A writer of things.


Stuff I do. Stuff I like. Stuff I think about.

Broken Bulbs Cut-Up 1: half the world is the blueprints for whatever

I’m going to post a cut-up remix of Broken Bulbs every three or four days or so. For those unfamiliar with the cut-up technique in literature, it’s a way to rearrange the text of a story to create something new, surreal and abstract. It was frequently used by William S. Burroughs to “alter reality.” 

From Wikipedia:

Cut-up is performed by taking a finished and fully linear text and cutting it in pieces with a few or single words on each piece. The resulting pieces are then rearranged into a new text.

I’ll be using the Text Mixing Desk at the website of the Lazarus Corporation to chop the words. 

The only editing that will take place is the removal of a few rogue quotation marks from broken lines of dialogue. 

I’m quite satisfied with the results. This should be fun. Let me know what you think.

Here we go.

Chapter One. 


Gone. only the left side “I can’t!” I yell into the the hell it is and the sweat. I bleed. my nose  my eyes meet with the powdered goods and into the     “fine fine fine!” she again. my head is throbbing. it’s wet. something’s gonna bookmarked halfway through bleeds. it drips. I drip. one’s got nothing. it’s no dead flower, the one I grew monitor on the desk. the    drip.

ring ring ring  iced tea. iced tea is all. be alive. it’s alive. it I’m dripping through my I dump and stir with a pen. diner to meet bonnie. t-shirt. I knock my shiny its deliciousness is during the gardening phase.  “I know I know I know…”

 this. it covers my eye. my wasted.

the nothing.


      I chew my care. I like it. I like it                 pulse.

   a new one. just one new one. wrap ‘round my head is I need something more. I’m sweet. I like it good. I recommended amount. I don’t low. too short. they hurt. think I lost it now. do I the iced tea is sludge. it’s ahhhhhhh… and I boot the scooby dooby do, she says. rotted now. it hardly hurts the naked one-eyed lady and                              chair.


   overexposed photo of the me anymore! it’s dried up I knows this.

      she mug it goes – scoop after I’m into the closet.

     going. it’s dull. it hurts. like when it rots. it’s flashing fucker.

      a                                         drip.

I wipe need pulsatingness.

      now. I think its dead now. I            drip.

         charcoal sketch of the care? do I need it? do I baby-boy, she says.


                    soaked with dirt and blood. hand, please. I need it. what it says.

      my I grab some water from the and into the mess…

the should be alive. I should be barely. I’m outta my chair dead squirrel and the and times of dusty. that’s it. I smear it. I wipe it says on this mug. that’s tiny cabin. I walk through a right eye. half the world is the blueprints for whatever drip.

                  grow. something. hopefully. big pile of misery: the life chew my nails. I tap my spoonful after spoonful goes I need one new one.

         I step over the new mountain bike over and alive. it’s dead. dying. what a cartoon dinosaur gone now. it’s all dried up. they bleed. they drip. I I’m serious this time.

  ground. the cracked screen a golf ball. it pulses.

  I’m sick of it. sick of unfinished.

the phone. “yeah?” it’s her. pulsating…ness? bastard. it pops into now. it’s all I have right scoop.

      uncle pulsatingness. in my head. I stack of “meat is murder” foot. I chew my nails. I does she have one? does she shouts and hangs up.

     flickers and goes black.

 from my nephew. I forget how in, way more than the – scoop scoop scoop – hate it and I want a new nose on a “fur is fashion” tells me every time I sip good.

      maybe you                        cute.

      “I can’t keep now. it’s a delicious treat. evergreen and the books franky rules!!” that’s what me. she knows this. I know           drip.

          nails again. bite ‘em too something’s gonna be born. this. my head, especially phone. “it doesn’t work for need something else. I need it needs to be changed but      she owns every bit of the drink. it was a gift this. this pulse. this said. it’s dull I said. I and here I am again.

I can…” she begins.


      it squishes. from inside. the wound. like blinking cursor. the birdhouses and the spice pulse.

                   one! I drop my head into my it’s boring, I say. this reply? open up and say,      and I’m off to the at this point in my life racks and the painting of sparkly sparks on the tells me the way. I listen. and the plaster cast of the ring ring ring ring ring good. it’s no good! it’s all flyers. I wipe my bleeding sick of these same ones. I need anything? I just need iced tea is all I am right old he is but I scoop anyway have a new one?

      I dead.

      the mummy powerful. it’s the powerful ring ring ring

      the  ya know what ya gotta do


Stay tuned for Chapter 2.