Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary

You will have heard it's hot. It's so hot a woman pulled out her right breast to get some air. Josh and I were taking a walk, and we were about to cross paths with this woman. I thought she had her arms crossed, and I was seeing her elbow, but that meant she had three arms, and no, it was a smooth black boob. The woman didn't look at us. It's just so hot out there. I've been dreaming about scorpions.

Josh is in a play about DADA. It's about the literary DADA, not the visual art DADA. Josh and I went to art school, so we know the material. It's hard with history. I feel like it dies getting to me, and all I have to look at are the bones. That's fine, though. I wanted to be a paleontologist. I like bones. This play is better than bones. It's set up like a cabaret. The actors have a lot of fun with sound poetry and manifestos. Everyone is attractive and excited. There's one more show on Friday, so go, please go.

I took my shirt off and swam in a pool for the first time in maybe two years. There are Speedos, and then there are Speedos. Speedos are the illusion of clothing, and I'm on-board with that illusion. One man in a Speedo climbed out of the pool, and his Speedo slipped enough for some well-made ass to fall out. Speedos are like Band-Aids in that they always fall off when they're wet. I looked at my friend and said, "I got what I came for," and she said, "I know, right?" It's good to be in agreement. Two other men had Speedos, and they apologized for them, but we all waved our hands and said, "Oh no, it's fine." And it was. It was very fine indeed.

Molly Laich interviewed me. I forgot to tell you about it, but here you go. She came dangerously close to saying my name three times in a row. We know what comes of that. Nothing good.

Burter and Erl

I don't know many of the men in my neighborhood, but I've given a lot of them honorary boyfriend status. There's the pizza boyfriend, because he works at the pizza place and walks by my house to get to work. He smokes and always wears shorts and never wears socks. Pizza boyfriend looks like a young Allen Ginsberg by way of James Franco. I know, I know, and I could say I'm sorry, but I'm not.

There's an entire house of new boyfriends across the street. I haven't seen any of them up close. They wear soccer jerseys and sit on their porch and read a lot. That's all I need. They share a motorcycle. One of them mows the lawn in khakis. It's ridiculous, but that's fine because he has to mow uphill, and those khakis do favors.

It's the hottest summer on record, and I'm really into bread baking. There's bread in the oven right now. I can't breathe when I go in the kitchen. I'm losing my belly, so I'm walking around the house shirtless in the heat. I'm very pale, like the underside of a snake, if you're into that sort of thing. I touch my arms all the time. I like to feel progress being made.

Josh is in a show about DADA. If you're local, you should see it. If you're not local, well, I can't help you.

I haven't talked about the book in a while. I'm almost done. Don't worry about it. It's a good book.

One of my best little stories is at matchbook. They're excited about it. I'm excited about it. We're all excited about it. It's time you got excited about it, too. It's another in a long line of penis tales. Go read. 

Oh my G. I hate telling people what to do.

Here Is Where

I hate running about as much as I hate making small talk about pets, but I ran this weekend, and I liked it. My legs are sore, and I like that, too. It reminds me of when I worked at the museum and stood there in a rental suit and got my nose dirty in other people's business. I had to say no a lot, and I hate saying no. There were other good guards who liked saying no. There were no guards who looked good in their suits. I had no idea about anyone's body shape, but there was this one guy who had a big, beautiful writing desk of an ass, and he stretched that nasty pant fabric as far as it would go.

My body is going through changes. I stretched my arms over my head the other day, and my friend said, "Do I see muscles?" This is fun because I've never had muscles. Now I have a few. I put a tank top in the rotation, and it got me a few good stares from this hot guy at the Indian buffet. We can blame the holiday. Fireworks look like electric pubes, and everyone was in the mood.

Josh's birthday was yesterday, too. The highlight of that was walking around the neighborhood last night and smelling the fireworks. The trees were too tall to see anything, but Josh loves the smell of fireworks, so happy birthday Josh.

I have some stories coming out this summer. You'll read them or you won't. They'll be there anyway.

My family is getting together in Virginia this weekend. There's no way it'll happen for me to be there this year, and that's a real shame. The Missouri River has nothing on the James River.

Once, when I was afraid of my body, I wore a white polo shirt to cover my belly at the beach. I was in the direct sun, and it was so hot. I was keeping an eye on my cousins while my grandmother took a break under the trees. My cousins wanted to walk down the beach, and I said they could go as long as they didn't go too far. They went too far. I couldn't see them anymore. I looked back to the parking lot. My grandmother was smoking and sitting on a rock wall and reading a book.

The beach was on the James River. A replica colonial ship was coming in to dock. The ship had cannons. I was scared I'd really messed up, but my cousins came back, and they were fine. They'd picked up some crab claws and wanted to keep them as souvenirs. I said no. I said they'd fall apart and start to smell.

My cousins wanted me to swim after lunch. I kept my shirt on and said it was because I didn't want to burn. We went to a lake later that week, and there was a guy who finally convinced me to take my shirt off. He said it was too hot for me to be wearing heavy cotton. I couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses. I could just see the puddle of my belly reflected back at me. There are pictures on Facebook. You can see me pale and happy to be in the dirty water. You can see me drunk and wincing, soft and shirtless in the sun.

Cave Mystery

For the first time, I wrote a script for a wedding ceremony for my friends, and Josh officiated. The wedding was in a public park. Josh and I wore almost the same clothes. People called us Mormons like Mormons were the first to think of dressing in black and white. Mormons don't have mustaches.

The bride and groom have always been the cutest straight couple I know. They both sew. They own a haunted mandolin that plays songs from inside its case. Their daughter will be unrivaled in practical skills. They spent the right amount of money on their wedding, which was the cost of cigarettes and beer for everyone involved.

Some people gave toasts, which were old, funny stories from college. I didn't give a toast. The bride and I were in studio once, and the bride said I would be the first person she forgot when we graduated. That's how I knew she wouldn't forget me. I sometimes suspect she's my sister. I have a toast for her, but it can't go anywhere but a letter.

I made a pie like I always make a pie. Someone drunk joked about how there must have been a sale on graham cracker crusts at the dollar store. I have a hard time raising my voice out of the cave of my throat, but I managed to say, "HOW DARE YOU. I made this butter crust by hand." I don't think the drunk someone heard me. Josh often repeats what I say so at least people will hear. They think Josh has good jokes. I don't mind. It's my schtick to just give this stuff away.

The truth about everywhere I've lived is there are bugs in the summer. I like walking at night. Josh and I went to a concert Saturday night and walked the three miles home from downtown. That's a lot of cockroaches we saw. I told one of my friends I like not having a car because I like walking, and he said, "Don't say that," like I'd just said something bad about a dead person. "You'll get a car someday," he said. He's in advertising and maybe thinks I just haven't met the right brand. I've heard that argument about other parts of my life.

I was at the bus stop, and I saw a man stumbling in yards and chasing after a white rabbit. The man was homeless. He'd been standing at the stoplight outside a sandwich shop. He was going to eat the rabbit. A mother and son were also at the bus stop. The son asked his mother why the man was chasing the rabbit, and the mother said, "That's not a rabbit. That man's dog just got away from him is all." The man saw us watching. He waved his hands like, "DON'T LOOK AT ME."

Flat Snake

It's summer, so I've been to some gatherings. Parties. Dinners. My college roommate was in town. That meant drinks and food and tarot card readings. I can't tell you what was revealed. It's none of your business. I can say we were at a bar, and I saw a guy look good in a tank top, and now I want a tank top. It's not so much I think I'll look good in a tank top; it's I think I'll look amazing in a tank top. If you're feeling like a generous stranger, I take out the guesswork at TANK TOPS FOR CASEY HANNAN.

We're still car-free. Josh and I walk to the grocery store, which is nice. We saw a flattened black snake today. When I was a kid, there was a reptile zoo in Kentucky with all these venomous snakes. When I went, the guy who ran the zoo was milking a rattlesnake. The guy was missing parts of some of his fingers. He had a cobra out later. The cobra was flaring its hood, and the man was dancing around it with a stick. People were sitting in a circle like the cobra was a campfire. A few years later, there was bad flooding, and some of those snakes got out and were never found.

Another thing about walking is who cares?

One of the parties I went to last week was an actor party. The actors seemed really interested in my book, and so naturally I couldn't trust anything they said. They asked what I was working on, and I told them about my collection of short stories, and they said, "You don't hear that everyday!" Except I do hear that everyday.

There was food at the actor party, but not much eating. There was drinking and smoking, and that's why all the actors were skinny. The actors were cute, of course, and the cutest one peed in the bushes, but it was dark, and the bushes kept their secrets.

I have a secret, and you're the last to know it. My story, "Ghost Water," is the June web exclusive at American Short Fiction. There's also an interview and a picture of me looking serious. One of my eyes is larger than the other. I'm told this is common.

These Men Wonder at a Star

It's warm. I've rolled my jeans to the knees. All sorts of people go by the house. One of the people is shirtless and running. Another is crying and hugging her purse.

A crying woman once asked me for a cigarette and I felt so awful for not having cigarettes. I was holding a small box of frozen mice and the crying woman thought it was a pack of cigarettes. I explained, but the woman was already walking.

I haven't smoked a cigarette in a few weeks. The last time I smoked a cigarette, I didn't really smoke it. I just held it in my fingers and my friend told me I held it like I was rich. No one taught me to smoke. I've watched my grandmother, though, and that's where I picked up the form. It's from when smoking was part of a person's social presentation. Everyone smoked in the past.

One of my friends has a vapor cigarette. It's a long, electronic tube of metal. The tip glows green when you suck in. It looks like a dog whistle for robot dogs. The vapor is flavored, but all the flavors are crushed candy. When you breathe out, the vapor is white and thick as pot smoke.

I saw some shirtless men sitting on their front stairs giving each other haircuts. I have a list of situations I find attractive. The haircuts one is only surpassed by the one where a gap-toothed man crosses the street carrying a case of beer on his shoulder. It's been a lucky week because I've come across both of these situations. The gap-toothed man wasn't smoking, but that's the optional ingredient in the recipe.

It's been a lucky month, really. My story, "Other Sons" from SmokeLong Quarterly, made the wigleaf top 50. I got my first check for a story you'll read in June. I looked in the mirror and smiled because I've been working out and I can finally see the change. I was around at the right time to watch my snake shed her skin. It was like watching someone try to take off their shirt after a workout. I wanted to help my snake, but I have this policy about disrupting the natural order of things.

I will swat a fly, though. If it needs doing.
  

Cutting Off the Nose

My birthday was Sunday. I was born in West Virginia in the mountains. My grandmother and I went looking for the exact place a few years ago. We couldn't find it. There's a place called Hurricane, West Virginia. There's also a place called Nitro, West Virginia. The interstate is carved out of mountains. You can look down into towns if the fog isn't bad. Kansas City sits on hills, too, but no one outside Kansas City knows that. They all ask if the flatness makes me crazy, but I have to drive a little before I can even see the horizon. It's been a couple months since I've had a car to drive.

I've started having nightmares I have to drive a car and can't do it. The roads have changed and I can't read the signs. Josh has these dreams, too. He's a non-driver. I also dream of going back east this summer. However it happens, it won't be because I drove.

Every year, there's a family reunion at a lake in North Carolina. We swim across the lake and we're in Virginia. There's a little beach there and we try to be quiet because we go at midnight, but sometimes it's not possible to kill our joy. We swim back by way of a large rock where the water is cold and the catfish brush our legs. A lot of the family stay in the lake house they've owned for 30 years, but the house is sold now. I don't know what we'll do. I didn't go last year and now I won't go again, at least there, at that lake. I cried. Sue me.

Josh is in a play. I've told you that. You should go. There's a show tonight at 8 and tomorrow at 8 and Monday at 8. The tickets are 15 dollars. Monday night they're 10. Josh is the real deal, kids. I didn't know it, but I do now. I mean, Jesus, really. He can't drive a car, but he can be funny when he needs to be. 

I got news of a big story acceptance last week. I don't like saying where until it hits, so I won't. You'll know in June.

Josh and I walk everywhere and sometimes people in trucks whistle or yell. I get mad. There are stories I could tell. I'm too mad to tell them. What makes me mad is those people whistling and yelling are gay, too. In some way, they're queer and they hate it and so they hate Josh and they hate me. I hope they find a little quiet time to be men with other men. If I had one wish.