Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets–Days 196-202

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 196. The Butler had informed me that dreams are yet another projected reality projected onto us from ourselves, as we Project and with another Projection, which in turn in projecting itself onto us and destroying us. Our dreams are either slowly or quickly devouring us depending our your perception of time. My perception is very keen.

June 4, 2012 at 7:27am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 197. “This prison is the entrance to the greater depths of the Posh Trenton Studio. I am its caretaker. I created it. I am bound to it. I am its chief prisoner.”
”What is it built on?”
”The source of Ambient music.”
”What is the source?”
”Love.”
”Where are the prisoners?”
”They come and go as they please.”

June 5, 2012 at 7:35am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 198. In the middle of the room was a man with ridiculous white hair. It was bushy and jutted out from his head in all directions. He hadn’t materialized, as well. It was as if the man with the ridiculous hair had always been there, he had always existed in that spot only now I could see him. He spoke, “Hello Michael. It’s me, Jim Jarmusch.”

June 6, 2012 at 6:05am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 199. Jim Jarmusch’s voice was both droning and dead. The lifelessness was caused by the ennui Jim had been injected with by Brian Peter George St. John Bapiste de la Salle Eno, who was looking to perfect the New York No-Wave scene in the 1970’s or 80’s.

June 7, 2012 at 10:56am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 200. “Hello Jim Jarmusch. Shouldn’t you be riding Jason Schwartzman around Jonathan Ames?”
”I’ve been a prisoner of Brian Eno’s since I was a part of Robin Crutchfield’s Dark Day.”
”Robin Crutchfield was a part of DNA.”
And at the same time we said, “Who was a part of the No New York Brian Peter George St. John Baptiste de Salle Eno compilation!”

June 8, 2012 at 8:43am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 201. “Jim?” “Yes Michael?” Jim said as he patted down his pockets searching for a cigarette that did not exist, for there was no smoking in the jailhouse. He would continue to pat down his pocket to no avail. Truly, this place is death. Except I don’t smo…ke, so I wouldn’t know what that’s like, but the other me does and he would know what it’s like.

June 9, 2012 at 10:28am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 202. “I just want you to know that I did not see your last two films because I heard they were terrible and I didn’t want to ruin the films of yours that I liked.”
”Fair enough.” Jim grimaced at some secret joke.
”What are you grimacing at?”
”I used to eat a lot of cheese when I was younger. Brie. On crackers. I forget what kind of crackers.”

June 10, 2012 at 5:23am   · Like · Comment

 

 



Most Famous Stories in the Portland Review

What is this? Helen. They want me to tell them more stories about famous foist stories in The Portland Review? Christ. I got a stomach problems. God. These kids don’t care. Fine. Fine!

Back in 1853 I was a clerk for a law firm on wall street, and since I’m a rather elderly guy today it might be hard for me to remember, but I did meet Herman Melville.

Herman!

Mell, as his friend’s preferred not to call him, was a janitor sweeping all up over my firm. He kept coming by and asking me questions.

“Hello good sir.”

“What can I do ya for?” I said, doing some very important paperwork.

“Were you asleep?”

“Just restin’ my eyes, kiddo. What’s up?”

I was up shitcrick. This no nothing party member janitor found me napping at work. Now I made a handsome salary in those days, which was about seventeen cents a month. God, could you live like a king on that. I used to eat nothing but ham, which is odd because I’m a chosen person, if you know what I mean. What? Oh come on Helen. I’m just kidding. My uncle was in the vaudeville. Zeppo Marx. You know. The Marx Brother that the Marx Brother’s all hated. Zeppo. Yeah yeah.

“Good sir, can you do me a favor,” this Herman kid asked. “Could you read this story of mine, and start a literary magazine and publish it?”

“Kid, I don’t know the foist thing about publishing. I’m not even sure I know how to read.”

And then he pulled a gun on me and the Lone Ranger came out with Hemingway riding him instead of a horse and I took a nosh from the onion on my belt, which was not the style at the time because onions had just gone out of style, and well. Blackmail is such an ugly word. That’s what Hermy said. Uh.

Helen. I need a Fresca. What? Sanka? Well, that’s not the same. Sigh. Whatever.

And that’s how Tin House got started. Now stop calling me.

 

 

Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets–Days 189-195

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 189. The wall to my left, or possibly right, opened up, or rather the door swallowed shucked me, devoured me, moved me, and reconstructed me on the other side.

May 28, 2012 at 6:47am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 190. I found myself in another room. A room full of great thin plumes of smoke. I squinted and saw something moving in the distance. The room appeared to be some several million Enos long.

May 29, 2012 at 7:01am   · Like · Comment

 

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 191. The smoke smelled like rotting sassafras byproducts instantly reminding me of my childhood growing up next to the sassafras factory in Baldwin, Long Island. A town, incidentally, founded by the Baldwins (Alec, Stephen, Smitty, etc) an immortal family of Victorian vampyres.

May 30. 2012 at 5:21am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 192. The smoke that smelled like sassafras byproducts, such as apple products, formed into the shape of a man. That shape of a man was the Butler who was holding a candlestick. He took out a blue Bic lighter and lighted it. The smoke swirled round and round and round…..

May 31, 2012 at 10:11am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 193… and the Butler inhaled all of the smoke. “Come Michael. We don’t have much time. There are thirteen rooms we must fight through.”
”How many?”
”Thirteen.”
”That doesn’t seem like a lot.”
”It’s a moderate amount.”
”Aren’t we in a room now?”
”No. Come!”

June 1, 2012 at 9:14am   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 194. We stood at a door made out of skulls. The glue that held the skulls together began to fume and the stench it created eddied up my nose, and probably the Butler’s (but I am not sure). The doorknob was what looked to be a walrus tusk, but I was informed that it was a whale’s penis. It was not very smooth.

June 2, 2012 at 2:57pm   · Like · Comment

Magnes Recording for Ambient Five: Rushing Tides of Flushing Toilets Day 195. The room was barren. I do not think it had walls. We passed into non-existence, save for a skeleton in the middle of the room. “Is this the bone room?” I asked.
”This is the Room of Ancillary Dreaming.” The Butler informed me.
”Is this real?”
”It’s a prison.”

June 3, 2012 at 6:19am   · Like · Comment

 



Most Famous Stories in the Portland Review

Morty (Last name unknown) was the founder and editor-in-chief of The Portland Review from 1921-2010. He is currently retired, living a life of modest luxury in Florida. “Helen!” he screams, “I need more cream. It’s hot out.” These are his stories.

The Killers (1926, Ernest Hemingway). Oh Christ. I remember sending that acceptance letter out in the mail. Great story. A little weird that there was little to no dialogue in it, but god, the writing was great. I think Ernie narrated it from a mouse’s point of view, originally. I can’t remember. You’d have to ask the currentReview editor to dig that one up. But man. He (Hemingway) hadn’t published very much at that point, I think just this book about cats, and was living in some European country eating biscuits or something). So my gut reaction to this story was that it was great and that we had to publish it. I mailed out the acceptance letter and the very next day I got a call.

“Yeah,” I said, answering the phone.

“Thank you.” God that voice. Sounded like. Well. It just sounded like some guy. Nothing special. It was like he wasn’t real. Some ghost was calling it. Or a computer, if they had those at the time. Maybe a calling machine. But the voice was just there, like a lump of crap. Flat. Affectationless. Dead to the world. For a second there I thought someone was about to off himself and called me, wrong number of course, as the his suicide call. Also, I hadn’t had a change to drink my morning Joe.

“Lissen kid. Don’t kill yerself until you get the person you wanna talk to. Like a lady. Ladies are good to talk to. They listen.”

“This is Ernie.”

“Yeah, great. And my friend Bongo Bob has a bridge he can sell ya.”

“No. I wrote The Killers. The story you accepted.”

“Jumping Jesus on a pogostick,” I said. “Don’t you live in Canasia or something? How’d the mail get there so fast.”

“I just want to thank you for publishing my story.”

“Oh yeah, it was pretty good. Had some suggestions.”

Ernie gulped. Young writers needed to be wrangled, you know? And it’s my job to do the wrangling. We, editors, see something that can be developed and we do that. No writer is born fully-formed. You see these chuckleheads being published in the Nude Yorker. You think that comes that easily? No. Editors mold the prose. The unsung heroes of the writing world, us. Editors. Someday someone’ll write something about whatever it is we do titled Whatever It Is We Do Is A Secret. But I digress.

“Kiddo, put a few lines of dialogue in there. Some breathing room. No one wants to read a list of cheese.”

“Kinds of cheese.”

“Whatever.”

“There are a lot of kinds of cheese. Brie. Monster. Charlie Cheese. Uh. Wednesdaydale. Yellow. Orange….”

And then the goober was getting ready to list things, so I cut the joker off.

“Dialogue. Scene. Stop with these long paragraphs and flowery sentences. You’re nuts are purple but your prose shouldn’t be.”

“My nuts are pink.”

“Well, what do you have that’s purple?”

“My guts.”

“You need to go out there and live for a year son. Go hunt a lion. That’s how I got my job.”

And then I hung it and drank my coffee.

That, my friends, is how literature is born. And a legend. Helen. My cream! I need my cream!

If I still had a prostate. Uh. Well. Nevermind.

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

 

 



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