghwoooooouuuuoooohhhh, yech!

Chapter 10

chapter 9 was fun. But I can’t go back can I? 10.

Ready or not here I come!

Albert Jones’s counting to a hundred during hide and go seek.
A short story by Joey Kantor

Chapter II

I remember Fargo. He was the first one to come to this land. Indians loved him. Ended up dying defending them. Everybody knew Fargo. They’d just signed some important paperwork in Boston. Is that why you’re Fargo now? Supposedly he was our great grandparent. And that’s why you’re Fargo now. And Albert is Fargo. Everybody is Fargo who cares about other people. Cuz if you don’t go far to do what’s right then there’s no sense in getting up in the morning. We all have to continue to do our share in this world and it’s the good man who will reckon with his demons and take responsbility for the suffering that he himself causes. Once we get everybody doing that then all we’re going to need is kerchiefs.
You, Albert, remind me more of an indian than a white man named Fargo. In you I see the type of person that Fargo helped to save way back when in the olden days. You are a great chief. Perhaps the last Chief……

At this point, self consciously, the author attempts to tie into the story a screenplay he has already started called “The Last Indian.” The author apologizes for any misunderstandings or confusions that may have arisen from the author’s having attempted said ploy. It is a writer’s magic, really, that he may attempt to do such things and, in the end, for the most part, work. But it is even rarer to pull away from the facade during mid-sentence and alert the reader of the manipulation? But then again, doesn’t that just destroy the suspense of it all and throw the whole novel into the “academic” realm where it will be concernitized on it’s way to becoming concretized through a lionization process expressly found in such institutes of higher learning such as Harvard and Yale and MIT? No. I don’t think so. I think if you buy my product for 14.95…

If you buy my product for $14.95…
The Advertising Man (Albert Jones) 2002

Chapter iii

Stimpel stopps short of a box
eating his curds and whey

along came a spider
and sat down beside him
and poor Stimpel
went pouting away

chapter 64

Welcome back to the fargo kantrowitz’z literary campsite…

The World is Alright Today. When times can coalesce. When sounds await caress. (Thank god for the soap!) When…

When by Moxy Priestess. Written by Jed Jones (Yellow piece of paper, crumpled with two phone numbers on it).

chapter 90

Of course, nobody would know that I was to go to try and steal Kirby’s chair, but who would have thought that Kirby had so chosen it for his own? I thought that I thought out my plan not to see anybody along the way very carefully. I was wrong. This is the story of my stupidity. I hope you get a good laugh out of it.

Reginella and Kirby by Jed Jones

101_0240.jpg101_0240.jpg

Published in: on January 28, 2008 at 7:04 pm  Leave a Comment  

Fargo’s impromptu allowing of a short short story (to appear)

101_0071.jpgOnce there was a a story. A story you say? Yes, a story. It lived on it’s own in a world of “nether.” Netherworlds? This story? Yes. A netherworld story. Was there popcorn at this story?abstract12.jpg No. Fun? No. Story? Let me finish. Okay. This story was to hold all story and it was to be quick, short, fun…You said that. Yes. Fun. Fun? Of course, a short short story is fun. It is? Always? No. Back to Paris with you. Let me continue….the butler did it.

Published in: on January 28, 2008 at 6:20 pm  Leave a Comment  
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