No news today - Guest Post - Christopher Higgs

No News Today

Awoke. Kissed wife. Whispered, “I love you. It’s 8:02.” Removed covers. Grabbed glasses from bookshelf and put them on face. Stepped out of bed. Walked to kitchen. Fed kitty. Returned to bedroom. Entered bathroom. Urinated. Showered. Dried off. Put on underwear and white t-shirt. Returned to kitchen. Poured glass of water. Started coffeemaker. Drank water. Went to dining room table. Turned on laptop computer. Checked email. Checked certain websites. Checked site counter for Bright Stupid Confetti. Returned to kitchen. Poured coffee, added sugar and cream. Opened cupboard, reached in and retracted box of oat squares. Took coffee and oat squares back to dining room table, back to laptop. Ate breakfast of oat squares and coffee while checking Facebook. Finished coffee. Returned oat squares to cupboard. Returned to bedroom. Returned to bathroom. Brushed teeth. Applied lotion to face. Styled hair. Brushed beard. Put on dress shirt, tie, and slacks. Whispered to wife, “I’ll see you in a little bit.” Kissed wife on forehead. Put on shoes. Returned to dining room. Put Italo Calvino book and green notebook in backpack. Grabbed wallet, keys, and cell phone. Unlocked front door. Opened front door. Stepped out front door. Exploded.

Christopher Higgs gave authorship to a belletristic novel entitled The Complete Works of Marvin K. Mooney, available now from Sator Press.

No news today - Trailer for Asunder

ASUNDER.mov

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xNOOP31fzM

Animation for ASUNDER, a collection of short fictions and a novella by Robert Lopez (DZANC, 11.16.2010). Music by Sin Ropas Art and animation by Luca Dipierro

No news today - Guest Post - Leigh Newman

My news today is that I missed the filing deadline for having no news. My other news is about tofu, firm vs silken. Tonight, I am going to deep fry it. I have no fryer, but I'm going to try all the same. Once, when I was kid, I went over to Dina Dimitri's house. Her mother had a little chubby, black plastic, electric kettle that boiled oiled. Her mother made doughnuts in there. Her mother made french fries. I am going to be Mrs. Dimitri when I grow up, I thought to myself. The woman had nails and a beautiful elongated station wagon. These were in the days before tofu and blogs. I am still not her. I am still me, wanted to be her and Eleanor Roosevelt and John Denver, fishing for soy bean cakes in soup pot bubbling with grease.

leigh newman's work has appeared in Tin House, One Story, New York Tyrant, Fiction and the National Public Radio's The Sound of Writing. Her memoir about growing up on the Alaskan tundra is coming out next year from Dial.

No news today - Guest Post - Alex Samets

There is no news today. Just as there was no news yesterday and just as there will be no news tomorrow. Just as there has never been any news. Nothing to report. Nothing to remark upon. Ladies and gentlemen, if I could just have a moment of your time, I'd like to share with you--Nothing. Nothing to share. For that matter, no ladies and gentlemen. There are no ladies and there are no gentlemen, just as there have never been and never will be any ladies and gentlemen.

What remains? What predates? What will come to fill this yawning chasm? The Internet. Boys. Empty barstools next to no one. Robert Lopez, not a gentleman. The books that line these walls, the shade of purple she painted her bedroom. The cat, obese and dying.

No veterinarian. No Hudson River. No implements for cleaning the wax from your ears. We are doomed to deafness. We are doomed to abandon our bridges and walk across silt to New Jersey. Our animals will suffer. We, too.


Alex Samets rocks, steady. She holds an Irrelevant Degree in Something Intangible from Sarah Lawrence College. Actually, two. As she is from Vermont, one ought never offer her a sweetener pretending to be maple syrup, as humans from colder regions can taste falsity--it's something in the down, the fleece, the wool they have to wear. Alex Samets protects herself. Publish her work, if you want. Someone should.

No news today - Guest Post - Lindsay Hunter

At work I listen to the old man with the pipe pouch heave his internal organs around just by breathing. The air smells like cloves muddled in anus. There’s a calendar on the wall featuring graphic images of cows at pasture, fleshy udders and green fields and lemon suns and goddamn it. A befreckled woman shrieks about hoagies and salad dressings. A man disguised as another man in disguise flexes and points his toes, writes the words “These are my new shoes” in an email to himself. Out the window I see a crow that is actually a plastic bag from the liquor store jerking and whirling, but I convince myself it is a crow before looking away. A man with a brain like a bowl of smooth Jiffy types 1,0,1,1,0 into a white document. Someone close by is quietly laughing to themselves. In the fridge a Tupperware of pasta is carbonating. The tap water is the temperature of blood. Robert, what do you do when you can’t tell if you are the only human or if you are the only non-human? There is no news today.

Lindsay Hunter lives in Chicago, where she co-hosts the flash fiction reading series, Quickies! Her collection of stories, Daddy's, is out now from featherproof books. Find her at lindsayhunter.com.