Level-Headed Friends

What can we add? What can we take away?

Did the Work.

Taught myself how to publish to the Kindle. Cool right? Here’s the author profile I wrote for myself on Amazon.com:

You’re walking home late at night, it’s like 430 am and you’ve maybe had a bit too much to drink and maybe you’re a little over tired and it’s been a long night and you’re listening to the music playing on your headphones and your mind is kinda on somehing else at the same time so you’re not really able to fully concentrate on the words the singer is saying but you’re half listening and you’re half thinking and all out of nowhere cars come by every once in a while and on one certain occasion one drives by and you look at the lady driving and you wonder why anyone would possibly be driving at this time of night and you start to think about it more and more and you sort of see the ladies face in your head and realize how thin she was and how pale her skin was and how it sort of resembled a skeleton and you think about how in movies and on halloween skeletons arent really that scary but you start to think about seeing one in real life come past you at 430 in the morning and you start to get really scared and you start to thinking more and more about the world around you and realize that you’re on a dark stretch of street that’s not lit very well and there’s only one car in roughly every fifteen minutes of your walk and you still have a lot of walk to go and you start to wish that you were on the main road but you took this smaller road because it was faster to get to your house and you begin to look at the houses on the street and they all sort of look like haunted houses; you never noticed so many arbors on houses in your life and the trees that you pass are all dimly lit from above by streetlights and look like creepy claymation reaching up into the sky with calloused up leathery twigs and it’s the time of year when only some people have their Christmas lights up and the ones that do are the ones who’ve had them up all year because they’re too lazy to change them so most of the bulbs are dimwitted and dull and they cast another strange light on the lawns of the street and as those few cars pass by they sort of light up windows in cars parked on the side of the road and you’re not sure but you could swear that you saw shapes of figures sitting inside and your pulse starts to raise up for a second even more so than it already is because you notice a house with its windows wide open and you know at any moment someone is gonna come into your view and you see shopping carts on the side of you and its at the mouth of an alley along the side of the road your walking and you dont want to, in fact its the last thing you want to do, but you know that you just can’t help but look down the dark alley to the trucks and cars parked alongside the gravel of these little offshoots and you’re walking and you see a house that’s completely dark and it scares you and you see a house that’s lit up and it scares you too and theres a homeless man in the parking lot of a grocery and he’s picking up bottles and you imagine him smiling at you wtih dirty scuffed-up teeth and then you imagine him laughing because you know it’s the scariest thing you can imagine and you have to stop and turn off your headphones because you feel like the only thing you can do is listen and you think about phoning one of your friensd but its 430 in the morning and you’re being compeletly irrational but you’re just so friggin scared of everythign around you, your shadow looms forward ahead of you as the street lamp goes behind you and you think about a shadow peering up into your vision from behind and immediately you look backwards to see if anything’s there and you know as soon as you face front again there will actually be something there and a bicyclist pasts you and you wonder what they’re doing up this late as well as all the cars, and the face of the byciclists is older and it reminds you of the first lady you saw who looked like a skeleton and how it started all of this and then you think about how you’ll write this down when you get home but then you forget and you don’t.

In a small A-Frame suite, in a three-level triplex, on a 7-block avenue, in a moderately big city, within the friendliest country in a decaying continent, on an aging globe, Mack Gordon does some of his best writing. His plays have been performed across Canada, from Toronto to Victoria. He has been nominated for a Jessie Richardson Theatre award for outstanding performer. He graduated with distinction from the University of Victoria’s theatre department. He is doing his best to make his living in Vancouver, British Columbia where the government has chosen to decimate the arts. He hopes you wish him well and choose to read his work, paying for it when you can, to allow him to continue to do more.

  1. mackgordon posted this