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Hm...this turned out lovely. I don't feel so well, but I'm going to start revision 5 on my book. Poem's from the P.O.V. of the fence. I dig it. Hope you're happy today...God bless. Stay in the light. Love, C.A.


Human, for years, I've been waiting.
Soon, I may blush and warp
into kindling, but I'll still open
my knots, my mouths,
giving you hints.
Somewhere, leaning back there,
lives a ladder.
Today, may you reach out,
touching my strong side --
the least faded, the straightest,
my shaded best.
Go ahead.
Press your rising chest
against me. I can take the weight.
You will make me --
one lowly, man-made fence --
stand tall enough
to come to life.
Peek above the jagged,
harsh rows.
Take in the crooked downside,
for there is so much more
beyond and below.
A thousand splintered stories,
the aches of yesterdays,
are hidden within my cracks
and lines. So many whispers.
All over, I hold secrets.
They are woven in.
They are carved into me
by little hands.

C.A. MacConnell


F'n Rad Novel Query Letter

August 30, 2014

Dear New York Agent:

I bet you're lonely. I hope you have a good desk chair, because all of that reading must make you sore. Perhaps I could send you a massage chair? I'm sure you are not a bad person. Also, I would like to come visit you and bring you my book to make you feel better. I would like my book to become a movie, so if you don't have connections in film, please forward this along.

Secondly, to give you an idea of my background, I have been writing since before Starbucks existed. I write so much that my fingers are swollen and bloody. I am extremely dedicated. I chose you as my agent because you are very good looking, and I feel like only someone as good looking as you could sell my book. Also, I think your name has a nice ring to it, and according to our horoscope charts, it should be a good match.

I know you said in your instructions not to include a sample, but I decided to stand out among the norm, and I attached three chapters of my finished novel, 953,563-4 words, called, "Pitcher in the Corn." It is adult fiction and young adult fiction, because there is one character who is a teenage vampire. It could also be a romance or mystery novel, because this work is so diverse, it will blow up the charts. According to your Website, you are seeking science fiction. "Pitcher in the Corn" could also be read as Science Fiction, because the teenage vampire in the story partakes in time travel, and the voice is like none other you have seen. The voice won me Honorable Mention in the "Most Improved" category in the Atlanta Cornbread Literary Contest in 1995, and I have been working on it ever since, so imagine how good the voice is now. I mean, seriously, close your eyes and imagine.

Dynamic, fast-paced, literary, engaging, tight, emotional, hilarious, and unique -- these are all words that reviewers have been using to describe "Pitcher in the Corn." It is the story of 15-year-old Smolden Rawlfield, a sarcastic and fiercely angry student who falls in love with his male classmate, a vampire named Bob Mattison, who has vampire cancer. Everyone else has long accepted Bob and Smolden's relationship, but it is Smolden who must wrestle with his inner demons with regard to Bob's disease. As a result, he develops Tourette Syndrome -- in all of  his high school classes, he cannot stop muttering, Fuck you, and he writes it all over the place, which makes it exceptionally difficult for him to graduate and deal with Bob's vampire cancer. Never before has a vampire had cancer, which creates great strife for Bob, because even the vampires ostracize him; we all know that usually they are eternal. That is why this book is so unique, and the whole world will be able to relate to these multi-faceted characters.

The story ends with a wedding between Smolden and Bob, even though Bob is on his death bed. Determined to stop the wedding, a riot breaks out in all states where same-sex marriage is not allowed. Suddenly, there is mass chaos, and nothing seems sure, which also leaves "Pitcher in the Corn" open for a sequel set in Massachusetts. I think readers will identify with Smolden and Bob because they show us true love in spite of Bob's great disability.

I hope that you will consider "Pitcher in the Corn." I have attached the last three chapters, as well as a computer scan of a SASE, just to be thorough, even thought this is internet. Thank you for your hard, painstaking consideration, and I hope that today you can think about what Smolden might say. Actually, he wouldn't say anything because Bob eats him in the last chapter.


Adult Fiction/Science Fiction/Young Adult Fiction Writer

-- C.A. MacConnell


F'n Rad Daily Meditation. The White Bison: Beautiful and Rare

Yesterday's daily meditative writing was so rad (might want to read that first) that I decided to use it again and rewrite it to make it even more rad and spiritual. It's now at the level of f'n rad, and it's a little different, but see what you think. C.A.

F'n Rad Daily Meditation. The White Bison:  Beautiful and Rare.

Every morning, I wake up around 3:40 a.m. and check the apartment to see if anything is amiss due to my occasional sleepwalking. Then I make coffee that I scored from Steve, my "friend." Actually, he is just my friend. Next, I check a gazillion different internet sites, and I usually laugh at things that no one else finds funny. For instance, I may listen to someone's music and crack up, realizing later that it was meant to be a song about a traumatic breakup. And then I am so sorry about the comment I made that read:  "Holy shit, this is fuckin' hilarious."

Next, I usually click on the "White Bison" site and read the meditations. Now, yesterday's had to do with the idea that we're born with a true purpose and "every true purpose will always be about serving the Creator and helping others." A definitive statement that really hit me. It really hit me because I believe that my true purpose is to get a big break. Also, I was glad there was not a white bison in my apartment, because that would be a lot of upkeep.

All the time, I am struck by the notion of "roles." I also like crescent rolls, and I am struck by those as well. When I look at those around me, and I notice the work labels -- musician, technician, service adviser, manager, salesman, receptionist, and on and on, I realize that the labels are appropriate for some, and for others (service adviser), definitely not. And then I look beyond them, because I am spiritual, and I see that there is so much more to all of them -- the service adviser sometimes prints out Rush lyrics to answer all of my problems. The technician leaves notes on my car that turn my day around, and he leaves his first name on the note, as well as his number; however, there are 30 or so technicians, and I have no idea who he is. The manager has a brotherly side, and I want to kick his ass at basketball to prove that I went to a women's college. The salesman is a devoted father, and I feel connected to him in a strange way, and I am damn sure that he doesn't feel this connection, but rather, finds me horrifying. The receptionist has a beautiful new baby boy. I had a baby boy once. No I didn't. That was just that year I was chubby. And the musician would give his right arm to make sure that someone he loved was safe, and I'm sure that someone is safe as hell, and that someone is sure as hell not me.

All of them work hard, sometimes they watch T.V., and all of them have a true purpose that is unfolding in good and bad ways, and all of them have changed me forever. Some of these changes I am trying to change back, but it's okay. I'm a trooper.

People used to call me "horse girl." Then it was "yoga girl." Sometimes they call me "the writer." Now they may be calling me...I'm not sure, but I hope it's not "E.T." or "Frodo." But whatever the case, I hope to be known not for my labels and not for the crazy thoughts I may have, but instead, for my actions, my creations, my past recycling obsession, my current bubble gum obsession, my past and current obsession with the stuffed animal claw machine, and my positive or terrifying affect on the world.

So today let us take a look at the small stuff, like dirt. And perhaps these intentions will spread to those around us. I can look at yesterday's behavior and be gut-level honest....I'll start here...okay, so during the middle of the work day I went to Target because my shoes fell apart, but they had nothing cool. I can make amends where I need to, let it go (come on now, that's asking a lot), and try to keep my heart as open and clean as possible. And let me tell you, everything around here is clean.

A mantra I often use:  be here now. When I use this mantra, I am usually in deep shit. Yeah, it is definitely cliche, but it's true -- this moment is all that we have and beyond the labels and daily operations, if you love someone, for god's sake, hang on to that love like it's your last day on this planet, because great love is beautiful and rare. Well, hang on to it unless they dump your ass. Then you should probably cry and find an imaginary lover as soon as possible. The touching moments in life (let me reiterate the word "touch"), the moments when I feel as if my chest might burst (hells yeah) -- these are the minutes, the hours, the days that I live for. Okay, the minutes. It's not about the show, the great award, or the time clock. No, not at all. It's about cash.

For me, the best moments were when I gave someone the shoes off my feet, the purse off my shoulder, the shirt off my back, and the life blood from my vein, without expecting anything back, except for better shoes, a kickass purse, and a cat face T- shirt. You can keep the blood from my vein, asshole. I may fall off the track here and there (not much because I have huge feet and awesome balance), but somewhere within this giving lies my true purpose. When I can wish what's best for only the people I totally dig, I can forget about my plans, throw out the labels, and listen, really listen, to those around me, and sometimes, I can tell them to talk quieter because they're too loud. Today I will pay attention to the white bison, and I will tune in deeply, madly, and with a caring heart, and I hope someone tells me how to take care of the white bison, because it's in my apartment, and it's very hungry.

-- C.A. MacConnell


White Bison: Beautiful and Rare

Every morning, I click on the "White Bison" site and read the meditations there. Here is today's. It has to do with the idea that each individual is born with a true purpose and "every true purpose will always be about serving the Creator and helping others." A definitive statement that really hit me. It made me think this:  how can I do this better? How can I use my talents to the best of my ability and in turn, serve others?

All the time, I am struck by the notion of "roles." I look at the folks around me, and I notice the work labels -- musician, technician, service adviser, manager, salesman, receptionist, and on and on. And then I look beyond them, and I see this -- the service adviser sometimes makes me laugh so hard I feel like I might throw up. The technician leaves a note on my car that turns my day around. The manager has a protective, brotherly, sensitive side, and I often want to go shoot hoops with him. The salesman is a devoted father, a man with integrity, and I feel connected to him in a strange way. The receptionist has a beautiful new baby boy. And the musician would give his right arm to make sure that someone he loved was safe. All of them work hard, all of them have a true purpose that is unfolding, and all of them have changed me forever.

People used to call me "horse girl." Then it was "yoga girl." Sometimes they call me "the writer." Now they may be calling me "horse girl" again, I'm not sure. But whatever the case, I hope to be known not for my labels and not for the crazy thoughts I may have at times, but instead, for my actions, my creations, and my affect on the world.

So today, I can take a look at the small stuff, and perhaps these intentions will spread to those around me. I can look at yesterday's behavior and be gut-level honest. I can make amends where I need to, let it go, and try to keep my heart as open and clean as possible.

A mantra I often use:  be here now. Yeah, it may seem cliche, but it's true -- this moment is all that we have, and way beyond the labels and daily operations, if you love someone, for god's sake, hang on to that love like it's your last day on this planet, because great love is beautiful and rare. The touching moments in life, the moments when I feel as if my chest might burst -- these are the minutes, the hours, the days that I live for. It's not about the show, the great award, or the time clock.

For me, the best moments were when I gave someone the shoes off my feet, the purse off my shoulder, the shirt off my back, and the life blood from my vein, without expecting anything back. I may fall off the track here and there, but somewhere within this giving lies my true purpose. When I can wish what's best for you and you, for all around, I can forget about my plans, throw out the labels, and listen, really listen, to those around me. Today I will pay attention to the white bison, and I will tune in deeply, madly, and with a caring heart.

Yo, whether near or far, love is magnificent.
C.A. MacConnell


First Place

On my birthday a week ago, for some oddball reason, I bolted awake at 5am and motored up to a small town about an hour north of home. Why? For a 10K/half marathon race. Have I been running? No, not at all. But earlier that week, a friend had told me about the course that went right through the woods, and I had nothing better to do, and it all sounded peaceful to me. Also, I knew the race cash would help support the parks and bike trail that I use frequently so I figured, what the hell. Admittedly, I was on the "upswing," and I thought I was Flash Gordon or some shit (this happens sometimes...perhaps tomorrow I'll share about my "pro rollerblading" experience, a disaster that lasted one day). Or ask my roommate Buzz about my one-day tennis career, which involved him yelling, "Gentle! Gentle!" while I repeatedly hit the ball over the fence and out of the court. I admit I tend to overdo it. Go hard or go home! Ha. I think that saying was meant for people who actually practice at things and have experience, rather than for a 5'2" woman with more muscle and spunk than aim.

Anyway, the race. When I arrived in this rustic town, everyone around looked cool and slick in their name brand "moisture wick" running clothes. Many people were half naked, and it got so bad that I started expecting to see someone show up in a thong. Alas, no luck. I thought I was styling as well, but I'm not sure what kind of activity I was dressed for. I wore a hoodie, a tank top, and some black short shorts from like 1950. You know, the kind Dad wears with knee socks. Also, my neon red vintage Sauconys cost me $29.99, shipping included. Nearly all of these runners were sporting souped-up, expensive running shoes with labels, webbing, reflective gear, and turbo jets, I suppose. Oh well.

So they were all warming up -- jogging along the tracks, stretching, downing energy drinks and energy bars, eating bananas, etc. I laughed, thinking, These people are seriously more nuts than me. But I warmed up as well. Here's what I did -- I slid on my Captain Fin surf/skate hat (no, I don't know how to surf or skate, but I am a total groupie), and then I wandered around, taking a bunch of "I'm so artsy" pictures of old, abandoned buildings, a train car, antique shops, a house with no front steps, and the like. Then I smoked a few cigs and guzzled down the rest of my extra large gas station coffee. Side note:  a while back, I did actually run and finish a marathon (without stopping), and I used the same preparation method. So I figured, if it works, don't go messing with society.

Well, I'm no dum dum. I didn't think I could run the monster, but I do walk a ton, so I was in shape for that. So I decided to run/walk the thing, and I was feeling stoked. Like I said, I was on the upswing...when we started out, everyone and their mother and baby passed me, but I didn't care. Later, I passed some of them. But overall, I power-walked along or jogged, enjoying the scenery, noticing how most racers seemed so serious, and I totally thought they should all stop to wish me a happy birthday. Then I realized this:  oh yeah, this is a race, and it's not a benefit for me. Fuck, I forgot.

As I was chilling, "racing" along, I started to see people coming at me from the other direction. On the race path, we went "up and back," so the people doing the half marathon started passing us from the other direction while we slower shits cruised along. So I watched to see who was winning, and I studied the faces. The top three came in sporadically -- in first place, one man (not as toned as you would think), then another normal-looking, sweaty man a few minutes later. In third was a wiry, alien-like creature, a "skin and muscle" man who looked like he lived for marathons. I figured he would catch sweaty #2 and maybe #1. But what really caught my attention was the fourth place runner. Here was a pretty, thin woman with wide set eyes, big lips, and a small nose. She was the first place woman, and then I noticed something else -- she only had one arm. The right one had been amputated above the elbow. And this lady was fucking flying. And smiling right at me. I smiled right back. Badass, I thought, giving her a thumbs up.

So then a pack of men sprinted past, and then a few women, but the next woman that caught my attention was in about 7th place. She was pushing a baby in a running stroller. Imagine what place she would've been in without the stroller. Probably #1. Guess there was no sitter that day, I dunno. It really touched me.

In recovery after the race, people stretched, ate bananas, ate energy bars, drank water, and some even kept right on running. I said hello to a friend who ran the half marathon, fixed my Captain Fin hat, hopped in my car, and headed over to the generic quickie mart for a large coffee, and let me tell you, that caffeine went straight to the vein, which was fun. Then I smoked a few cigs and headed on home.

I may not be the fastest racer, and I guess I don't do anything right at all, but cruising along, being me, I had the time of my life. And here I am with two hands, able to type and write to you. That one-armed woman wasn't letting her disability get in the way of her love. It was an awesome and beautiful reminder for me. Disability or not, we can do anything we wish to do, as long as we put in the work, dream big, and keep on pounding the pavement, one red, vintage sneaker after the other. She reminded me to never, ever give up.

What an inspiration. Each day, I become a little more at ease with letting my true self shine, and that is the best birthday present I could've ever hoped for. I walk fast, but I look, really look around me, and these days, I pay attention to the details. I like this new pace. It's mine, all mine. And I keep my eyes open for the god moments, such as the moment when I looked into the eyes of a first place, smiling, one-armed woman who was easily sailing right through the finish line.

C.A. MacConnell


Special Delivery

The bedroom wall is peeling. Take me.
Lead me to my new employment.

I'd make an expert paintbrush or vacuum.
Take me to a strange residence -- siding,

stone, or brick -- where even the new house
lives and breathes on a fresh street. I hear

knocking, my special delivery. Pick me up
in a rusty truck. Pack my words in back.

Me, bare or made up. I know we both see
the same moon. Take me to a new quiet,

a new thunder. Pick me up in the smallest
plane. We'll shoot across, making a sky exit,

barely sliding through the slightly cracked
door of lightning. See the room full of boxes.

Bring me any life but the high rise. Take me.
Today, I am a sleepy, restless, growling woman,

one who changes her mind about the need
for saving. Take me. Don't leave me tending
to lions.

C.A. MacConnell


Charles Wolf, the Man Himself.

Well, he may not be the wheels of my dreams, but hell, there aren't any wheels in my dreams, so who cares. Mostly weirdness in my dreams/nightmares. Never cars. Basically, I've been running around car dealerships since I could walk (probably before), but when it comes to buying them, I could care less what they look like. That's a total lie. Deep down, I'd be stoked to score a 2015 gray Audi S3 with limo tint (not quite released yet) or yeah, a gray/black Audi R8 (rad). Now that would be some fun. Woohoo. Better get a kickass book deal for either of those, ha. That's right. I'd be the girl with no clothes, no furniture, and a souped up car with the most amazing sound system on the planet. For some reason, I have next to nothing in my apartment, and yet the thought of cruising in an Audi R8 at 100mph seems pretty inviting. I swear I really am a woman. Just a very strange one.

I'm already attached to this guy, and it's only been a few hours. Sorry to Edward the Scion, but he was a total loser. Nothing against Scion in general...they're actually great cars; however, our personalities just did not mesh. I kept trying to break up with him, but for some reason, it took forever. Anyway, the new guy's color is "Blue Crush" although, in the light, he definitely appears purple. And my new man's name is Charles Wolf. Enough car talk. Speaking of which, I totally LOVE that radio show "Car Talk." Fuckin' hilarious.

Anyway, finally, I'm getting to my writing update. So I'm still on the fourth revision of THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR, and I chip away at it every single day without fail. That's a lie. I didn't work on it today, because I was on my first roadtrip date with Charles Wolf; however, I love this book more and more as each day goes by. Right now, it's like 370 pages full of rich and juicy hilarity and madness. The progress is truly nothing less than thrilling. Layer upon layer, fully loaded. Cannot wait for people to read it, but I'm taking my time. I want it to be absolutely genius. Indeed, get ready folks. I intend to shake and wake the fuck out of the literary world. And I promise not to use the word "fuck" when querying agents. Although, I may throw a "sheeit" or a "goddamn" or a "prick ass" right on in the letters here and there.

Like I said. Genius. (Yes, I do know how to write a boring, professional query. Sigh.)

Time for a bath. Feeling grateful and excited,
C.A. MacConnell


Look Again. He's Always There.

Hi there. Worked on a poem today. The title is the first line...people do that sometimes -- combine the two -- and it seemed to fit here. Getting my brain in gear to tackle some more of THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR, which is coming along sweetly, although it's a lot to keep track of. Still, so fun. Got a lot of change coming up. I'm stoked. And a little nervous. :) Man, I've been so goofy with dreamy thinking. It's like I'm 12. I suppose it comes in handy with writing, but in real life, my stupid, longing brain can be a real bear, haha. Oh well, I suppose being a grownup is over-rated as well. Have a beautiful day! Here's the poem:

Look again. He’s always there –

the thinnest man in the sun.
Keeping time,
he throws crumbs
to any bird,
waving wing-like arms,
reaching out
with swollen, slow, red hands.
It’s true, he says.
For as long as I live, for as long
as you live,
I’ll be dusting feathers
from my jacket.

No booze, no spoons, no needles,
no room;
he sings spirituals
to gutter cats and kids,
matching made-up lyrics
to traffic minutes.
When it rains, he sells watches.
No insurance for the buyer,
but ten dollars
is all it takes
to slide one on the wrist.
That’s how Billy made it
through the winter.

C.A. MacConnell


F'n Rad Birthday Courtship

Around 1:30am last night, right after I turned 40 years old (that's right, amazing, I'm still here!), I woke up for like the tenth time (normal occurrence), and that time I was awoken by some interesting rustling and chirping. At first, I thought it was a mouse. When I investigated (I love to investigate), I realized the sound was coming from my blinds, and when I pulled them back, here's what I found:

I think he/she thought my photograph was a real tree. So this enormous katydid gave me my first birthday wishes. As you can imagine, my cat was very interested in him/her as a snack, so I quickly scooped him/her up (which gave me the royal creeps...imagine the feel of that biggun in your palm) and took the huge fellow/lady outside. Since then, I've found out that katydids are nocturnal, and they sing to each other at night. Yes, that singing is used for courtship. That's right, you got it -- I'm being courted by an insect. On thinking it over, he/she does indeed meet my dating requirements, and I found him/her to be attractive, although he/she may need to hit the gym, but we shall see. I also read this:  "Katydids symbolize evil." But another site said this:  "They mean good luck in Japanese culture." Um, I think I'll choose the "luck" option.

Still alive, feeling wise, wondering how many pieces of bubble gum I can chew at once,
C.A. MacConnell

P.S. One of my biggest heroes of all time, R.H.W. Dillard, just wished me a happy birthday. My day is totally complete.


All of the God Things

Sitting here wearing an ancient Pearl Jam sweatshirt. I've been a huge fan since the good ol' days, and I admit that I still dress like I did in the nineties. This sweatshirt is old, huge, cozy, and not so warm anymore, but for some strange reason, it always makes me feel safe. Particularly when I get stressed, I like to put on this sucker and wrap up. Contemplating this past week, I feel exhausted, as it has been a toughen, but a lot of people I know have incredibly difficult shit going on, and I'm certainly not feeling sorry for myself at all. Actually, I feel immense gratitude at this moment.

See, here's my theory on humanity:  illness or not, wherever or however you grow up, everyone on this planet seems to be pretty fucking goofy in some way, shape, or form. No offense if you're not goofy, but it's just my hunch. Some choose to harness the strangeness and use it to help others, to change the world, to fill it up, fill it with joy. Some radiate laughter, full hearts, and love. Sure, many, many people have a heavier dose of hardship, and I have no idea why it all gets passed around so randomly, but I do know this for sure:  in so many ways, I am lucky as hell.

Man, the other day, I saw a blind girl walking through the woods. In one hand, she held her cane. In the other hand, she held her elderly mother's hand. That's right -- the blind girl was helping her mother walk. Not the other way around. The humility present in this real, touching image completely overpowered me. I started to see the sun for all of it's awesome beauty. I began to notice the way it hit each leaf around me. I opened, really opened my eyes. Feeling tears, I thought, I am alive. I may have side effects and tough weeks, but I am alive. I am alive to feel love, joy, sadness. I am alive to know touch, pain, and all of the god things. I am so in love with this.

Famous or not, we could all choose to use our talents to inspire others, to help heal those around us, to spread joy. Fame, clothes, makeup, etc, those are all just exteriors. Just like stretched ears and tattoos are. Who cares. Hell, regardless of my body and financial stats, I want to be the kind of person who sees the sun. And I want to be around people who see the truth as well. I may get crabby, but fuck, right here, right now, I see how clear and simple everything is. What was important to me this past week? Love, healing touch, warmth, staying sober, support, being in awe of nature, and being reminded that I don't have to be perfect, that I am here as a human being with imperfections for a reason, that I can use these "flaws" and turn them into gifts. I can scream out hope.

This morning, I gave my time and blood to participate in a research study, so that I can help them find a cure for this bear of an illness that I have. I figured that would be the best way to honor those who have lost their lives to mania and depression -- to give my blood, to help find a cure for those of us who know the darkest of places. From the gutter to Hollywood and everywhere in between -- this touches lives everywhere. No one is immune. No one is special. We are all fighting this together. And so I send out love and hope to all those suffering from any illness. Let us all work toward peace. Let us all feel peace in our hearts. Let us all take our pains and fears and turn them into a way to change the world.

I am a fan. I am a fan of many people, many artistic creations, and many things, but I see us all as pure energy, and our little souls can be amazing when directed with love. Each and every one of us has this gift. I am a fan of this.

And that, to me, is true love.

C.A. MacConnell


Artist Light

I think you would like this place.

Think short, kid fingers
burning in the snow.
I shiver, tasting ice
cream. Near lonely
old men, scattered
on benches, tattooed boys
pull at wide-stretched
ears. One of them --
the smallest, a half-
finished painting --
looks like you.
Gaunt and tired,
he's buried inside
a yellowish glow.
May you melt down
from his ink sleeve,
becoming solid.
How I want to walk
with you, step on the heels
of your shoes. Alone
feels right in this artist
light. Shadowy and soft,
it turns all scars to life.
The spoon breaks free,
getting caught in my curls,
and I feel almost pretty.

I think you would like this place.

C.A. MacConnell


Rooftop Grip

She’s still up there, scratching
at the gutter. Rooftop, one bird
builds a circular home. Searching
for the last addition – the elusive,
perfect twig -- she takes hold
of the thinner, pulling it free,
biting it tight. This ending rests
crooked in her beak. She’ll make
this one work.

C.A. MacConnell


F'n Rad Cover Letter

Dear Employer person to whom it may concern & staff:

Whaddup, employer man or woman or really smart kid right out of college, it's your special day, you lucky bastards! I heard you all there are badass. How's it goin? I feel great! Not really, I feel like shit today, but most of the time I feel awesome. I mean, yesterday sucked balls, and the day before was an asskicker, but I’m about to read up on my meditation books and get my serenity on, because those birds are out there getting laid and driving me crazy, so I need to chill and make some toast with crunchy peanut butter or maybe jelly I don’t have peanut butter, but before I do all that, I’d like to introduce myself to you. Hi! I really love your company, and I think I would be a great asset! Whatever it is that you specialize in -- arts and crafts or auto repair or rides that send you to hell and back to Jesus, I am the perfect, overqualified person for the job. If you're Jewish or Unitarian or whatever, sorry about the Jesus reference. I mean, I think you might go to Hell, but that's up to you.

Now, my old boss was a superdeluxe prick, but now I'm absolutely ready for fresh experiences! First off, I would really like to check the net for cheap flights for my first vacation time, so let me know when that’ll be, so I can start planning. Thanx. So I used to work on over at Dragon Ballz Car Wash, which isn’t on my res, but that’s because I haven’t revised it recently. Sorry about that. Anyway, just wanted you to know that in case there’s a gap or something. They were all total crazed beasts there, so that’s why I left. I’m sure you understand. Sometimes you find yourself in a situation where everyone else needs help, and that's okay, but you know when it's time to leave. They all needed serious therapy, so I had to move on and grow. I made sure to give my two seconds notice.

In addition, I am very artsy, and yet I am very grounded, like a cross between a cloud and a rock, and I thank you in advance for your hard consideration. Man, let me tell you, yesterday I ate this bigass frozen burrito, and it really tore up my stomach, but I was a trooper, and I totally did some work anyhow. Now this example may be somewhat nasty, but it proves yet again how driven I am. That’s just one example of how hardworking and conscientious I always strive to be. Another example is this: last week, I decided I needed to blow off work and go for a road trip, which was so much fun! I bought so many snacks and drank so much caffeine, I thought my head might pop off. I think it did for a second, but then it popped back on. Anyway, before I left that morning, I made sure to call my employer and let him/her know I didn’t feel well, and I put on a sad voice, and I told him/her that I wouldn’t be there, but that I was so sorry I was crying. I could've just not called and not showed, but I am always thinking about others’ needs first. Touch is key.

Actually, I haven’t left my apartment in about seven months, but when I do, I am totally going to hug somebody. Maybe even slip them some tongue, who knows. Just an example of how I am one to always think about options. I am so open. I am also 100% honest, like if you asked me right now how I was feeling, I would tell you straight up that I am so bored I feel like punching somebody in the face.

Here’s yet another example of how I am in the workplace…yesterday, I don’t know why, but the mail didn’t come, and instead of acting pissed, I said a few mantras and prayed for my mail to come in the future. Then I ordered three pairs of striped tube socks and some green Vans just to make sure my mail will come. I’m not worried because it was all on clearance. Just another obvious sign that I am conscientious and always concerned about budgeting. I would do the same for you. I would order multiple items on the Internet for you all day long.

Hey, I am so good with computers. Yesterday, I uploaded like 400 pictures to my Facebook and Twitter, and then I put captions on every single one. They are so arty, and you should really check them out, so I'll include a link. I could do that for you too if you want. I also know how to check email and I’m pretty good with turning my computer on and off. If you’re not into computers, I am really good at writing by hand as well. Also, I know calligraphy. The American version, not the Japanese one.

Well, I hope we can hang out. I have like 15 different styles of resumes -- one on a yellow legal pad with stickers, one made of a collage of magazine letters like a creepy ransom note (so spooky, I love the theme. I even dripped some ketchup on it as a special effect), and one I drew out with fluorescent puffy pens. Also, there’s the one that I made solely out of little plastic googly eyes. That’s my favorite, for sure. Took me like a fuckin' year to glue all those goddamn eyes on the construction paper. I am committed.

Anyway, I gotta go put on my helmet. I always wear a helmet. Otherwise, I feel like I won’t be protected from the evil forces that come around sometimes. That can be a real bear. I'm the perfect worker for you. I have serious stamina. Enough from me, I'll leave you to make your hard decision making. Let me know if you'd like to see one of my resumes. I'm pretty busy, but I'll wait to hear. I have to piss like a racehorse.

Anonymous Job Seeker

-- C.A. MacConnell


The Vapor Zone

Howdy. Just working on this piece today, and then starting in on my book revisions. Getting a little late start, but it's all good. Hope you are well and happy! I was meditating today and saw a zebra. :)

The Vapor Zone

Who are you. I heard you singing.
Come with me and remember the time
when you and I knew there was life
inside cardboard boxes. Those homes
were lined. Blankets on the in, plastic
on the out. We knew coin collecting,
the art of saving dirty dimes. We knew
street playing, selling, begging, barely
making it. Gum was stuck to the sewer
grates. We knew muddy, gray beds --
wet back hostel porches, our slippery,
urban forest. Who are you? I heard you.
We met on the top steps. Leaning back
against the chipped green door, we shook,
and you wouldn't let go. Everywhere,
starving, wasted musicians rolled Drums,
inhaling, exhaling, inhaling. No rain
the day we stole Lucky's Nightwatch,
swallowing easily, importing hell to vein,
resting by the Space Needle fountain,
strumming our song -- skinny criminal
to recluse. You showed me your jailhouse
tattoo, praying for removal. Your piano
fingers crawled to move. Nothing else
about you was gorgeous. Evenings,
you were fast and jerky. Mornings,
you were slow, shaky, slow. Taking turns,
we cleaned clothes by the Five Point,
scanning the screens, watching for thieves.
We were all kids. Your girl barely had tits.
We were all in the vapor zone – smoky,
heartbroken, lost, and sick, smothered
in smog, dodging bird shit. No apologies.
You were a slick, black and blue, one-way,
straight shot. You were the sharpest thief,
an untouchable brother. Who are you?
You were the coolest, smoothest, loaded

C.A. MacConnell


F'n Rad New Bachelorette

I would like to be the next "Bachelorette" and change it up a little. Instead of wearing ball gowns and heels, I'll wear overalls or ancient sweat pants, men's Hanes T-shirts, and sneakers. Instead of makeup, I'll have bushy eyebrows and use nothing but the shiniest lotion available. I'll make sure that my face is so shiny that it blinds the camera men and women, and I'll be sure to eat a shitload of chocolate so I have some bigass whiteheads and/or blackheads. Also, I will continuously apologize profusely when my dates may be interrupted by my frequent trips to the bathroom, thanks to the meds.

On each of my dates, I will repeatedly explain the spiritual significance of all my tattoos, as well as explain why I have ten holes in my ears, two in my nose, and two in my navel, all still there, but absent of jewelry. Also, I will go into great detail about each and every scar that I have. I will also explain that despite my small chest, I am indeed a woman, although I am open to suggestions, because I am not a dick.

In the talent area, I will show my dates how I can win at the stuffed animal claw machine game, as well as play a mean kazoo. I can also drink about five Pepsi Max 24oz sodas in a row, then walk five miles without shaking. If you add one coffee, I may need my date to buy me a cookie or Pop Tart.

Instead of rock climbing and roses, there will be trips to the local quickie mart and walks to visit my friend Argo the dog. Instead of that vacation in Barbados, we'll go see Conan and/or hit a strip joint wearing our pajamas, and if we get lucky backstage, the date may be extended for a few weeks.

When I choose my lucky mate, instead of the proposal and such, I will reward my date by making the lucky bastard take at least three showers and undergo a thorough physical exam on camera. We will then skip the wedding and go straight to the honeymoon -- a road trip with no plan at all. No map, no GPS, no directions. Two duffel bags, some cash, a station wagon, a U-Haul, and a cooler full of caffeine and Mom-made peanut butter and honey sammiches.

Fuck all this princess gaga. Make it real. I think this would be a hit, just sayin,

C.A. MacConnell
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