Fast of the Dough Deacons

Mäk and I headed south this summer, deep into the uncharted forest of confederacy known as Linville falls, North Carolina. A particularly memorable trail blazed was Chimney Rock, home to relatively summit-level vistas, innumerable rickety stairways, energetic packs of sandal-slippered tweens, and former shooting locations for the '92 version of Last of the Mohicans. A set up to stop all pacemakers.


This week, on our newly ongoing column 'Mäk Writes':



I immediately remembered a sketchbook page from earlier this year, scrawled briefly after our retrun from the smokies and slightly past my late night library rental of the same film. Nothing like previously unreleased road trip pics:



Can't you just hear the soundtrack fiddle pumping? Doesn't it make you wanna turn insomniac?

Confedera, See?

Back from North Carolina--a destination that proved too south for my testes. In our one week together, Mak and I camped three nights, hiked three days, jaywalked two days, traveled two days, and didn't kill each other. Glad to be balk, folks. Next up: fruit-pickin' in Jersey.

Shout out to a bangin' open mic and slam session at the crimson moon last wednesday. sweet weirdness spreading across the floor, ah swear! Read two new poems and I shalt write more.

And a monster kudos shoutout to my sole brother Tim, as he presented his phd physics thesis to a 40-person capacity upenn room filled with 60-persons. I followed everything, pretty much. E Coli. Gene switchery. Glowing colonies that grow in the dark. And he said 'micromolar.' That means little teeth.

Don Queithote and Sanchadd Panzadd

A road trip with Mäk is gonna feel something like this:


Been listening to Don Quixote on audio cassette... even a grocery trip proves exhilarating when narrated by George Guidall.