There's one corner walking into downtown Halifax from the south where the wind throws itself around the corner of a great big, grey, stone church. Ten metres of people throwing themselves into the wind to compensate for the wind throwing itself back. Every time I need to travel that way I laugh at everyone losing control of their bodies in the wind. And then I come to it as well. And I lose control. Like at the top of a mast of a grand ship in a dream.\n\n[[Jump to the ocean below?]]\n\n[[Close eyes for a long time?]]
What a lunatic, always stumbling in a few minutes late. For no good reason. Hungover sometimes, but still waking up with an hour to spare. I spend time staring at the walls instead of walking out the door. I spend time shivering on the sidewalk frozen suddenly, unsure of which day it is. Trying to remember the schedule for work.\n\nI have a partner. I am cagey about this at work though. Everyone thinks I'm a little //gay// there because of my crooked affected way of tilting my neck and torso and my forced croak. I feel like something slimy. But it's good playing a character. My partner is very dear to me but about half of the time we're in bed, I shrivel away from her heat because my skin is crawling with insects and my head is full of electrical screams and I force my body against the cold wall beside my bed and contort with the occasional night-terror.\n\nBut work is good. I'm charming and personable, and the old ladies who come in to buy old lady stuff love me. I am glad I don't quit when I get so annoyed at some idiotic customer with his hauty coinpurse attitude because I like my job enough. Sometimes I do labour in the back; some heavy things need moving; my height gives me an advantage in ordering what needs to be ordered on elevated shelves.\n\nI write poetry when I can and put it on a Tumblr blog with a white background. Mostly it goes unnoticed, and mostly I'm completely pleased with that. The only person I know who I am connected to on Tumblr is a muscular punk who talks about piercings and her military (ex-) boyfriend, and the mechanics of sexual fulfillment. She presents her life like a soap opera. And she feels like a real friend.\n\nTime passes and I get into trouble and get into debt. I work hard to pay off my debt. I get tired. My debt is gone though. But I've become tired of thirteen hours a day at two jobs and have only one choice:\n\n[[Quit job?]]
The tears tire me out, but the washing machine is running and it feels hilarious and so once I'm dry of tears I start laughing, and it's kind of great. Everything's alright. Really alright. All smiles.\n\n[[Think about what we've been through?|Codemonkey?]]
Your journey is over, you insolent eyeballer.\n\n
This is the start of the story. Actually, it's before the start of the story, technically. There just has to be this page, because there has to be. Maybe you should continue.\n\n[[Beginning?]]
This passage does not exist.\n\n[[This passage does not exist?]]\n\n[[Apply for a job?]]
"Gee-hova!" W@hcried! \n\nAdam stepped from behind the lightpost and there was the blare of sirens on top of nighttime silence and we were all shocked.\n\n[[Run?]]\n\n[[Almighty Thor?]]
Yes. //Give up.//\n\n[[ok?]]
Unemployment would give me lots of time to get work done. My first book, for instance. The summer after high school I promised myself I would make a book of poetry, no matter how small, just so I could say I'd done it. The first step to making something great is //making something//. But I didn't do it. Unemployment would give me lots of time to realize that dream, finally.\n\nSeveral months pass. I almost did it. All the text together, the cover designed, but the book in pieces on my desk, not even one copy assembled. Afraid of the printers. Afraid of slicing the printed pages and stitching them together. Culmination of creative forces of a young life being shit. Unaware of the scale of life and how much is still ahead. Stagnant. I sit writing this.\n\n//Thank you for reading.//\n^^bisous bisous^^
The story or storiy
Adam came running through the door. Doom, clakck! \n\nIt was three in the morning but I was up, painting in the living room. He was in a caterwauling sort of tears. I'm not sure if I've ever seen him like that. His clothes were a bit muddy and wrinkled all over, a bit wet in patches and he'd skinned his knees and bled a bit onto his famous yellow shorts. His face of course was enlightened with all manners of bleeding. A boxer stepped out of the ring. There was a good patch of blood under his nose, under the left corner of his mouth, and a solid bruise below his eye. \n\n"You're gonna look like Marlon Brando." \n\n"Look at my tooth." \n\nHe stingingly pulled his upper lip out, showing me a tooth missing nearly half. I was a bit shocked. We sat more of less silently for five minutes. \n\nCarol opened the door. \n\n"Where are your teeth?" \n\n"Absent."
Well, I was cold already, and now I'm even colder. My body's not happy about the second submergence. I think it's all over. Better go back in time or something and remake some prior decisions which led to this bleak scenario.\n\n\n//hint:try pressing reset//
Carol came over one night. \n\n"Where were you, boozer?" \n\n"Canus Negre, duh." \n\nShe grinned with all her teeth and beer stumbled into me. \n\nI'd spent the evening drinking two pots of tea and flipping through art books. POLLOCK was open on the table. \n\n"Jackson Pollock is a fucker" she said, collapsing into my lap. \n\nShe sat up on my thighs and flipped through the book, tensing her neck a bit more with each new page. \n\n"Why don't you like Jackson Pollock, Carol?" \n\nShe turned back and rolled her eyes. \n\n"Because he's a mysoginistic motherfucker, who made genius work, yes, but it's meaningless 'cause he was just a selfish drunk fucking around with a can of paint." \n\n"See, I don't think so." \n\nThere was a silence following a big sigh from her mouth. Her eyes burned and glazed over at the same time. After about a minute, she flipped her leg over me and leaned in, mouth, warm, kiss. \n\n"It's good to see you Carol." \n\n"Shut up, I wanna move away from the fucking front window." \n\nWe did. \n\nI couldn't decide whether to leave the light beside my bed on or turn it off. The latter would be soothing, but I'd also be more likely to fall asleep. I fell asleep, whatever. \n\nIn the morning we were tangled and naked and the sheets had fallen off and were a bit entwined with our ankles. Her lip was a bit puffy and she held the blanket to her breasts. But we were close as anything. \n\nShe looked greeneyed and sideways at me. \n\n"I'm worried about Adam." \n\n"Me too." \n\nI turned her over and rubbed her back. She kept talking with her face flat against the mattress. \n\n"There's like, nothing left in him. He's got a bit of a tummy, which honestly I don't mind--but it's not like him. And he's gotten ribby." \n\nI pressed along her shoulder blade, then made fists down her spine. \n\n"Around me, he can't really finish sentences. He's not what he was. I miss him. I don't know what to say." \n\n"He traces his fingers around everything with an awful lack of purpose. Lazily. Over chair arms, the undersides of dishes. Over my skin. It's like he's forgotten what it is. Everything." \n\nWe both trailed off and lay there until I got up and made coffee and we blinked at the bludgeoning sun for a while.
Given the fact that wearing nice clothes and looking good can increase a person's sense of self-worth, they should form a staple part of any modern true religion wholesale person's wardrobe. Of course this means choosing the correct brand for your age group, for instance, young teens and early adolescents suit designers such as Evisu jeans or True Religion jeans, the older ones amongst us suit better the older, more sophisticated cheap true religion brands, such as Levis and Armani.Whenever you're shopping for jeans online, the best place to start is on the jeans company's website. In most cases, buying direct from the True Religion outlet is a little more expensive than buying through other online stores, but making note of the company's price gives you a good starting point for price comparison.After that, start looking around at the sites of major department stores. For example, you can go to the sites of true religion website Nordstrom, Saks Fifth Avenue, Bloomingdale's, Macy's, and so on. You might be surprised by how many brands of fashion jeans some of these online stores carry. In fact, the websites usually have much broader selections than the actual stores.\n\nTrue religion men jeans are decent and fashionable so that they are welcomed by many people, especially those on the tide of fashion. There are several true religion brand jeans styles of jeans for women, men and even children. This brand is considered by most experts preferred for office, political party or official meetings and seminars. If you are looking for men jeansWhile considering the quality and design, true religion jeans are easy true religion to clean, stylish, fashionable, and sizzling! True Religion jeans for women are the best top sellers in the market for clothing and even demand that they beat in the middle of jean enthusiasts. When you buy True Religion jeans for women, you have to be true religion jeans careful and beware of low jeans phony, fake and false. Most of the false and unreal imitations of True Religion jeans have been crawled and they were innocent buyers fall into boredom.\n\n//don't ask stupid questions//\n\n
Head completely underwater. Salt up the nostrils. The ladder from the dock into the ocean has a sign on it which reads as follows:\n''Property of the Halifax Municipal Harbour. \nNo Tresspassing.''\n\nI'm not supposed to be here.\n\nAfter feeling like I'm drowning, I hoist myself out of the water, careful not to tresspass on the property of the HMH, because I'm a law-abiding citizen.\n\n[[Fall asleep on the waterfront|Close eyes for a long time?]]\n\n[[Go back into the water?]]
body {\n background: lightblue;\n color: black;\n \n}
In the room, a mattress leaned against the wall. A composite-frame IKEA bed. Clothes on foor. They should be in the laundry.\n\n[[Go to laundry?|Look at laundry room?]]\n\n[[Lie down to sleep? Perchance to dream?|Close eyes for a long time?]]
On the way home was passed closely by three cyclists making me jump out of my earphones each time and vow to pay more attention. But of course I didn't. Made it home and had a cup of tea, even though I'd already had four cups of coffee. With milk and sugar. Smooth, relaxing tea.\n\n[[Go to room?]]\n\n[[Look at laundry room?]]
Yeah, I said it. \n\n[insert passage about that one time I went to the craft store and I told all those jokes]\n\n[[Where is it?]]\n\n[[I don't even care anymore?]]
Good. Give up. \n\n[[Give up?]]
I'm sitting in a chair, wearing green and read slippers over my feet which are resting on a black box under my desk. The chair is a rolly sort, from IKEA. The internet glistens wet in front of me.\n\n[[Anti-chamber?]]\n\n[[Angry-chamber?]]
For a couple of days I felt all shaky from withdrawl, then that feeling was supplanted by another sort of shaky as I took up a caffeine habit. Drinking six cups of coffee a day. Jittering left hand running away at my side. Stuttering tongue, and a blank face on my face to yours.\n\n[[Put hand on shoulder and smile and squeeze a little firmly?]]\n\n[[Doubt?]]
Eyes well closed. Dreams, of course. Faces arranged themselves in //haiku// pinned to a cork board.\n\n16x16 pixel squares. How do I draw your face into such a square?\n\nI started a dream journal. I took a notebook and put it beside my bed. I lay down. I sat up again. I took up the notebook again and opened it to a page and wrote ''DREAMS'' at the top. I also dated the top of the page. I put it down beside the bed again. I lay down. I fell asleep. \n\n-- -- --\n\nI dreamed a mad dream. I woke up. I took up the notebook and wrote it down. I woke up. I took up the notebook and stared at the empty page. I had dreamed about writing in my dream journal. I put down the notebook. I got out of bed and went to work.\n\n[[Five minutes late to work?]]\n\n[[Quit job?]]
Though eyes were closed, I felt the heat of my two friends and everything was alright. We had to not leave the box. In the box we were entirely safe.\n\n"Hey gang, listen, it's feeling pretty tight in here," said Adam.\n\nI heard the latch pulled apart and he stuck his nose out for fresh air. I shook my head in pain and horror and whatisgoingtohappen?\n\n[[Everything's alright?]]\n\n[[Everything is not alright?]]
We stepped into our orgone accumulator with Adam and he cried out, "oh Carol, oh Carol! How I miss you! I miss you, my friend! My friend is you! Where are you?"\n\nAnd Carol said, "hey dummy, I'm over here."\n\n"And stuff..." I added.\n\n[[Huddle close?]]\n\n[[Close eyes?]]
Please send a Resume/CV to theodore (at) theodorefox (dot) com\n\nCurrently hiring for an intern/apprentice.\n\n
//Never// run from the police. That's illegal.\n\nThe law gods smite you.\n\nYou are dead.\n\n
We got as close to each other as we could. I could nearly believe I felt the orgones floating back and forth. In our little box however, we were safe from the real-life situation outside and we stayed there for hours and everything was cool afterwards. Phew.
The jar of cashews is actually empty. How depressing. I feel very tired. I might lie down.\n\n[[Lie down?|Close eyes for a long time?]]
The great anti-chamber is before me. I step into it. It glows around me. The glow is not a visual sort, but rather mostly a feeling. This feeling is overwhelming. I feel sick. I am on my knees. "Sickness, fade, please!" The sickness does not fade. I think of Adam. The sickness does not phase. I remember smiling faces from the pub. The glow feels like smiling faces from the pub. I realize the anti-chamber //is// the pub. Go figure.\n\n[[Never drink again?]]\n\n[[Halifax?]]
This passage //does not// exist.\n\n[[Huh?]]\n\n[[This passage does not exist?]]
I put my hand on her shoulder and smiled and squeezed a little firmly and she looked up at me with her neck firmly diagonal and my tongue stopped twitching and my other hand (left hand) stopped shaking. A cure for my nervous attention disorders? Temporarily sane. She has a coffee and a white apple laptop and some papers. I trust people with papers. Her hair is messy in little strands in the front and very well put together in the back. I am completely still, but arched a little through my spine to the right and when I talk I have a bronze-y affectation to my tones.\n\n[[Walk out and go home?]]\n\n[[]]
This is a story with two main paths. They can be selected from the //two following options//. The first is a very short work of fiction with elements of truth. The second is a longer work of autobiography with a gloss of fantasy. Each path provides a branching tree of little stories. There are wrong answers, and I will let you know when you're wrong. If you are distraught with the story ending prematurely, feel free to press restart to erase your decisions in exactly the way which you cannot do in real life.\n\n[[Apple?]]\n\n[[Codemonkey?]]
I sat staring out the window. Why does it get dark? To mark the passing of time. To shadow the body in a reminder of the briefness of luminescence. Last week I went to a play with Adam. He was out beyond anything. He kept thinking the actors were speaking to him and piping up "yes! yes! yes!" \n\nIt was something of an avant garde work, so no one minded him and thought it was a part of the pan-theatrical genius of the playwright. Even the actors thought it was some secret part which had been kept from them. \n\nWe shuffled out afterwards, Adam pinballing off of all the other people lining up to leave the theatre. He chewed his lip, and mesmerized the moon, and asked me those questions about the dark in a stutter. We got sandwiches at the end of the block in some cafe. Nowhere else gives you a good late night sandwich. \n\nLater I cradled Adam by the side of the road. He shook in his drunkenness. I felt his wet mouth against my chest, lolling there alone. \n\nMy extremities have felt numb lately, maybe the cold is ruining my circulation. \n\nAdam, looking to the wind-street down the horizon sang some songs he had heard on a Sam Cooke record at Carol's house. I could hear him dreaming aloud. I wonder what world he knows. \n\nSome-times I'm a little jealous of him in all his intoxication. It's a sort of enlightenment, isn't it? It's a new view of the world. Some people meditate for years to turn that sort of eye towards the world, and in a few hours he can immerse himself fully in the other, drooling all over it the whole while.
Now is not the time.\n\nYou die.\n\n
The god before us wasn't particularly pleased about being poked in the eye. Clouds moved around like frenetic catnipping felines. His voice was such a low rumble we couldn't make out a single word. Even as we seemed to be stationary, my gut had the feeling of falling. I saw Adam scared for maybe the first time.\n\nBack on earth, shaking our heads, still in the same situation.\n\n[[Falling backwards?]]\n\n[[Falling into memories?]]
That previous passage //did not exist// because I didn't write anything there. You see, I thought it would be a funny joke to have a "this passage does not exist" loop in mockery of how often the screen comes up when I'm trying to write one of these things using the program I use to write these kinds of things. It's called Twine, by the way. Google it.\n\n[[Smartass?]]\n\n[[Twine?]]
I hit my head. I started throwing up. The top of my head was bleeding. Running down my face, my neck, over my white t-shirt. There was a nurse there, she checked it out. You probably haven't got a concussion. Carol kept kissing me better on the lips. \n\nI recoiled in shock each time. My lips were tinged with blood and vomit. Each time I explained this to her she said,\n\n"Oh, it's OK! I need to make you better. Let me kiss you better! Poor thing, poor thing!"\n\nI got home, and she helped me pull off my clothes and I washed my mouth out and kissed her naked in my bed and she ran back to the taxicab. I slept alone, probably with my brain a little unsettled.
Theodore Fox
In the laundry room, a washer, drier, and a clothesline hung with sweaters. The floor is concrete. A pile of folded laundry on the drier. Dried food on a low shelf.\n\n[[Snack on a few nuts?]]\n\n[[Sit on the washing machine and cry?]]
Never again. Never again. Never again.\n\nBut to what end? But to what end?\n\nI'm bored by the whole thing.\n\nBeautiful human face.\n\nBloody dull.\n\n[[Walk out and go home?]]
The clouds opened in the night sky where there were no clouds and we were plucked like grapes into that sky and an old man with a beard held us close to his eye and we shook and it was moist and he moistened his lips and we shook more.\n\n[[Poke?]]\n\n[[But for real?]]