Nathan Tyree: Mars needs women

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and Gozu needs writers. Gozu Press

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Nathan Tyree: The last time I will talk about this

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For the most part the roads were not icy. Mom, however, had to drive across an overpass to get to work and it had already accumulated some ice. She probably didn't see it. Her car slid sideways into oncoming traffic and was impacted by an eighteen wheeler. It was all a matter of physics. She was moving near forty miles an hour and the truck was traveling at sixty. The mass was just too much. The seat belt and air bags were no fucking help at all. The impact cut both of her legs off and crushed her chest. The paramedics rushed her to the local hospital where they shocked her heart back into a rhythm. Fuck them for that. They should have left her alone.
They put her in a helicopter and took her to Joplin where the doctors tortured her more, but all to no avail. By the time I got there they had given up.
They let me look at her, and fuck them for that too. They never should have allowed that. There was still a tube down her throat and her mouth was wedged open all bloody teeth and seepage from her ear and there wasn't enough of her under the sheet.
I haven't slept without seeing it since.
I have been drunk and stoned and jacked on valium and anything else I can get a hold of since.
My father looks like a zombie. He's dropped fifteen pounds. His eyes have sunk into his skull.
If you need any proof that there is no god, then there it is.
If you disagree, then fuck you. Kill yourself. That's the best thing you could do for the world.

I wish I had something eloquent or smart to say about this, but I don’t. I needed to say something, and there it is. She was the best person I knew.

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Nathan Tyree: I guess I'm a Publisher now

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There's a new book by James horn, and I am responsible for it seeing the light of day.

Singularity

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Nathan Tyree: .

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broken teeth and shattered thoughts are all he can perceive. there is a sense that he cannot quite grasp a feeling that he knows should be just underneath but no matter how far down he reaches it stays just out of his grasp. he is tempted to think of himself in some overly romantic way as tantalus but then gets angry at his own fucking brain for its egotism. valium and scotch and coffee and music and it all fails to erase. sometimes after everyone is asleep he paces the house looking for the things he needs but they are not there. on tv they edited kill bill until it should have been funny but he is in no mood for that. he found a place to scream until his throat burned and it also did not help. this is a world of shit and he wishes that he had something meaningful to express but even that seems futile. even that. spleen. baudelaire and celine were the filthy bastards that understood. around him people pray but cares as much for that as for the long white beard of god. fuck he needs another drink.


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she wanted to be cremated and to have her ashes spread in her favorite place. she has been reduced to so many ashes and when spring comes my dad and me will drive to estes park colorado and there we will give her to the mountain. somehow that seems fair. it seems right. there are no more decisions except what to do with all of the fucking plants that everyone sent.

i miss her.

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Nathan Tyree: My mom is dead

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I have nothing meaningful to say about this.

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