I'm Chase. My writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Burningword, Thickjam, The Sigma Tau Delta Rectangle, and other places. I blog on the weekly. Sometimes it's more than that. My heroes are Gordon Ramsay and Hank Hill.
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Outstanding submissions: 12
Rejections: 4, form. Word Riot, theNewerYork, JCCA, Rust+Moth
I have words up in the new edition of Burningword with some other talented folks well as an essay on The Urban Times about hoaxes and how they become real in a somewhat-tangible sense.
Rejection has become the norm this past week. Four. In a row. Bam bam and then again and once more. It’s been a long week. There’s not much more to report on the writing front save for the fact I’m working on new things constantly.
Last weekend I returned as a guest to a haunted trail I used to work for. It’s under new leadership and a new name. Some of the attractions I helped build, some I even helped conceive, are still in use. They have fresh coats of paint and are covered in recycled black plastic sheets. Anything can look scary with a little black plastic, a swing-set, a barrel, pieces of farm equipment. I walked over the short bridge I helped nail together by the light from flashlights and cell phones over the course of many September nights three years ago, because that was the only time of day the Trail Managers could meet up and prepare for the opening season. We prepped under the same conditions we operated. It was surprisingly fitting. I love haunted attractions. I’m too much of a Midwesterner for my own good.
My tiny hometown of Connersville, Indiana was once again in the news this week and, like always, it’s never for any good reasons: the city has experienced twenty overdoses in twenty days, including five deaths. Heroin. It’s bad and getting worse. I don’t by any means know the extent of the drug trade but one of my friends told me this sort of thing happens when a dealer (or dealers) botched a bunch of their supply and sold it to the most unsuspecting of users. In this case, my hometown. Reports have stated that heroin, being cheaper to buy than weed or any other substance, has dealers and middlemen getting the most for their money. They are lacing their heroin with all sorts of toxins—rat poison chiefly among them.
I wrote a rant about it that was published by The Indy Star yesterday, but, of course, they absolutely butchered my piece, excising a good three fourths of the original. On one hand, I’m happy to have been a published in a newspaper that is read state-wide. I’m happy to have at least somewhat entered the conversation. But, really? Why do editors of state newspapers feel the need to edit the fuck out of an opinion piece? It wasn’t even that it didn’t meet Associated Press standards or whatever, it’s clear that they thought people wouldn’t be able to understand my perspective. That I had elevated the issue or something. I blamed the high number of heroin deaths on the town’s unwillingness to combat the issue at its core but all people got from it was that Connersville needs a methadone clinic, which is not what I’m stating. I’m simply pointing out that Connersville has NO treatment options. None. Not EVEN a methadone clinic. But I don’t necessarily believe Connersville needs one. I know the risks that come with operating these facilities. Believe me. I have too many relatives who have handed their lives over to this drug, some of whom ultimately lost their jobs, their homes, their families. Even their lives. All for a high. It’s a complicated issue that does not appear to be waning in any way, and it seems like small, poverty-stricken towns are always hit the hardest. We have to move past the idea of incarceration being the only way to deal with addicts. These people need help. It’s not a matter of being unwilling to ask for help. They don’t even have options. Connersville is failing on the basic principles of community. What Connersville has done in the past has failed. Twenty overdoses in twenty days. Hindsight is not always 20/20.
Why is butterscotch NOT butter and scotch?
A self-described history nerd, Mike Davis is a San Francisco-based artist who paints scenes stuck in another time. His detailed oil paintings are rife with personal symbolism and minuscule narratives, evoking Renaissance painters such as Hieronymus Bosch and Pieter Aertsen. Though he emulates the Northern Renaissance masters, Davis is entirely self-taught. He forayed into painting in his early twenties as an off-shoot of his tattoo career. The founding owner of esteemed San Francisco shop Everlasting Tattoo, Davis currently splits his time between his craft and his fine art, using his paintings as a cathartic processing tool to digest the events of his personal life. Read more on Hi-Fructose.
Talk about Bruegel-esque. On point.