The Words of Traitors: 7 Lives in Transition, 30 Day Crowdsource

NONE OF THESE MEMORIES ARE MINE ANYMORE. The divorce was amicable. It just didn’t work out. They’re great memories, don’t get me wrong. Honestly. Sad, brutal, we’ve lived hardtogether, and the truth is that I’m a little jealous that you’ll make them your own. It’s selfish. These memories can guide the lost, or offer comfort. Enough of them for seven people, compressed into snapshots, provided to you for the price of a bar of artisanal chocolate.

They’ll find a perfect home in your head—sending their roots into that verdant soil of the right mind, a mind like yours—and I’m sure before any of us know it, they will be yours entirely. To me, it will be as if they never were. We wouldn’t have a flicker of recognition if we passed one another on the street one rainy morning.

I hope you are happy together. Goodbye. —Jamie Curcio.

The truth about these stories. I was fighting chronic pain, I had to move, I was behind on payments, I was getting death threats, royalties from past books weren’t cutting it, and suddenly I had an infection in the nerves inside my teeth. No one in their right mind would choose THAT as the time to start churning out short stories, one every few days. But that is exactly what I did. 20,000 words in a month. When my laptop and desktops died or became unreliable, I started writing it on my cellphone because my handwriting, though it’s alright for notes, is just too slow and clumsy to write fiction with.

I packed my life into boxes and then unpacked them again, and in the process discovered that I had one parcel along with them: this freshly printed young manuscript, written in a month, which was (I was told quite a few times) bringing people to tears. 

At the end of the day no one knows anything about what good literature is, not really. But I do know that I made girls cry, and that has to count for something. (Though I hope it makes some of you laugh, in the end, as well.)

Now it is the time for these stories to be polished, for them to be paired with the art of some very talented artists, for a cover to be created — and most importantly — it is time for you to join us in the steps that come next. 

FUNDRAISER July 19, 2012 - Aug 19, 2012. 
MANY PERKS TO BE ANNOUNCED FOR YOUR CONTRIBUTION.

http://wordsoftraitors.tumblr.com
www.wordsoftraitors.com to be functional as soon as the DNS stops screwing around.

Goodnight, and good luck.

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Images of Happiness: The Tragic as Farce

I. After the End

Beyond the eight o'clock blue of August twilight

Lies the truth we now see, that in our grandeur and temerity,

We have outlived the <fin de notre Histoire>, and in our sur-vival

we bypassed this end, and yet stand suspended above the abyss that it is.

I have ever lacked the sense of endings, death and departure are the unknown

to me;

in me;

The deep blue sky, as it prepares to erupt, whispers to me,

that the end was always already completed, and elevates me

to that apex of poetic grandeur, from which I can see that

at the end of History, every ending has touched my heart, inscribing

seductively this truth – that every ending has been dear to me.

A crack of thunder shatters the immense silence of this kingdom of ends

Illuminated by the lightning bolt, this silence is exposed as refusal

– As an obscurantism of ends –

And shattered, torn to pieces, a new truth is born; that each and every ending

Has been but the inverted image of nascent beginnings waiting to be born.

The sense of our hypertelic Histoire will never again be the same,

for the lies of stillborn worlds have been exposed – even if

our Histoire was finished before it ever began, it is now possible

to inscribe on my heart, on our Histoire, a new truth – that the end

was no more than a beginning, and that death and departure have no sense,

are the absence of sense,

    except as rebirths in joyous non-sense