Types of Lies by Andrew James Weatherhead

I’m an extraordinarily slow reader.

I’ve never had stitches or broken a bone.

I don’t like cats but I also haven’t spent much time around any.


The car I’ve driven the most is a minivan.

I’ve said no to drugs on many occasions.

During my first poetry workshop the teacher said to me: “I don’t think you’re supposed to be talking now.”

One word that terrifies me is “fuselage.”

I don’t know if I’ve been to the Grand Canyon or not.

It took me four and a half years to graduate college.

As a kid I tried to set the record for longest time spent in pajamas but the stopwatch ran out after six hours.

In middle school I tried to impress a girl by saying “I’m bleeding.”

I once delivered a pizza to Scott Turow, the novelist.

I watched The Crow the other night but I don’t know why.

It’s raining as I’m writing this.


My interest in sex is almost purely aesthetic.

I’ve never landed a kickflip but I’ve told people I have.

Since 2006, I’ve received over 10,000 emails.  I’m sure others have received more.

The biggest difference between Alien and Aliens, as far as I can tell, is the number of aliens.

I’ve never been diagnosed with a sleeping disorder but I’ve often had trouble sleeping.

I find some women so beautiful it’s hard to look at them.

I like Henry Rollins but I wish he’d drop the histrionics.


When I was 7, a person pulled down my swimsuit at the beach as a joke.

I still have to close my eyes during parts of The Shining.

I’m 5’9” but my driver’s license says I’m 5’11”.

I weigh 152 lbs.

I’ve gone days without speaking to anybody.

Things I’ve stolen include a toy shark, two notebooks, and a digital camera, which I returned.

I can’t wink and I don’t like to whisper.

I like baseball but I don’t like it that much.

I woke up to 12 emails this morning.  I’m sure others have woken up to more.


I used to have this nightmare in which sound waves were visible.

Sometimes I wish I could shoot fire out of my penis.

Prompted by a segment on NPR, I realized I’d die for my integrity but I’m still not sure what it is I’m living for.

My shoes cost $35 but they’re worth way more than that.

I think the Black Flag recording of “Louie, Louie” is one of the most embarrassing songs by a band I otherwise like.

I’m not really sure what The Christian Science Monitor is.

I’ve only been in one fight, which I lost.

Hey Dogblr! Just a heads up that the Maryland Dept of Agriculture has issued a Stop Sale on Stella and Chewy’s freeze dried chicken patties due to the detection of Listeria. This is a popular commercial raw diet and Listeria is no joke. This isn’t my image, I’m just spreading the word.

“Listeria is not only dangerous to dogs, it can also be deadly to small children, the elderly and those with auto immune disorders. Consumers who have unopened bags of this dog food are urged to keep it sealed, away from people and to throw it away. Those who have opened bags of this dog food are urged to use disposable gloves, place them in double plastic bags, seal it and throw it away.”


because every night i scream at myself.

i smash various fragile objects in my apartment.

i pick up a vase. how did this vase even get here i don’t know but i’m going to smash it.

then i scream bloody murder at myself some more.

i open up all the windows so other people in my quiet neighborhood can hear me scream

bloody murder.

when nobody calls the cops on me i call the cops on myself.

when the cops finally show up and ask dude what’s wrong? i say

arrest me! i’m a friggin’ lunatic!

and they say

what have you even done to yourself man?

i shrug and wipe the drool from my chin and yell i don’t know! but i am extremely disturbed!

this is a domestic disturbance you guys! i am disturbing myself domestically!

every night the two cops look at each other and then look back at me.

they say calm
the heck down bro

and then they get in their car and drive away.

every night this frustrates me a lot and then i remember that calling the cops for “no reason”

is definitely a crime

so i call the cops on myself for calling the cops on myself for “no reason.”

every night the same two cops return to my apartment and i whisper

will you guys please just put me in jail already.

every night the two cops look at each other and then they look back at me.

they say we are like

so tired of this.

just take a deep breath.

do you think there is any common ground between you and yourself?
i say totes and point to my chest

they ask what are you like in love or somethin’?

and i say

it’s terrible!

John Mortara

So Long

I used your ID card for two years

after you were gone,

not just because I wanted liquor

and entry to bars,

but because I enjoyed pretending I was you.

I donʼt look much like you looked.

I am not so tall.

I donʼt have blond hair.

I guess those bouncers

went by what was printed

on the card and ignored

what they saw in front of them.

Maybe they were like me

and wanted to believe

you were alive.

Youʼd just been away,

but now you were back,

walking into the bar to grab a beer.

I carried your picture ID around

like a portable icon.

Iʼd rub my thumb

over your laminated face

and pray for your soul.

And my soul.

With your picture in my pocket

and a little liquor in my bloodstream,

all things were possible.

California bouncers

are a whole other breed.

When they shredded the card,

I felt like you were dying

all over again.

I took a swing, but suffice to say,

I came out the worse for it.

I came to down on the pavement,

sputtering blood. I had been

with people, earlier in the evening.

Either they made it inside, or they fled

when the violence started.


Ben Nadler

Ken Baumann is an actor, writer, and the publisher of Sator Press. He was the co-founder/co-editor of NO COLONY, one of the best literary journals on the planet. His first book SOLIP is out now from Tyrant Books. He has a new, more plot-driven book in the works, and KTBAFC has published excerpts of it online and in print. You can read a new excerpt of it in the new print issue of KTBAFC, currently available for pre-order.

Ken Baumann @ KTBAFC website


This week:

  • Our monthly series DISH is back with Industry City Distillery, Egg restaurant, Robin Shulman (author of Eat the City) and more.
  • And Thursday we celebrate issue 3 of the literary magazine Keep This Bag Away from Children. It has a dinosaur in a dress on the front, it’s guaranteed to be great.
  • Friday is Happy Day Happy Hour! Celebrate summer Fridays while you still can by drinking beer and wine in a bookstore, like a boss.
A List of Games I Used to Play With My Parents

1. Two-headed girl. My dad would ask me if I wanted to play two-headed girl. I’d yell no and mean it. He’d put his head on my shoulder and press down hard. Two-headed girl.

2. At Christmastime, my parents would give me Post-its and tell me I could write questions to Santa and put them on my stocking and then he would answer the questions while he was eating his milk and cookies. One year I got smart and asked my parents to write down the temperature of the North Pole on a piece of paper when it was still autumn. I folded the piece of paper and hid it beneath my socks. When it came time for me to ask Santa my questions, I wrote down: “What is your favorite food? What are you giving Mrs. Claus for Christmas? What temperature is it on the North Pole?”

On Christmas day, I ignored the first two Post-it notes. I ripped the third one off my stocking and took it to my room to compare it with the handwriting samples. Just as I thought. Both of the answers exactly the same, both in my father’s handwriting: 0 degrees F.

3. I knew what ‘evaporated’ meant before I learned to read. I would hide under the covers, waiting for my parents to come kiss me goodnight. My dad would walk in and said, “Oh no. Where’s Julie? She must have evaporated.”

Keep reading

Happy Holidays from our ISSUE 3 Elves! (Noah Cicero, Mike Bushnell, Elaine Sun, Timothy Willis Sanders, & DJ Berndt)

Keep Away is having a HUGE HOLIDAY SALE, stuff is ½ OFF, it’s pretty magical.

If you buy the Piles of Poetry option, it is now $15 (with the Piles of Poetry, you get both in-stock print issues, a spoken word mix tape, a chapbook, and a t-shirt! It’s hard to even find a t-shirt for $15 anywhere, and that’s just like, the bonus item in that package of sweet stuff- wow wow wow omg)

If you buy either print issueyou get the other one free ($8) (that means you’re getting each issue for $4- crayyyyy- and they include work that you can’t get anywhere else by some great authors, including: Noah Cicero, Melissa Broder, Erik Stinson, Michael Seidlinger, Chelsea Martin, Elaine Sun, Ken Baumann, Elizabeth Ellen, King Stimie, Yasmin Belkhyr, Chris Killen, Timothy Willis Sanders, Maia Ibar, Andrew James Weatherhead, Fernando Garcia, David Fishkind, and more)

If you order now, you’ll get em some time shortly after Christmas. Right when you think you’ve already opened all of your presents and the fun is over, the fun will arrive in your mailbox and you’ll be happy for a little bit again.

Go to the Keep Away site to check out the HOLIDAY SALE

THE INTERVIEW by Alex Mussawir

via Keep This Bag Away From Children

The man shakes your hand and motions towards an empty chair for you to sit in. The man’s name is Anthony. He is going to be interviewing you for the library job.

Your mom says that when a person acts nervous during a job interview it shows that the nervous person cares about the job. She says If the person doesn’t care they probably will not be nervous. If the person really doesn’t care they will not be interviewed at all.

You think about what your mom said, but then also wonder what the cut off is. You think “when does this stop being endearing?”

Anthony tells you that the purpose of the interview is to determine your eligibility for the job. He says “we both need to decide if this will be a good fit”.

There are moments in your life when you become very aware of how wrong things have become. Sometimes, at night, you look around your bedroom and it seems to be filled with the belongings of another person. Or you speak and the words sound like they are coming from someone else’s voice. You do not recognize the bedroom. You cannot understand the voice. You think “how did I end up here?” and also “when is this going to stop?”.

This is not one of those moments, but you think it is almost one of those moments.

The counselor at your college called it a ‘nervous breakdown’. He said it was induced by stress. He asked a lot of questions. You think that was kind of like an interview too, only the job was being taken out of school and moving back in with your mom.

It is not an actual job even though it feels like it sometimes.

Anthony looks down at a sheet of paper which has the interview questions on it. He asks you what you think the library job consists of.

You say the job probably consists of shelving books. You say the job also probably consists of helping people find books. You say things like that.

Anthony nods his head a lot. Anthony asks what motivates you to work.

You are uncertain how to define ‘work’. You think “isn’t everything work?” and also “what motivates anyone to do anything?”

Your hands are sweating. You remind yourself to concentrate. Of course he is talking about work in the sense of this job – the job you applied for. What motivates you?

You wait a few seconds and then say “generally, money motivates me to work” hoping that Anthony will laugh and then apologize for asking such a terrible question.

Instead, Anthony calmly writes down ‘money’ on his sheet of paper with the questions on it. Anthony seems disappointed at your answer. He asks if you can think of anything else. You say “I can’t think of anything else” and he writes that down too.

Your boyfriend calls while you are waiting at the bus stop. He asks how the interview went and you say it was fine.

He says he is going to help get you back into school.

You tell him there is literally nothing he can do about it.

He says he loves you and he will take care of you.

You say “how?” in a confused tone because you really don’t understand what he means.

He says he means that when two people love each other things have a way of working out.

You tell him that you wish he wouldn’t use the word love so much.

He asks if there is another word he should use instead.

At home your mom is cooking spaghetti. Your mom acts nice to you because she is worried. She asks how the interview went and you say you don’t want to talk about it.

You lay down on the couch. The couch is where you sleep because your mom’s apartment is a one bedroom. This is your bedroom.

Next to the couch is a stack of books, your laptop, and a small pile of clothes. This is everything you own. Think about minimalism and then think “how glamorous”.

Open your laptop and go to Click on food/bev/hosp. Apply for a job as a dishwasher. Apply at a pizza shop, coffee shop, cafe. Think “more interviews”.

Think about Anthony asking what motivates you. You want to ask your mom what motivates her but you are afraid the answer is sad. You are afraid that she does not know.

Imagine yourself as a 45 year old woman living in a one bedroom apartment. Think about your 19 year old daughter’s most recent suicide attempt, your ex husband’s alcoholism. Things like that.

Your mom sits on the couch next to you and turns on the television. You put your head on her shoulder and fall asleep to the muffled sounds coming from the speakers, and to your mother’s hand placed affectionately on the back of your neck.

You are sitting at a desk facing an old man.

You are not nervous but he is. His hands are shaking. His forehead is dripping with sweat.

He says “you are going to have to do this for a very long time”.

He tells you that it will be hard work. He mentions self doubt, uncertainty.

He says “you are going to have a difficult time finding enjoyment in things but most people are going to find enjoyment in those things”.

The man is talking about your life.

It is not a job, even though it feels like it sometimes.

You think “this is not a good fit”.

You think “when is this going to stop?”

And you think that this is one of those times when you should have prepared something. You should have written down questions, or at least put on a different shirt. But before you get the chance to say anything, the man smiles a square shaped smile and says “well, this is it” while motioning around the room with his hands. “What else are you going to do?”


my ex-girlfriend came round tonight because she doesn’t want to poop at her new boyfriend’s house. hi, ex-girlfriend.

my ex-girlfriend came round because she doesn’t want her new boyfriend to hear her poop and then to think “um wtf is this girl’s deal?! wow. this is… disgusting” while listening to her take a poop.

my ex-girlfriend came to my flat. we watched a movie. about halfway through she said she was going to the toilet, “not to poop, though”, and she winked. i think i offered to pause the film and she said i shouldn’t so i threw the laptop out the window. i didn’t hear it smash though so maybe it’s ok. i’ll go down and check later.

my ex-girlfriend did a poop in my toilet. afterwards the bathroom smelled like paint and bacon and the windows were steamed up. two pieces of poop were in the toiletbowl in the shape of a crucifix. i ran out the front door and sprinted down the street thinking about that and hailing satan and whatnot.

my ex-girlfriend came round tonight and we shared some cauliflower cheese i’d cooked. i think when i was eating it i had the wrong spelling of ‘cauliflower’ in my head, though. ‘cauliflour’, maybe. damn. embarrassing.

my ex-girlfriend came round tonight. she texted ahead: “do u need anything from shop i.e. toilet paper? hehe B-)”

my ex-girlfriend came round tonight. her poop wouldn’t flush and so i told her to stand back and i chopped it in half with a coat-hanger. then it flushed. i felt like a truly great dad and i strutted around and danced and thought about putting on a suit.

my ex-girlfriend came round tonight to poop in my toilet. then, nine years ago i chatted on msn messenger to a girl then went and had sex with her in her room even though she’d said we were going to do it outside covered in leaves or something. i told my ex-girlfriend about it on aol instant messenger the next morning but i don’t think she was my ex-girlfriend yet, actually.

my ex-girlfriend came round to my flat and i drank a bunch of rum while she was taking a poop. when she came out i said a thing, something like “we’ve already been dead forever. we’re going to be dead forever”. as in: “um. let’s have sex”. then we were going to have sex but i was drunk and went and was sick in the toilet she’d just pooped in. then i tried to clean it up but i got sad so i fell asleep on the toilet floor.

my ex-girlfriend got an electric shock from the intercom so she was crying when she came into my flat to take a poop. i didn’t know what to do so i just tried to do a calm face and touched her arm and she put her face on my neck. then she went into the toilet.

my ex-girlfriend came round tonight. then, seven years earlier i drank a bottle of whisky and challenged her latest boyfriend to a game of tennis. i think i lost 6-0 6-0 6-0 because whenever i served i just hit it hard into the ground on purpose. actually, i think we ended up playing tennis a lot that summer, me and him.

my ex-girlfriend sent me a facebook message this afternoon saying “c u 2nite 

External image
 ~@~ hehe”. then she came round and did a poop in my toilet. i like her a lot. she is a really good kid.

my ex-girlfriend did a poop in my toilet tonight. i heard the little splashes and decided to walk to the lake to throw stones and sit down. i think i felt very calm and far away when i found out during a drinking game that she’d had anal sex with someone the night we finally broke up. or i don’t remember how i felt at all. damn.

my ex-girlfriend came round tonight. i showed her the toilet seat warmer i’d bought especially that day and she nodded and she smiled and it seemed ok, i guess.
Crispin Best