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Below you'll find some short stories McDaeth penned as well as his novel "Roads and Parking Lots" and an old column he wrote for Cake Magazine called "My Beautiful Blue Plastic Hammer"

Links to
theblankalbum.com
shineinreverse.com
uncoveringnirvana.com
weedspeterson.com


plaguedoctor.com
counterpunch.org
picassobriefcase.com

 
 

McDaeth wrote a novel:

"Roads and Parking Lots" is the story of Mick, a third generation American refugee from Northern Minnesota: tired, antsy, drunk, pot smoking, speeding, hitchhiking, stealing, fornicating, working dead end jobs, all the while reflecting on his childhood living with the demonic Old Man, the road ahead, the people he bumps up against. Its a goddamn hilarious and grief filled ride through his gray gray gray.

Roads and Parking Lots is available in paperback and pdf download only at lulu.com CLICK HERE to BUY a copy.

 

Excerpt from Hitchhiking Story No. 3 from Roads and Parking Lots

I stood next to the freeway on a late Sunday morning in Jacksonville, Florida. Church was out for the week and I was ducking all the shit the good Christians were throwing at me from their cars as they passed: Shoes, beer cans, clothes hangers, insults (near as I could tell anyway), bibles, cigarettes, cigarette lighters, Rand McNally’s, crayons, trees, buildings, lakes, mountains, manifest destiny, history itself came tumbling out the windows of America’s sedan-wagon-pickup – all of them riding the horn...

Short Stories

 

 
 
click to read "Black Hole" click to read "My Sister" click to read "Ditches"
Was a man once: burned out, grimaced in white knuckles and perfect nails, an emptied jubilee, a failed suicide, a pock marked soul in ash blue ensemble. All for a speck on a x-ray missed by the passing eye like a haystack from twenty nine thousand feet. A tiny black hole that slowly burned its way through his bones; ratcheting him downward one vertebrae at a time and pulling you down as well... read the rest

My sister was seven when she first had the idea that she could walk on water. She practiced on mud puddles in tinker bell shoes - pulling her skirt up, stretching her neck out and angling her head down to get a better view. "Hmm, I can't tell. What do you think? "I can't tell either, maybe we need a deeper puddle." "What do you mean we, I don't see you doing anything." Then she pushed me down and walked away in search of some other... read the rest

I'm squatting down down down and crapping in ditch water ankle deep while Sunday morning grandmas, making for early church meetings, peek out their passing window seat and see me half way done in the gray dawn early light. "Oh my goodness gracious." In Midwest sweet, looking again in disbelief, "oh my goodness gracious" now imprinted on the brain with such design it's shoved from the mind with forced thoughts of blue birds and rhubarb pie... read the rest


My Beautiful Blue Plastic Hammer

read a brand new "My Beautiful Blue Plastic Hammer" @ picassobriefcase.com click here
"My Beautiful Blue Plastic Hammer" a column written by m for CAKE Magazine back in 95/96 - acid reflux meets garlic man. Clicking the magazine cover above will lead you to the corresponding column. It's your life.

copyright 1995 - 2006 by michael mcdaeth