First lines: He swallowed the last of his Christmas spirits and dropped the bottle down the chimney. “That fucker better show up soon.” 300 words. Due 12/23/14
Which reason is so epic and cosmological that it begins to retreat into the obscure, the downright abstruse: that cosmic aloneness is the bride of existence, okay, but do the design choices of your hotel room have to be so hellishly hotelish?
“It was not an option for my husband to go without a sexual companion.”
In retrospect, I suppose that was an unconventional start to our family’s holiday letter, but that’s what happens when one dictates it to the typist after a nice Shiraz.
On the evening of November 16, 2014, Revolver launched The Book Marks, an investigation into the power of the storyteller. The first iteration of this project was a Book Cover Design Contest—with a twist.
Dear I don’t know why it doesn’t work, / I’m sure (and have been) still / lights in / attics of torn- / down houses burn.
Meanwhile… Somewhere in the Caucasus, in the 11th century…
What happened next is permanently recorded in the annals of Stupid. And Epic. And monks laughing before their next strike—far, far beyond the Two Eternal Gates of Idiot Mountain… Cindy and I carried the pot down to the kitchen as I hatched my scheme.