Who put this crown upon our heads?

Us.

in failing to receive the recognition, the french-kissing of models and the chortles of bearded pipe-smoking ship captains we believe we rightly deserve, we’ve turned our hunt for verification to elsewhere, from the virtual world of poorly-paid casting couch porn stars and neckbearded glass-pipe smoking insomniacs. Note that we said verification. Our crowns are self made, we wear them so that our heads may sag and our necks break, we wear them to remind ourselves that being part of a generation of wanna-be’s and posers is nothing to be proud of, indeed is something to attempt to escape from as fast as possible. We wear them so that our bodies break long before our flimsy ego’s built upon years of being told “you can be whatever you want” do.

Every artistic compilation project must have some goal, some nirvana to reach towards. Ours is simple, submit, for your approval or loathing, our creations, so that you may judge/enjoy. Anyone can wear the crown of a Peachy King, anyone can submit to our oligarchic asses their magnum opus or works of lesser opus, All we ask is that you read, you write, you play, you create and you be some version of our cult’s ideal member.

Namaste.

Entry #22

Officers Parker and Bishop shuffled down the steep scree field, sending smaller rocks racing out under their heavy feet to the bottom of the coulee. They had parked behind the ambulance, which itself had been parked behind the fire chief’s rig, which was further parked behind the logging truck that had first stopped and called in the crash. The guardrail was severely mangled, like a great beast had come along and shredded its rusty contours with razor-sharp claws. It was that time of day where the sun had just begun its travels off to other parts of the world, and the mountains and trees were casting jagged shadows that danced as the emergency service lights all spun around at different speeds. The bottom of the ravine was home to numerous small shrubs and a creek that gurgled by gaily with little to no regard to the horrendous addition the mangled truck had made.

 

Both deputies had heard over the radio who exactly it was that had been ejected from the driver’s seat. Both couldn’t help but think it was related to the Nice case, yet both were determined to not let the paperwork from this incident join that growing pile of shit.

 

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Entry #21

Various electronics partially illuminated Jackson’s basement room. He felt that his bed was as comfortable as usual, but he found the warm folds of his sheets and the soft give of his mattress and pillows to be borderline inhospitable. He tried laying on his back, then his side, then his stomach, then his back once again.

The image of Big Mac leaving Reggie’s garage played out in his mind over and over again: “Whatever. This is all bullshit.” Jackson had barely had time to process that moment, let alone finding out that Big Mac was cheating on Ann Marie and Ann Marie storming out herself moments later. Everything had happened so quickly, and now Big Mac was dead, just like that. Continue reading