Wednesday, April 30, 2008


I went to Texas this weekend. Went to hang out with my friend Lori and see what Austin is all about. I'm city shopping at the moment, trying to figure out where why and how to live, and Austin sounded cool. I mean, yeah, 100+ degrees underwater�but cool.

I fly out Thursday morning. On the way, the landscape below is bizarre. After I cross the Rocky Mountains, everything goes completely and utterly flat all the way to the horizon, like a poorly rendered landscape in an old video game. It's even divided by farm lots into perfectly geometrical grids. Very Tron.

I'm sitting next to a lady in her mid 60s from Detroit. We strike up a conversation that gets deep extremely fast, plummeting like a bathyscaph into dark depths of personal tragedy and profundity. Her husband just died a year ago. She has no one left except her daughter, who she's going to be visiting in Austin. She tells me about her Grief Groups and how pretty much all her friends now are fellow Griefers. She says she thinks she may be addicted to going to these groups, and I think of Fight Club but figure she wouldn't appreciate the reference. She tells me she feels like she's pretty much starting over from scratch, trying to figure out where to live and what to do with the rest of her life. I remark that we're in pretty similar places in life, her and I, except on opposite ends of age. We share a world-weary nod and look out the window. We haven't even exchanged names yet.

As we near Austin, clouds of smoke billow out of the plane's air vents. After five minutes of letting us assume we're about to burn alive in midair, the pilot casually mentions that it's just condensation steam. It continues to blast out even after we've landed and are deplaning. It's like a Halloween party up in here. I wonder if the flight attendants and pilots dress up like ghouls or zombies for Halloween. Might make some people uncomfortable, I would think.

When I arrive in Austin it's something like 85 degrees. I learn that during the summer months people pretty much don't go outside at all, they just hole up in houses and vehicles and suck down air conditioning. You need a space suit for the trips between car and home. Out in the sun, you can feel your internal organs sweating.

Lori suggests visiting various local attractions, but since I am fairly anti-tourist and prefer the unbeaten path, we pretty much just go to restaurants and bars and walk around and do normal stuff. The feel of Austin is somewhere between Seattle and LA. Plenty of bands and hipsters, but also plenty of buff Marine-looking dudes and tan babes glistening brown in barely-there blouses. There are cool shops and bars everywhere, all with vast outdoor seating. Everything is a bit more open and easy-access. You can smoke indoors. Grocery stores sell liquor. Stop lights run horizontally instead of up and down. There are bizarre little black birds with glowing yellow eyes who make chirps exactly like the bloops and waaohws of an old analog synthesizer.

Friday night I go with Lori to her friend's wedding. This is the first time I've been to a wedding where I don't know the bride, groom, or any of the guests. It feels a little surreal, being a complete stranger at such a warm human celebration. I feel like an alien visitor observing the event from outer space.
Who are these fascinating little beings? What are they doing down there?
Oh look, an open bar.

I am lying spread-eagle in the grass of the orchard outside the wedding area, staring up at the sky while a rusty metal windmill creaks above me. Suddenly, without warning, the scorching hot evening explodes into a violent thunderstorm. The wedding facility, an Alamo-ish castle of stone and mortar, is suddenly inundated with thick, pummeling rain. Within an hour or so, every sensible person has left the reception, and only the hardcore remain. The hardcore are, of course, raging drunk. There are wild dance parties in the fierce rain while the entire place is lit a surreal purple by nearly constant lightning. I encounter a soaked woman huddled against the wall sobbing into her hands. She waves me away when I ask if she's ok. Oh, and me and Lori's ride home is gone now too.

Lori and I fumble with a phone trying to call a cab. No one seems to know exactly where this place is. The cab company hangs up on us. Finally, we land a ride with some of her friends, and I find myself sprawled out in the bed of a truck driven through the muddy streets by drunken Texans I've never met.

The rest of my stay is pretty uneventful. We go to a party. I meet Lori's friends, and receive yet more confirmation that gorgeous people only hang out with other gorgeous people, like tribes, like species. We go to various restaurants and bars. We seem to be drinking a lot. We remember details of the nights before only later in the day. We are plagued by inexplicable headaches and fatigue. Where the hell did I get these grill marks on my fingers? Oh right, when I tried to pull the pizza out of the oven with my bare hands.
I guess I'm living the authentic TX experience. Might just go ahead and move here.

P.S --- Many of you have gotten my book The Inside recently and some of you have started reading it. When you finish, if you have anything good to say about it, I'd love it if you could email me your comments. Not because I crave praise, but because I want to use your "reviews" as review blurbs to try to help sell copies. You don't have to sound like Booklist, just a quick sentence or paragraph saying what you thought of it. Thanks!

Please send your thoughts to:

isaacinspace at

Monday, April 21, 2008


Just to recap everything about the printing of my novel, The Inside:

I have done another print run of 100 copies. (Curently 88 remaining)
I really hope you folks buy them, because my older brother fronted the money, and he has been known to collect his debts By Any Means Necessary. Let's just say when people call him "Old Hammer Toes" they're not referring to a podiatrical condition...

So, here's the deal. Books are 14$ each. Shipping overseas is possible, but costs 12$ instead of 3$ for US shipping.


If you order now, or whenever you feel like ordering, you'll receive not only a copy of the hit semi-autobiographical romance/psychological thriller The Inside, you'll also receive a FREE BONUS copy of the hit album Dead Children, by the hit Seattle group Isaac Marion's Moon Colony!




Ahem. So, that's the scoop. To find out more about The Inside and read the first 90 pages, go HERE

To just go ahead and buy it, go HERE

NOTE----If you want your copy signed, please email me and let me know! I won't be signing anything unless you specifically ask for that graffiti.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Thoughts From the Wayback

When I was a kid my family drove a Plymouth Valari station wagon the color of dirt, which was a popular color for a lot of things back then, like houses and carpets. The kids sat in the back, but if there was no room we had to sit in the trunk space, which we called the "wayback". I think we sat on the spare tire. This kind of thing was ok back then because people didn't find out about car wrecks until the early 90s.

The ceiling of the car had millions of tiny holes in it, and if you looked up and let your eyes blur they would turn 3D like a magic eye picture. We would look at them and go "Woaaahhh". We didn't need drugs or sex or TV or video games back then. We had the ceiling.

I have no memory of my pre-pottytrained years, and I feel like I'm really missing out on that. I should try wearing adult diapers for a day and just pissing and shitting the shit out of myself. Just for a day. Just to see what it's like.

They make canned chickens. Whole chickens, whole intact chickens, that come in a giant can. I bought one once just to see what it was like. I tried to pull it out of the can but the body fell apart in my hand like jelly. Was I supposed to spread an entire animal on my toast?

When I was a kid I had a bedtime routine. Every night I would get in my bed and pull out a route-instructions disc from the box on my headboard, put it in my bed's navigation computer, and launch off to some unknown destination. My bed was an oceanfaring seacraft, see. But every night was the same. These fighter planes would start circling overhead and attack me. My blankets were bulletproof, so I'd cover myself in the blanket and press the buttons on the side of my mattress that made the missiles shoot out and blow up the planes. Why did those guys keep trying? My bed was a legendary warship. What were they thinking? Every goddamn time.

Around the same age, I had a pet squirrel. Well it was plastic, duh. But it was still a squirrel. It had "fur". Little velvet fuzz fur. It was my best friend. Sometimes our church had youth group at our house. One time the youthgroup kids found my squirrel and plucked all the velvet fuzzfur off him. When I found him he was just bald white plastic. I think that's why I reject organized religion. I definitely blamed God for what happened to my squirrel.

One of the ways I felt alone and isolated as a kid was that pretty much no one else in my family liked tapioca pudding as much as I did.

Maybe another reason I quit going to church was because I smashed my mouth into a bloody pulp twice during church services. The first time I tripped and fell against the wooden pulpit. I jammed my tooth all the way through my lower lip. I still have the scar. The second time I tripped and fell against the church steps. I broke a couple of my front teeth out. My adult teeth now are crazy because of it. Oh and another time I accidentally lit a match in my coat pocket with my fingernail during prayer, but couldn't scream or anything because it was during prayer. It melted my fingernail and burned a hole in my coat, through which down feathers poofed out for at least two years. I guess maybe I was also pretty clumsy and stupid.

Friday, April 18, 2008


Ok, the people have spoken, many of them in Portuglish, and I decided I have enough support to risk another print run. Guess what? This time I'm printing 100 copies. So, don't let me down, folks. Tell your friends! No seriously, tell you friends. Unless you read it and hate it. Then don't tell your friends.

Check it out HERE

Sunday, April 13, 2008


Well I can hardly believe it but 2 days after getting my books from the printers, all 50 copies are already sold. Apologies to those of you who asked me to hold one for you, I would have loved to but it's a first-come first-serve kinda situation...when you're trying to pay off a printing debt, money talks, unfortunately.

I was amazed at the total lack of geographical congruity in these sales, you guys are all over the map! Look at this, I sent books to the following places:

New York
North Carolina

So, since the books flew off the shelves like hot sweet sexy flying pancakes, now the question is do I print another 50? I'm nervous to do so because I don't want to get stuck with the debt again if the flow of readers tapers off suddenly. So, if you are pretty sure you'd like to buy a copy, please email me at ISAAC IN SPACE AT GMAIL.COM and let me know. If I get enough interest to feel safe about it, I'll print another run. Don't just comment here, I need a real email so I can tally them up. And as we all know it's easy to drop a comment, but to send an actual EMAIL? That takes true commitment. And that's what I need.

Thank you tons to everyone who bought a copy! I hope you love it.

Also, I apologize to those of you who either asked for your copy to be signed or were expecting it to the heat of the moment, I entirely forgot to sign any of them. No, this is NOT because I feel ridiculous signing autographs for anything when I'm waking up at 6 tomorrow to work for a sub-coffeestand wage and save money for some socks without holes in them. I just forgot. That's all. I'm sorry.


Saturday, April 12, 2008

Launch Day!

Ok dear reader types, I got my books from the printers yesterday, and mailed out all the current orders this morning. Let me tell you, it was a little uncomfortable walking into the post office carrying THREE GARBAGE SACKS full of packages. Oh how I could feel the glares of the massive line behind me boring into the back of my neck as I piled stacks upon stacks of packs onto the post office desk.

Three garbage sacks, you ask? Yes, to my astonishment I've already gotten rid of 37 copies! I want to express a HUGE thank you to all you people who came through to support indie lit, I'm really mindblown by the response. I was expecting to have this printing debt cling on for a long time but lo and behold, I only have 12 copies left. So thanks so much, guys, it really warms my heart that you're willing to throw down cash like that in good faith for an unofficial homemade back-alley novel. It may even restore my hope that the written word isn't dead yet.

So, let me point out again that I only have TWELVE (12) copies left, so if you're planning on ordering one, better do it now or you're gonna be left behind like the rapture.

Saturday, April 5, 2008


Friends of the internet, I've been murmuring about this for a while, and now it's here. For those of you who enjoy my short stories, which are usually no more than a few pages long, it may surprise you to find out that I wrote a whole entire novel, thick enough to smash a bee with and then keep hitting it until there's nothing left but yellowish-black goo. The novel is dual-use like that, you see. It's called THE INSIDE, and I've been working on it for over 6 years. (Cue Stewie Griffin rising-pitch monologue) It is now FINISHED.

So now the situation is this: Yes, I may have the opportunity to get it published sometime in the future, but if that happens, it's going to be a long time before we ever see it in bookstores. So in the mean time, I am having 50 copies printed and made into beautiful little books, with covers and back covers and spines and everything. They will look JUST LIKE A REAL BOOK! One or two of them may even feature a tiny chip that plays music when you open it.* (Like a Walkman.)

I settled on the number 50 because I figure that's about the number of people in Washington who read books. I know it may seem like a high estimate, but we DO have Seattle, which is the #1 Most Literate City in America, so there's got to be at least 15 readers just right there. The catch here is that those 50 books are costing me 750$ to have made. Guess who's going into debt again? Thiiiis guy.

So, as much as I'd love to just give the books away or put it all up for free online, I need to sell them to recoup my costs. That's where you come in, dear readers. Local music gets PLENTY of support, how about supporting local literature for once?

Please go check out the BOOK TRAILER AND ORDER PAGE, and read the first 90 pages online. It's my hope to have you hooked by then. So put down your Wii stick and close your Youtube for a second, and remember what it was like to sit down in a comfy chair and read a super-limited edition signed copy of an independently published psychological thriller/love story written by a 26 year old lobster trainer.

P.S By "local" I mean everywhere in the world where people do things on their own without the support of massive companies. So I don't care if you live in Ohio, Florida, California, or Samoa, you can still join the party.

* (Not true. This will never be.)