Beach Sloth

Have You Seen My Whale Issue # 1

                ‘Have you seen my whale’ I proclaim. None of them have. They may need to step away from the computer. Computers are bad for social graces. Yet computers help build lovely collections, much like ‘Have you seen my whale’. Without computers this might have taken considerably longer to create. Let us begin part II, the rising action, where things go berserk. 

                Port Morsby writes about a gender-confused college student. At least the college student is human. Wish I knew if I was human or not. Parents appear to disapprove of the lifestyle. The parents really enjoy free wine. Hope the gender-confused college student makes eir parents happy. Surprised Papua New Guinea’s capital is also a person. 

                Jesus Moses writes about death. When we die we leave money behind. I hope Jesus would have more money than what is in his pockets. Satan doesn’t come cheap though. To get Satan for a funeral you need to book him way in advance. Satan uses his own playlist for these sorts of events. Most likely expect some kind of early 80s industrial stuff. Satan is big into that. 

                Angela Shier writes tiny poems. These are tweets. Her cat is a hybrid. It is a strong swimming cat. Porcupine is her ethnicity. Mine is sloth. We have a lot in common. Angela hugs people until they vomit out sunshine happiness. 

                Austin Islam writes about bath salts. I hear many bad things. Bath salts are the new speedballs. They mess you up real bad. People used to get bath salts for one another as a sensual gift. I miss the good old days with bath salts. Wonder when my chap stick is going to turn on me. 

                Alex Cox has a picture of a highly erotic looking turtle. Turtles are the elderly of the animal kingdom. There’s also a fox in mid-scamper. 

                Whit Autry writes about shower cry time. Crying a river is easier in an actual river. Showers are acoustically sound areas. I bet she could hear her crying really well in the shower. Every time I cry in the shower I stop and say to myself ‘Wow, I sound really good’. 

                Ben Taylor tells us about soccer. I know absolutely nothing about soccer. These are good players I think. I Googled them and found nothing that could decipher soccer for me. Ben writes about the most mysterious subject. 

                Grace Millard starts off in style, with a lovely cartoon. It’s dark. I know that. Alt lit usually is dark. Put batteries in her. Find her at the garage sale. She’s fragile. With batteries she can light up your life. 50 cents is all it takes. 

                @lazzyandoh has the best online presence. I heart him very much. Not sure why he fixes his hair. That’s what the wind is for: hair styling. He needs to get happier, more positive footnotes. Thoughts can’t all be bad. 

                Jakob Maier is many things. He’s a 94 year old dog. He’s a tree with a condemned tree house. Finally he stands up for apple juice as a cup of apple juice. Children can be so cruel to apple juice. You’re on Jakob’s contact list. Go to his birthday. Give him a great big gift, maybe a hug. Hugs are priceless. 

                I have a poem. Right here! Check it out. Butterflies are here to stay. 

                Caleb Bouchard grows his toenails inside of people. Is this how humans flirt? Feel growing toenails is a little heavy. Take each other to bed first before you do the whole toe nail thing. You can’t just go to bed once and grow toenails. That’s so crazy. 

                Michael Scarborough returns to the dirt. He is a farmer or a flower. Flowers are the new history. Get used to it. Reality puts on airs. Not Bruce Springsteen though, Bruce is genuine. Bruce is the boss. Don’t mess with the boss. Michael may be from the UK but he’ll never understand that baby we were born to run. 

                Hannah O’Brien was left by you. She was so nice. Yet you were too busy living the Parklife, watching moneyed old people. Wonder why you have on steel gloves. That seems rather kinky to me. Where do people even get steel gloves? Is that an ‘Edward Scissorhands’ thing? 

                Well, I wonder how this madness will be resolved. Is Edward Scissorhands an important part of the alt lit scene? Am I going to see yet more poems from all these people? How do people even interact in alt lit in a real life situation? I can’t even begin to answer any of these questions. Perhaps act III, the hardest act of all, may be able to solve it.