A man in New York has nothing but fists for fingers. Fists for each finger. For him, guitar playing is just punching, punching.

Behind him is a box and a very large guitar amp. Around his waist is a heavy chain. The chain is attached to a gurney. On the gurney is the box and the very large guitar amp. The wheels are squeaky and there is no grease to fix them.

The man in New York is small and thin. His heart is weak, so he sucks on his fist-fingers to get blood to his arms and hands. So he sucks on his toes to get the blood to his legs and feet. So he grabs a rubber tube and sticks one end to his ear and sticks the other in his mouth to suck the blood into his head.

He could ask someone to suck on his ears, but he won't. He could ask for help pulling his amp, but he won't.

He wants no one to touch nothing. Or anything. He wants someone to touch nothing. Or none of anything. He wants you to touch nothing of his. Yours, yes. Not his. Nothing. Not anything.

It's his.

It's like razors, his shoulder blades. It's like razors.

It's like barbed wire, his eyes. It's like barbed wire.

It's like spoiled milk, his voice. It's like spoiled milk.

And all that's fuck it, fuck all.

Pre-order Matthew Simmons' minibook The Moon Tonight Feels My Revenge today, just $8 (w/ free shipping) at Keyhole's website. I can't wait to read this.

My story "A Tree or a Person or a Wall" has just been published in The Lifted Brow 7, the newest issue of one of my favorite literary magazines. Published out of Australia, the editors of The Lifted Brow have been putting out big beautiful issues for a couple years now, each one filled with a great mix of innovative writers and artists. This issue is no expection, and includes writing from Blake Butler, Diane Williams, Rob Shearman, Nick Modrzewski, Michaela McGuire, Phil Estes, Arthur S Halsey Jr, Bryce Wolfgang Joiner, Matt Bell, Bryan Whalen, Kate Cantrell, Tim McGuire, Ryan Call, Shane Jesse Christmass, Blake Kimzey, Jimmy Chen, Kate McIntyre, Dan Moreau, Brian Evenson, Dan Piepenbring, Frank Moorhouse, Johannes Jakob, Chris Somerville, Chris Currie, Dolan Morgan, AS Patric, Kim Chinquee, Leesa Wockner, Mike Meginnis, AE Reiff, Paul Murdock, Thuy Linh Nguyen, Zachary German, Krissy Kneen, Joel Van Noord, Gabe Durham, David Finig, Jensen Beach, and Sam Pink; comics by C.F. and Kirsten Reed; and illustrations by Matt Furie, Howell Golson, Alexi Keywan, Gabrielle Bell, Jeffrey Brown, Lisa Brown, Bernard Caleo, Eirian Chapman, Josh Cotter, Jo Dery, Phil Elverum, Michael P Fikaris, Lisa Hanawalt, John Hankiewicz, Sarah Howell, Lee May, Scot Nobles, Woodley Nye, Ron Rege Jr, Seripop, Mel Stringer, and Jo Waite.

"A Tree or a Person or a Wall" is one of the few full-length short stories I have coming out this year, since I've spent the bulk of the year novel-writing. Here's the first passage of the story:

Even before the man with rough hands brought the boy to the locked room, even then there was always already the albino ape sitting on the chair beside the nightstand, waiting for the man and the boy to come.

 Once inside the room, the man with rough hands carried the boy across the musty carpet and laid him upon the bed, which he told the boy he was not allowed to leave, and that if he tried to there would be consequences.

The man said, I do not want to restrain you, but I do have a number of restraints available.

He said, I do not want to hurt you, and then he pointed to the ape, which picked a melon from a bowl on the nightstand and wrenched the fruit's rind open with its white-furred fists.

While the ape licked the juice from its pale fingers, the man with rough hands said again, I do not wish to hurt you, and then he left the locked room for the hallway beyond its door.

After a while, the boy sat up on the bed. He tucked his scraped knees up under his chin, wrapped his bruised arms around his legs, and then he stared at the ape.

He stared at the ape, and the ape stared back.

You can order a copy of The Lifted Brow 7 or a subscription here. Thanks to Ronnie Scott and the rest of the Lifted Brow staff for including my work in the issue, and for doing such a spectacular job at all times. If you haven't seen the magazine before, definitely pick up the issue or subscribe. It's always a beauty, and the table of contents here suggests the contents of this new issue are going to be spectacular.

Maggie follows the sound to the barn. She hears her mother. She sees her. Her mother is trying to keep the horse on its feet, but the horse is heaviest in death and wants to fall to the ground. Her mother’s hands, arms, shoulders, all push against the leaning horse.

I need help. Her mother is screaming. Her body struggles, it shakes under the weight of the dead horse. I need help. Where is everybody?

Maggie runs to her mother and together they strain to keep the horse, the hugeness of this animal, from falling down.

He has to stand! Keep him standing! Maggie’s mother says. She is weeping. It was more than Maggie had hoped for.

They last only a few more seconds because the animal is a thousand pounds and they are not, together, even two hundred and so the horse gets its way and falls into the dirt. Maggie’s mother falls with the horse and holds its belly and cries. The crying wrecks her mother’s pale face, makes it unfamiliar, covers it in wetness and snot. Maggie sees that she gets to cry, too, and does. It is ugly and great. Her mother reaches for her. Maggie is glad. Now she knows when it is appropriate to feel badly.

--from "What Can Be Learned" by Chloé Cooper Jones, published in Black Warrior Review 36.1