His dad would be nuts, a breathable internet. Kooks coked out, ears cored into sinus holes. Smart guys went to SalSalt OxyTavern, old-timey.
Sniff sniff, nothing, then it WINKED! limbs missing thank Gilgamesh for this flat roof advertising the UberMarine Corps! Eyes shut, HIS eyes
twisted around articulated limbs his eyes in one palm mouth in the other time to juggle baby methane mists of rusty rose a red balloon slow.
2006 Cassini probe beams radiation back from Saturn, nocturnal time shifts new world order 1994 World Trade Centers implode accidentally.
1987 wall of Poland 1982 DivkDad dead 1977 Nixon Nixon 1971 Karin Offal queen of the multiverse 1968 three Kindred collide a mess of legs.
1962 daddio at Thinking Machines, eats Hershey bars until a guy named Dick Overtone warns him--back again, agh. 19576543 1947 Costumed hero.
Darkness 12 hours or 12 weeks, slapped awake. Dreaming/seeing first hero of the nuclear age, AlphAmega Man. Mushroom cloud on his chest.
Constantly moving, lenticular, living ink developed by NASA when K Tate was a kid, it was on all the monster models glowing in the basement.
The cloud made his chest heave and he smelled like sand. K Tate saw from his dreamstream, the big man howling you need me at men in suits.
They had surrounded him in the ruins of Indochina, dropped a spiked cement block on his brain, made of crystalized Trinity sand, and he fell
To his knees, he fell, then they buried him face up, covering up the moving mushroom cloud on his bare chest, fingertips bleeding tears.
Blood for those he could not shield from the third and final fourth bomb, the hero and the bomb covered as one, ink figures/ruined existence
K Tate blinked, all a dream, spinning years got to go down. AlphaMega Man a comic Uncle Dick O gave him as a kiddiegift. Moral to the story:
One issue, kid, the company went bankrupt. Telling kids lies. The only superheroes are the men in suits and thin ties who work in secrecy.
He was on the ground, solid dry ground feeltouch breathe. No waves/wetness in the air. It took 12 minutes(?) for memory to catch up to him.
Mouth dry. Air raid sirens. He stared up at two big eyes, correction ohhs, HOLLYWOODLAND sign, Mt. Lee. Battle of Los Angeles, 1942.
Post-Pearl Harbor hysteria, something in the sky over Santa Monica pier. There was a film, a comedy, a UFO conspiracy, a technical glitch.
Unclench hand, solid ground (idiot). Eye stared one lid askew. He remembered now, in the comic they plucked AlphAmea Man's eyes out slssh.
A tuning fork or electronic wave inserter, couldn't remember. Just fiction, but aren't all stories imaginary? Even memoirs of the big war?
And yet he had an eye, pristine & blue, brought him back too far, how could Eye exist when Eye was inside of a head & a face until Trinity.
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A twitter novel
The Boston Phoenix says: "Joy Motel is a microblogging book worth scrolling upward for."
Joy Motel is an unconventional sci-fi narrative that was written in real time in 140 character bursts on Twitter, the Internet's fastest-growing social networking platform.
It takes its freeform, disconnected style from the randomness of the Twitterstream itself.
This is a novel for the 21st century, captured in quick bytes by a 5-time Bram Stoker Award Finalist and a Gold Award winning adman, who are transcribing the 'brainstream' flowing inside the neural net of its lead character, Kindred.
He has unknowingly purchased an untested, corrupt brainstream from a black market uploader, which has become an uneraseable part of Kindred's persona as he grapples with an ever-shifting sense of reality, dreams that twist into nightmares, and unreliable perceptions of time and space.
At the center of his struggle, a psychiatrist he calls Psychdaddy is attempting to resolve Kindred's repressed childhood memories of the 1945 Trinity nuclear blast in New Mexico and decode his father's role in a radical collective of bomb-worshippers called the 12 Disciples.
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