Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets–Days 182-188

 

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 182. David Byrne threw a vinyl record created in similar dimensions to a compact disc at me and said, “There are the tracks. My work here is done. Here’s a napkin.” I took the napkin. David grimaced and I gripped my sword, “ENOUGH! FOUL SERPENT!”

May 21, 2012 at 7:42am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 183. “What more does that monster want from me? This month’s deed is done!” 
”The bike racks you designed for New York were ill-conceived.”
”Idiot! If only you knew…”
”And I hate songs about buildings and foods.”
”I bet you’re a Devo fan!”

May 22, 2012 at 6:32am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 184. “You’re goddamned right I’m a Devo fan! But only their first album. And their demos.”
I plunged the Bowie Sword deep into the chest cavity of David Byrne and grinned as I slowly drew the blade down to his stomach. David Byrne clenched his teeth and looked at me with an expression of thankful necessity.

May 23, 2012 at 6:33am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 185. As I gutted David Byrne the souls of Chris, Tina, and Jerry slowly (and then fastly) burst forth from him retching tears of unfathomable emotions. Small phantasmic heads oozing from his midsection, wailing uncontrollably. David had been hollowed from the inside out by some nefarious force and stuffed with them all of these years.

May 24, 2012 at 2:28pm   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 186. Finally, David Byrne’s bowels evacuated through the hole I put in him. His dying words were rather cryptic. He had informed me, “Steve Albini, forgive him for he knows not what he does. Blargh!” I had no time to ponder the meaning. I left his gutted corpse in the Steel Room and went into the far right corner.

May 25, 2012 at 9:19am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 187. I stood in the corner of the Steel Room, the far right corner, and pushed on both sides of the walls (with my hands) as I faced the section where the two walls came together. I screamed, but this did nothing to move the walls and open up the doors or whatever it is I was sure they were going to do. I wept.

May 26, 2012 at 11:54am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 188. The low hum of a bass line reverberated throughout the Steel Room. The walls shook and I assume women, if there were any, were impregnated. A noisy guitar riff joined in the aural assault. Low rumbling vocals tried to slice through the mixture but were lost in the sound. I trembled.

May 27, 2012 at 11:04am   · Like · Comment

 

 



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The Empire Strikes Back: Lost Style

Here at the Portland Review we are always on the lookout for guest contributors. You can view our submission guidelines at http://portlandreview.submishmash.com/submit. So, without further ado, here’s Rebecca Marks.


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The Empire Strikes Back: Lost Style

 

Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water…

Obsessive Lost fans have been galvanized with the new ABC series Once Upon A Time.  On the surface, this critically acclaimed series is simply an addictive addition to the Sunday night ABC line-up.  Upon further examination, however, and this program created by former Lost writers Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz is in fact a dangerous weapon for the rabid cult of Lost fanatics.  Remaining dormant since the series finale in 2010, the wide network of relentless Lost junkies has been reawakened with the premiere of this new series.

 

Non-Lost watchers remember the infamous September 22, 2004 the same way that Americans remember the day Elvis died – they can recall the exact time, place, and outfit they were wearing when their life became dominated by their Lost loving comrades.  As Oceanic Flight 815 plummeted to the ground, so did man’s ability to enter into a conversation about anything other than how Hurley managed to stay obese on a desert island, and how did Locke get out of that wheel chair?!  From the moment the Emmy award winning drama premiered, it became treacherous to enter into a conversation with any Lost viewer.  To the avid lostie, it was entirely irrelevant that friends, relatives, or complete strangers had absolutely no idea who Walt was, nor could they attempt to elucidate on his magical abilities.  If you had a pulse and a functioning sense of hearing, you became a viable sounding board for theories about the numbers and the origin of the black smoke monster.  Second only to Trekkies, there was no fan more annoying than the Lost fan.

On May 23, 2010, the non-Lost viewer was finally granted a much-deserved reprieve from the endless tirades on the true nature of The Others and the reasoning behind Desmond’s clairvoyant abilities.  After a gruelingly long final season of new mysteries and questions to be answered (read: to be obsessed over ad nauseam), Lost drew to a long-awaited close.  The non-Lost watcher was finally safe to peer through their curtains and brave the public sphere, for the years of torturous talk about frozen donkey wheels and the time space continuum had come to an end.  Raise your glass of McCutcheon Whiskey and praise Jacob – the world was safe again.

Once upon a time, in a living room near you, a new ABC series premiered.  Centered on the reworking of classic fairy tales, the new program promised mystery and an exploration of the timeless battle between good and evil.  Sound familiar?  Buckle your seatbelts and prepare for turbulence – for Lost has been found.

Innocent bystanders hoping for some new Sunday entertainment suddenly found themselves once again barraged by Lost discussion, this time centered on connections between the two shows.  An attempt to compliment Jennifer Goodwin’s performance would quickly morph into an animated “DID YOU SEE HER EATING THE APOLLO CANDY BAR THEY FOUND IN THE HATCH??? WHAT DOES THIS MEAN???”  The mythical Once characters are living in a cursed world with no happy endings, not unlike your friends and neighbors who desperately want to live in a world without constant references to the man in black and Sawyer’s hot bod.

As evidenced by the premiere of this new series that has absolutely nothing to do with Lost other than its creators, the army of Lost fanatics is not going anywhere.  I’m just waiting for the day when I’m aboard a particularly turbulent airplane and passengers start readying themselves for battles with The Others and identifying the soon-to-be leaders of our survivor pack.  And mark my words, I’ll be the first one zipped into my Dharma jumpsuit ready to fight off the polar bears.  Long Live Lost. 

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Rebecca Marks’ qualifications include a wicked underbite that yielded a pronounced lisp, a laundry list of allergies that necessitated years of shots and an addiction to antihistamine, a Jewish heritage that provides a boisterous family and an overflow of neuroses and sarcasm, and most expensively, a nearly completed Bachelor’s degree in English with research distinction and a double-minor in Jewish Studies and Creative Writing.  Her work will be appearing in an upcoming issue of The Inconsequential magazine.  Most importantly, she is full of passion for creative expression, the joy of storytelling, and compiling a lifetime of cringe-worthy, sometimes heart-wrenching lemons onto a much-needed glass of comic lemonade.

Magnes Love Movies!

Movies are great. The bee’s knees. The pajama’s meow, etc and so on. We I will be reviewing movies for whatever website this is. This is The Awl, right? Cause I don’t get out of bed for less than Splitsider.

Arp!

On Netflix instant, The World According to Arp! portrays a dog on a mission: to save his bestest friend in the whole world, and learn how to drive a sensible sedan. Also wear sunglasses. He should be wearing doggles, though. But that’s just nitpicking because I love movies! So much. Movies! Yeah! So, Arp, the titular character, must travel across the country in search of the diamond mine that he inherited from his father: an Austrian Circus Bear named Randy Newman, in a delightful play on the name Randy Newman! Arp does so and succeeds. Marvelously. His only obstacle is an ugly mean lady named Rhoda or something. So, John Updike probably wrote this movie because he hates ladies. Also there is a rape scene, but it is tasteful. Still, she comes across better than the ladies in Rabbit, Run Far Away!  In my conclusion I state that The World According to Arp! is a great movie-film. In fact, this reporter gives it two paws up, which is not a good review because I have four paws. So that roughly translate to two stars. Maybe there’s a part of a third paw up, but dogs can’t really raise a part of a paw. They don’t have fingers. Come to think of it, dogs can’t really raise more than two paws at a time. And that’s a fucking stretch. Oh man. So, go watching this movie! And read the adaptation from John Irving in your latest closed bookstore! This movie will have you arping for more! Enjoy!

Most Famous Stories in the Portland Review

Hiya folks, this is Morty here again. I’m here to tell yas about the most famousest stories ever poiblished in The Portland Review. You can read part unos of this exciting new venture here: Not there! Here!

Now, before we go onta today’s story, let’s see if we can’t find us a bedder pitture of me. Morty. The second editor-in-chef for the rag. Now, back in those days the positions was called editor-in-chef and not capitalized because you worked for the cafeteria at the university and were considered worse than dogshit. Goddamned privileged students. But I diegress.

Oh jumping Jesus on a pogo stick. Helen! Ya been futzing with my computer box again! I don’t want to… oh…

uh.

Yeah. Anywhom. It’s unfortunabadly that we can’t find use a pitture of me this week, but next!

Today I’ll be talking about publishing Richard Yates’s Jody Rolled Some Bones.

Now, dis was the story that made all Dick famous. Foist published in The Portland Review in the late 50’s (1950’s or 1850’s, I can’t really remember) and then later picked up by some rag by the name o Harper’s Atlantic. 


It’s a classic story about sodgers in World War deuce and how their lives are decided by luck, no control over nothing. What? Sodger? You know, Helen. Like those guys who go to the wars. S-O-L-D-I-E-R-S. Sodgers. Christ. Ya got too much cream in yer ears. Gotta get rid o that infection.

So, originally Yates included this description of his ex-wife in the middle of the story:

goddamned cunt motherfucker cigarette need must kill all mother fucker mother fucker mother fucker.

And I cleaned that up for public consumption. Now this really disrupted the narrative, so I called Yates up.

“Hello Richard,” I said.

“You cockshit,” he said, “what do you want?”

“I’ve got a question about this story of yours that we agreed to publish.”

“You can’t not publish it. No backsies.”

Now, at that point I realized that that was true. No backsies. So I resolved to READ every submission sent to us, and not just pick a few at random. Had that written in the charter. So that’s why The Portland Review reads every submission now, unlike some rags out there today.

“Right,” I said. “I know, but you’ve got this paragraph of profanities in the middle of the story. You got them goys at the base being drilled by the sarge or whatever. And then you stop the story to go on this five-page-one-paragraph rant about your ex-wife.”

“Did you know that my daughter is dating some fruitcake with a candy-striped coat? Bald Jew.”

“Well, Richard. This might soiproise ya, but I’m a bald Jew.”

“What do you want?”

“Could you edit some o that profanities out? Not all of it, mind you, I think it’s good. But just some of it. Also, all of your stories seem to be about either sodgers. TB patients. Failed sculptoring ladies. Failed marriages. And guys who write ad copy and want to be real writers.”

“Fuck you.”

Needless to say I wanted to pull the story, but published it with that five-page-one-paragraph rant o cuss words. Then the Atlantic Herper’s took  it and then cut that pagraph out. Pussies.

 

What? Helen? Whaddya mean this story was had been low-hanging fruit? It was true. And that’s all that matters. Years later Richard came up to me and said, “Thank you for being the foist to publisher me. I wouldn’t be the sexcessful alcoholic I am today if it weren’t for you.”

Eh. I should get an assistant to type tings out for me.

Until next of the time!

Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets–Days 175-181

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 175. “You are a gnome, David?” “Yes Miguel. I, Bowie comma David am a gnome,” said David. “Query. Are you a regular ground gnome, David? Or are you a space gnome from space?” “I am a ground gnome who went into all of that space and became a space gnome,” said David.

May 14, 2012  at 5:05am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 176. “But enough about that. We’ve wasted enough time. I’m here to tell you what you need to do.”
”So you’re a space gnome, and this is a mountain?”
”Yes.”
”And we’re in space?”
”Technically we’re always in some kind of space.”
”Is this space mountain?”
”I think you deserved to be raped by David Byrne.”

May 15, 2012 at 3:12pm   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 177. “You must enter the posh Trenton studio one last time and venture into the dankest rooms where the pulsating heart of Brian Eno lurks and lives. To do so you must pass through the “The Plateaux of Mirror” with some guide. You are at the crossroads of a great precipice. Take these two thingees, for they will aid you.”

May 16, 2012 at 6:24am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 178. David Bowie handed me a 1987 Nokia RaMpanage Semi-Mobile Car Phone and a flat, long, horizontal piece of vinyl (most likely an obscure Animal Collective EP). “Ingest this phone to contact the my proteges at The Buttersworth Experiment.”
”What rare collectable EP is this?”
Somehow he made it vertical. “This is a dull, rusty sword.”

May 17, 2012 at 10:15am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 179. “We shant be allowed to speak again Miguel. The rest is up to you.” David Bowie sprinkled some Bowie dust on my head and the mountain began to recede into the sky. Soon nothing was left but a nub. “And whatever you do, don’t let David Byrne speak! For if you do, it will be very boring.”

May 18, 2012 at 6:06am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 180. David Byrne rolled up his beige capri pants to his crotch, and then back down again. He looked at me, and a single tear dropped out of my eye and splashed on the cold ground. The mix of shame and disdain was palpable as it pierced every fiber of my being, shredding it across the metal framework of the enclosure.

May 19, 2012 at 6:07am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 181. “…and because Tom Ze told me that he wasn’t a fan of bicycles I had him banned from the United States…. Brian Eno and I invented world music and gave it to the brown people of the world when we recorded in sub Saharan Uruguay with a cymbal, some old shoes, and a 1980 Casio springtone Electric SynthClavicord….”

May 20, 2012 at 5:23am   · Like · Comment



More Dumb Search Terms

Well, there am be some change rumblings at The Review. More on that later. But first! Here are some more dumb search terms you’ve used to get here! Hurrah!

1) Julie Newmar Ass

For the record, let’s see what I can find on the Internet regarding this:

JULE NEWMAR’S ASS, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! KEEP COMING TO THE PORTLAND REVIEW! WELCOME TO GOOGLE SEARCH RESULTS PAGE 89! MEE-OOOOW!

2) Getting Dog to Wear Doggles

Sarah Marshall was just asking me, Michael Magnes, the other day. Q: How do you getting dog to wear doggles? A: Practice! I mean. Carefully! I mean. Leave me alone!

3) Asshole Eat

I assume this is in reference to that time Anthony Bourdain ate a warthog anus on None of the Reservations. Or, you want to learn more about Kevin Smith!

https://twitter.com/#!/ThatKevinSmith/statuses/3537690616143872

4) Fresh Cum on Her Face After Nice Sex Spanish Sex Porn Sex Vid

No one likes spoiled cum on a face. Cum goes bad quickly… aw… hell… after nice sex? What about not so nice sex… ahh… I got nothing on this one. HEY! DID YOU KNOW THAT THERE IS PORNOGRAPHY ON THE INTERNET!?

5) We Hate Cats

We sure do!

6) Fart Catcher

What, like a baseball mitt made to catch farts? Phew. I’ve been trying to make that for years. We don’t have the technology.

7) Rock

You know that you’re depressed if you find yerself searching for “rock” on the Internet. You know what the next most common search term is? Noose.

8) Watch Man’s Face While Getting Blowjob

So, you don’t want to get blow, you just want to watch a man’s face, a man who is getting blown? Way to live life!

Happy Thursday!

 

Most Famous Stories in the Portland Review

Hiya folks, this is Morty here. No last name. Just Morty. I work for the Portland Review. Hey. Should that “The” be capitalized? Hah. I guess so. I was never able to quite figure that one out. So. Hiya folks. Morty here. And I made a mistake. I used to work for The Portland Review. You see, I’m eighty-nine years old. What? Oh. Sorry. My wife is telling me that I’m fifty-six. Either way, I used to work for the, I mean, The Portland Review back in the day. Here’s a picture of me:

Hey. I thought I had more hair. And more face.

So, one of the young punks who works for the, cripes, The Portland Review asked me to comment on some of the more famous works that have graced our fine feathered pages. Michael Magnes was his name. Managing Editing was his game. I can only assume that he’s dead now, since most Managing Editors only last a few days. It’s a vicious position, why I myself moidered seventeen of my Managing Editors back in my day. Course, it was legal to do so. What? Honey? Moidered? You know. Moidered. When you kill some goy. What? Not a Gentile. A Goy. G-U-Y. Christ. Ya got whitefish in yer ears Helen? Moidered? M-U-R-D-E-R-E-D-E-D, uh. Anywhom.

Magnes asked me to comment on some of the most famous stories in The Portland Review. Here’s the first installment. The foist of many I hope. What? What do you mean my accent isn’t consistent?

A Small Good Thing by Raymond Carver.

Ah. The famous Ray Carve. Everyone knows this story. It’s about a breadmaker or a goat or something. Foist published in 1983, I believe. No. 1982. See, most people thing that it was published in Ploughsares in 1983, but those creeps just copied our pages. And they actually paid Ray. You know, I agreed to publish it over a cup o Sanka, Sanka being the only beverage available in Portland at the time. God it was awful. That first line: Saturday afternoon she drove to the bakery in the shopping center.

Originally read: Saturday evening she drove to the bakery in the shopping center.

“Jesus,” I said to Ray. “Why would anyone go to a bakery in the evening?”

“Because,” he said, as he lighted a cigarette, “baked goods.”

“That ain’t an answer.”

“What’s in an answer,” he said, sipping his Sanka.

“You creep,” I said. “Lissen. Change that line to afternoon. Also, instead of a bakery how about a shampoo store? Everyone needs shampoo.”

“Sure.”

And then he sent me the story with that one line-change, evening to afternoon, so I figured that he changed everything I asked him to. So I lighted a cigarette and published it. Three years later I read it and realized that creep didn’t do a goddamned thing.

So I called Ray up and said, “Jesus Christ, you crumb bum. How dare you not lissen to my changes. I’m the goddamned editor.”

“Morty,” he said, “calm down.”

“Sure.”

“You know how the story ends?”

“What, with the people eating the bread after their dog or something has died?”

“Yeah,” he said, “dog.”

“And you wrote, smell this it’s heavy and rich and they smell it and they taste it and it taste coarse and sweet and it’s a small good thing after all of the tragedy that has befallen them?”

“Yep,” he said, “after their dog was eaten by a Leopard.”

“Hmm. Maybe you should change that to their kid?”

“I lighted a cigarette.”

“I’m just saying. Also, Shampoo is home-ier.”

“No,” he said, drinking a Sanka, “it isn’t.”

“Are you drinking a Sanka?”

“Sanka is a small good thing.”

“It tastes like shit.”

And then he hung up.

 

Well folks, hope you enjoyed the first installment of “Most Famous Stories in The Portland Review.” Noice to be back here. Morty out. What? Helen? You need more cream? Sure. I’ll just go to the bakery and purchase some. TiVo me the program. You know. The one with the negros on it. What? I can’t hear you. Eh.