s i l v e r m u t a n t c h i l d r e n

information
I am a pig and I smell bad.

For about a decade, I operated a blog of the same name. While I obviously enjoyed sharing my interests online, I felt that the structure and culture of that website inhibited my creativity or else made "sharing" an unpleasant prospect. This website, I hope, will give me a more productive outlet for those instincts without the nausea of social media idiocy.

More generally, I hope that this webpage will grow into a monument to human uselessness. Please let me know what you think of its pseudocultural piss artifacts and how bad it looks on your browser.


emetic waste

19 September 2023

Updated the writing section with a poem, "Somnambulists' Gymnopedie". I wrote this poem at work while I was meant to be paying careful attention to something. I apologize for both the poem and my insolence.


9 September 2023

Updated the writing section with the surely long-awaited WAR & HYGIENE archive. W&H was a sort of broadside zine I wrote and published from 2017 to 2019. We'll say for now that it's in hibernation. The content is largely pastiches of Peter Sotos, David Fremann, William Burroughs, Michael Gira, etc, and dealing with a lot of compulsions I had at the time. The format was inspired by John Zorn's Naked City project and Edgar Allan Poe's literary theories. This is all to say that it's basically all complete trash, but in the very least it was trash I had fun with at the time.

I think that #6, "MY DEAD WIFE / TELEPHONE SHOW" and #8, "DUMB ANGEL / INDIAN ROPE TRICK" are the best examples of the bunch. As such, they're probably the only ones I haven't freely stolen the good portions of in later years.

#9, "FANT´┐ŻMAS AS SAINT GERMAINE," will surely be finished any day now. Until then.


26 August 2023

Updated the writing section with something I somehow forgot about last night: "Requiem for Terry Funk". I wrote this piece a few years ago, before he died, but I was never quite happy with it. I've revised it a bit and put it out there.

It's very challenging to write something like this, of course. The emotions of talking about someone who's meant a lot to you since you were a kid, someone who helped you bond with your friends and family, are of course very hard to sort out, and you don't want to fall into the orindary kinds of celebrity adulation that you hear in NPR obituaries and lame-ass tribute posts. But when I say that Terry Funk meant the world to me, when I say that he's America's greatest poet, I really mean all that. He was my favorite part of one of my favorite things. And as a poet--there's more beauty, more power, more technique in one of Terry Funk's matches than most poets achieve in a lifetime of work. Certainly more than in any of mine.

When you look at somebody on the TV screen, they're not a real person, of course. You construct a kind of virtual image, an icon, which very often is more real and true than its antecedents. Terry Funk is a human being, but his emanations show that at the root of the human spirit there is profound holiness. I really, really mean that.

Anyway, rest in peace. That's the best anyone can hope for, and you certainly deserve as much.


25 August 2023

Again, I beg your pardon. I would say that it's a busy time of year and excuse myself, but I'm at a stage in my life where all year is a busy time. I really didn't intend for everything to be so barren eight nine months in. Perhaps my ambition has outstripped me, I don't know. I'm going to try caring less in other aspects of my life, so hopefully I am able to update more.

The biggest thing I want to do is fix the art section so that it has actual thumbnails instead of making you load 50mb of images every time you click the page. I don't know any dumb ways to quickly do that, though. It's been a while since I've had to write a program or script like that.

Updated the writing section with two poems--"You Gave Me Enough Hope to Hang Myself With" and "Carnival Fuck". Added a few links as well.


8 May 2023

I beg your pardon.

Updated the writing section with three poems--"Dissolution," "Some Other Time," and "Dog's Blood Aspic"--and a scrap, "A Matter of Course."


10 April 2023

I dreamed last night that someone I know gave me a piglet, pretending it was a human baby. I think their scheme was to force me to become more responsible or something. They dressed the pig up in a sortof full-body onesie, complete with a closed hood covering its dumb porcine face, which they would not let me remove under any circumstance, lest the illusion of its humanity be spoiled. I realized at some point that this meant that the pig's shit would be locked inside the cloth prison, floating aimlessly among the folds. Perhaps eventually it would sneak its way up to the hood and into the piglet's mouth, recycling itself endlessly in some slow ballet. Maybe all dreams are like that in some ways. When I woke I felt nothing but my teeth.


18 March 2023

Just remembered the "<hr>" tag in HTML; yes this has fucked my mind for good.

Updated the music section with some album reviews.


15 March 2023

Some years ago, when I was in college, I became obsessed for a short time with the ideas of privacy and disclosure. Something about the environment of that school and the people I had to be around in it just really irritated me, especially how transparently performative and counterfeit it all was. A thousand people pretending to be themselves, pretending to care, pretending it mattered. So, as was typical of my behavior at the time, I decided to lash out in a stupid way for my own amusement. I bought a transparent backpack, and each day I would fill it with as much disgusting and disquieting material as I could. I had books on cannibalism and coprophilia, safety razors and clamps, brochures implying I had venereal disease and was mentally challenged, and a lot of issues of Sixteen and Tiger Beat. I would walk around like this and enjoy people's strange looks and sidelong glances. It was, of course, pretty fucking stupid, and I recognize the irony of complaining about people's honesty while dishonestly claiming to be a shit-eating teenybopper, but when I remember a few of the looks I got it really seems worth it somehow.

While I'm thinking of it, I should perhaps mention also that I had another scheme around the same time where I would stealthily give myself pro wrestling-style blade jobs during lectures so that blood would randomly stream down my face, but because of my low blood pressure it never really worked as well as my imagination. I also had the idea to make fake casts and wander helplessly around a grocery store, incompetently groping for my groceries, with the notion of "making others participate in the experience of injury," but I never really got around to it. I probably won't be picking up these behaviors again any time soon.

I have greatly enjoyed all the emails I have received from pakistani "web developers" desperate for my patronage. With that said, I would perhaps enjoy other emails more.


27 February 2023

Fixed an annoying thing in my layout--a remnant of the template I modified this site from--which caused a really ugly image to bleed through on high-resolution monitors and such. My home monitor is relatively square and small, so I didn't notice the issue until I looked at my website on a different computer. Well, I beg your pardon--I know it's ugly, but I hope in the future it's only as ugly as I intend.

I really didn't intend to go this long and still have pages lacking any content at all, but of course time destroys everything.

I dreamed last night that I vomited out a horseshoe. I vomited it out from end-to-end, not the whole thing at once. I hope that's a clear image.


21 February 2023

Updated the writing section with a scrap, "Hierophant".


7 February 2023

I remembered today a quote from Kahlil Gibran's Sand and Foam: "Perhaps a man may commit suicide in self-defense." I remember discovering this quote--the product of seeing the book for the first time and flipping to a random page--and feeling at once that I had discovered some hidden aspect of myself, hitherto unknown. It was like looking into a mirror a hundred years ago. Perhaps now, after all, I can survive my life. Oh well.

In the past week or so I've received, I think, all the works of Vasilisk Gnedov available in English translation. I hope to soon write an overview thereof for other interested parties. Maybe by the end of the month or else the end of the century.


6 February 2023

Updated the writing section with a scrap, "Cloudy Day".


5 February 2023

Updated the art section with about 60 pictures.


4 February 2023

Updated the writing section with a short story, "Easy Rider Blues" and two scraps: "Invocation by Hairbrush" and "Evangeline".

In the past two days I have received more than a thousand new visitors. I can attribute this only to King Kong, and I thank him.


2 February 2023

Updated the writing section with a scrap: "My Dream as Aimilee's Human Table".

Updated the links page.

Udated the parasitism page with basic information on psychic parasites.

Added the kaiju section with reviews of Bandai's "Kinggoji" and King Kong figures.


1 February 2023

Recently my memory has been invaded by the phrase "vaginal worms." Every word, every thought, is eventually and inevitably subjugated or subsumed by this phrase. I must imagine this is a portent or auspice. Please beware of vaginal worms and all they imply.

Transferred to new domain--"dot net fo' shizzle!" etc, etc.

Hopefully by the end of this month fewer pages will be totally blank.


16 January 2023

Updated my file directory to be less of a mess. Everything should still work the same, but let me know if a link seems dead.


15 January 2023

Updated the writing section with two scraps: "Hitomi Smiles" and "Requiem for HS".

Updated the art page.


7 January 2023

Again updated the writing section with various short stories and scraps. I also altered the layout of previously-uploaded stories to improve legibility.

Updated the links page.


6 January 2023

Updated the writing section with nine short stories.


4 January 2023

For the past few years, I've had a gimmick where, whenever anybody tells me something unprompted, I just say "I have a grapefruit-sized tumor under my armpit. My doctor says I got it from using my cell phone." Mostly I think of this as a largely-harmless way to engender confusion in people. People ask me about it--express their concern, right--but if you play it up like there's nothing you can really do then they usually don't ask many more questions and you can move on with your life. Over the last few days, though, I don't know--the word has gotten out or something, I guess. I've been getting more and more condolences from people, most of whom I've never even met before. They're giving me recommendations for oncologists and exploratory surgeons. I don't know if I should take this as a great success or a sign that I was an idiot all along.

All of the pages now work, though they don't have anything on them.


3 January 2023

I dreamed last night that I found a website which documented everything I have ever masturbated to in incredible and excruciating detail. There were hundreds of articles, each categorized and cross-referenced, creating a sort of psychogeography of self-flagellation. Reading this website gave me odd feelings of comfort, insomuch as much of it concerned material with which I am (unfortunately) well-acquainted, and incredible disgust and sadness at what was effectively a massive gravestone to all of my orphaned impossible children. I was overall impressed by the effort but I don't think that I will be attempting to recreate it in the waking world. I just wanted to tell you.


2 January 2023

Initial version of the site. Nothing works. Will anything ever?


credits
Layout modified from an original design by Catherine at Lovely Designs. Additional help from Zekkie Allahara of Redacted. Hosting courtesy of Neocities.

I don't really believe in copyright, but on general principle I would prefer if you gave credit for things found here.

If you are viewing this webpage on a cell phone, I truly pity you.

2013-2023. All rites reversed.





no bottom floor in hell