Jonathan Diaz
Julia Harris
Sarah Roth

Sarah’s introduction was so thoughtful and articulate that I think I’m going to transcribe the whole thing and use it as my artist statement from now on.


Sea Monster

“The woods are heavy the way I can’t remember them and I’m counting deer to pass the time.  I count to seventeen, then I start again.  Seventeen, because that’s how many years she had and I guess something reset for me then too.

I’m up to nine this time when I hit the sea monster.”


//\\order it for $9.  free shipping in the U.S.of A//\\

Contributors include: Joseph Aguilar, Matt Bell, Jon Cone, Sarah Rose Etter, A.T. Grant, Robert Lopez, Matthew Mahaney, Tom Whalen & other awesome people.

Caketrain 11



Poem of the Week

October 23, 2013

I’m always late updating this.

The week is over.  The poem remains: Green Lake.

“David tells me Jesus was a bodhisattva.”

Alexey & Sam

“Alexey” (pg. 6) is a prose piece.  There is no story there.  A boy sitting on the curb calls a taxi.

“Sam tells me a story” (pg. 54) is a poem.  It is a true story.  My friend Sam generally hates poems, but said he liked this one.

 Bicycle Review

My name is actually Thirion.

At least in Lithuanian, according to Google translate.

My friend Ieva Krivickaité once translated my story “The City of My Mother’s Girlhood” into Lithuanian and got it published.  Now you can find it here: tekstai.

Trans & re-translated, the new story is far superior to its former self.

for example:

-pale blue, hiding clam shell color, scant of breath baby-fish

-How many horrible things can be? Is not “terrible” is not the highest degree? Is not one of the scariest thing?

-all were given condoms and grafting urchin gangs

-Boy kissed my ear. Went the darkness around us, and we tried to catch it by hand

three years later

July 17, 2013

No Place page 35.


– lost things

– white nights

– a snowglobe city


A Boy and His Sister

Written December 2008; published November 2009


— a girl falling into a well

–fire at a sunflower seed factory

–a plastic folding chair that a boy remembers


Got back from SLS Lithuania yesterday and felt like (re)posting this story.

I wrote the ending in the basement of the Alumni Center where I was paid to stuff envelopes, take inventory of paper, and forge signatures. I quit that job my senior year in college. Haven’t quit writing, yet.