Bye bye monastery.
Ryan Day
New Story at The Toucan Literary Magazine
You can read it online at the link above, or if you want a copy and live in Chicago you can pick up the magazine at Quimby’s.
A story at Fictionaut
Playing with Photoshop. Jesus look’n bad.
I thought this was awesome.
I still don’t know how something I scribbled in a hurry at 3am got so many notes in the space of a day? Shakespeare is clearly too awesome. I spelt “bated” wrong, awk :) Someone said this looks like a serial killer’s notebook, which made me laugh a lot. They’re not wrong, I’ve been a sleep deprived zombie lately.
A Señora setting up shop in Peñiscola.
Hermitage
We decided to walk from Vináros to the ermita outside of the city.
The day’s strangest sight.
No Hay Sol
The tent city that occupied Madrid’s capital since I got back a month ago finally disbanded this past Sunday. 
.
Gluttony, your name is…
I went to see Sherman Alexie speak tonight. He was hilarious. Better than most stand-ups. Afterwards my friend wanted to get him to sign her book, only she forgot her book. She asked him to sign a notecard. He asked her what her name was. Then he asked her what it meant. She said, ‘it means beloved.’
He looked at me, assuming, quite naturally, that I was her boyfriend, which I was in fact not, and asked ‘is she? Beloved?’
I smiled broadly at my feet and said, ‘I don’t know,’ which answer was unquestionably a stupid one, because now I looked not only like a boyfriend to my friend, but in fact a shitty shitty boyfriend. Plus, it wasn’t so nice from a friendship perspective. I mean, just because she isn’t my beloved doesn’t mean I don’t belove her.
He read a poem about being the first Indian to eat at a certain small town on the coast of Spain. Of stuffing himself silly. Of owning gluttony as if it were his own name. Only, at the poems end he finds out he is the second Indian to eat there. Sitting Bull beat him to it.
He said a pow wow was where white people go to take pictures of dancing Indians. I laughed and felt ashamed because I went to a hoop dancing competition last Saturday at the Heard Museum and took pictures of dancing Indians. I’d never done that before. I swear. Synchronicity.
He referred to a picture of a nebula as God’s balls.
That’s when it all made sense.
