The Shadow of Nothingness/ All Terrain Umbrella, Large
★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
M.L._private
I picked this umbrella because the infomercial said “suitable for & steady in all terrains.” I spend a lot of time on rocky terrain, & I've had to make it through many rough patches. Sometimes the floor has fallen out altogether. I've also had to deal with rugs that were pulled out from under me unexpectedly, & not just once. I've had sand washed from beneath my feet at every tide. Overall, my life is a sinkhole, & when it’s not, then it's definitely on shaky ground. (I'm not complaining. That's the way it is on this planet. Just want to make clear why I wanted an all terrain umbrella. It's not an umbrella for everyone, or for optimists.)
Does it keep me safe, cool, & dry like I thought it would? Yes & no. I can't say. Since having unfolded the Shadow of Nothingness I am no longer sure what “safe,” “cool,” & “dry” mean. Or why I thought I needed those adjectives & their attached realities.
Now that I've sat under the Shadow of Nothingness for a while I am not even certain I need the “I” & its realities either. What is an “I” under the Shadow of Nothingness? Am not “I” the nothingness the shadow shadows? “I” is so outdated & self-important that “I” need to set “I” free. “I” gets lifted right out of context by its quotation marks. Thanks to the Shadow of Nothingness Umbrella “I” is henceforth replaced with o. Done. No longer am o standing in a sentence like a stick, no longer am o pointing up & down like an arrow without heads, no longer am o commanding the attention of a capital & linear singularity. No more am o that! Now o feel full & complete like an orb. Now o am what o am & what o always was. & o am complete & completely filled by a hole.
This umbrella has given o everything o never wanted & nothing o ever wanted. Perfection! Go get it! You don't know what you’re not missing. But o do. O do. Oh, o do.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Vacation Rental Service
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Mas L.
After almost 24 hours of travel to reach our destination we, Tap & I, arrived at about dawn to the apartment. We were supposed to meet up with our host Pierre. Yes, Tap & I, we, were 8 hours late because our flight was delayed, but I sent Pierre an email when I was on the wifi from the airport. So we’re outside and—nothing. No one. There’s no one in the street. There are no open bars or cafes.. Not even a stray cat. So we’re just waiting there, pushing Pierre’s buzzer & nothing. We try calling his cell-phone number but we get nothing. Not even a dial tone. Keep in mind this is February! We, Tap & I, could have ended frostbitten! So we said fudge it & pushed one of the other apartment’s buzzers, but the only response we got when we asked about Pierre was: “Pierre is not here.” & I thought Where is Pierre? You are not Pierre. This trash can is not Pierre. I am not Pierre? My partner, Tap, turned to me & told me so. Tap said, “Neither of us are Pierre.” So, yes, we should have seen this coming, Tap & I, we should have expected this. So we pondered & deliberated & eventually left to look for a decent hotel. (I write about our time on the side-walk outside, Pierre-less, extensively in my review of UNespresso machines.) Later, despite talking to several supervisors at The Shadow of Nothingness Vacation Rental Service, they refused to help & supported the host because apparently I clicked on something at checkout that says I agreed to their policy (despite my not even remembering seeing that). What did I click on? What did I agree to? Did I agree that there would be no Pierre?
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Davie D.
They advertise that they have locations everywhere. Everywhere! & it’s true. I’ve been to selected parts of everywhere, & I have always found evidence of a Shadow of Nothingness rental. It’s easy, so I always end up staying there.
Except one time, in 1991, I traveled to my 5-year high school reunion & stayed at the Top of the World B&B. It was amazing! But when I travelled back in 2011 for the 25th reunion, the Top of the World had been subsumed by the Shadow of Nothingness. I ended up staying there. By 2011 Shadow of Nothingness was really familiar already.
Shadow of Nothingness/ Home Alarm System
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Dan D.
I decided to have this installed after a series of burglaries in my neighborhood. I’ve always lived in a quiet & suburban community of cul-de-sacs, & it used to be that you could leave your door unlocked & your kids roaming around the neighborhood. But no more! What is this world coming to? Tell me if you know.
I already thought about getting a rifle, & I still might, if it weren’t yet another thing I’d have to own & protect. I’d need a small handgun, too, to protect the rifle case, etc.
So I got an alarm system first to secure my possessions & my home. Shadow of Nothingness seemed like the most unintrusive choice & yet it seemed very capable of covering my property in its entirety. Once I decided I would get it, it was already mine. They installed it without me even noticing. Incrementally or all at once, I can’t say for sure. But I have it now. I’ve had it for a while & unlike other alarm systems this one maintains itself by itself, constantly & at no cost. It updates itself to more & more intricate versions. The alarm never goes off & it is extremely consistent & reliable. I feel my possessions are safe . . . although I find it hard to care about my possessions in the same way I used to. What are possessions anyway? Who owns what? What owns who? Tell me if you know.
Anyway, SoN has been so effective I am leaving my door unlocked again. & a few weeks ago I caught myself wishing that my possessions would leave of their own accord.
Sometimes the melancholy that comes with noticing my past obsession with my possessions makes me wish I had that old relationship to my possessions again. That they mean again what they meant once. I look at all the things, the things, the things . . . the Hummel figurines, for example, & I can’t get myself to give a damn. Sometimes I wish that I had a clear & fierce attachment to them again. Like I used to when I pushed a school kid into a competing collector to get at the Hummel Alpine Trio at the flea market in Lynwood.
I know I can only return to the old days if I get out from under the Shadow of Nothingness. But I can’t find the components, the circuit breaker, or the service contract.
So, I have the Shadow of Nothingness Alarm System & it’s working beautifully & relentlessly.
I’m getting older by the minute.
People out there: If anybody needs possessions beyond necessities, contact me. I have a lot of them & am unsure of their function. They have weight, I can guarantee that, but as for worth the taker has to appraise that for themselves. ALL OF THEM are covered by the Shadow of Nothingness.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Park & Pay
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Dennis Y.
When you enter, there are no directions as to where to park. Once you do park, a bus may come along in 5 minutes or 25. Who knows? Time is a fluid concept at SoN. What is time, really? You will have time to ponder this while you grow old waiting for the bus.
I can't smoke at work or in the hospital, but I can smoke in the parking lot. I can't scream fire in the movie theater, but I can in the parking lot. What I’m trying to say is that the space of the parking lot seems to have a fixed boundary to other realities: the hospital, the movie theater, the office building, & that’s comforting. In the office or the hospital, I’m not concerned with the Park & Pay—everything is more immediate—thoughts tied to my tenuously held life or lives of my loved-ones. & in the theatre, I am there to be entertained, distracted from the flickering light & cold brutality of the lot.
Just remember to write down where you park. Often, I think, “What is my lot?” But what lies inside this parking lot is freedom—freedom to do as I wish with my life, freedom to smoke & slowly kill myself, freedom to scream out into the echoing passageways, freedom to accept the inevitable & mourn along with everyone else.
P.S. Sometimes the lines get long during rush hour, so you might have to mourn with everyone else for quite a while.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Charlotte D.
This Park & Pay is much better than the old Shadow of Nothingness Pay & Pay that used to be in that same spot in my youth. Back then, at the Pay & Pay, everyone used to have to pay on the way in & pay again on the way out. & because you weren’t allowed to park & nothing was on offer—you just moved through a paved lot, in & out, paying twice—you really learned to wonder about what money even is. What is it? After using the Pay & Pay regularly (I was one of the few women who could afford it. Until I got pregnant & married, I had a good job as station administrator at the nearby hospital), I came to realize that money is nothing but a distraction, an accounting system that supposedly numerically expresses our worth in comparison to those around us, but fails to account for our inherent worth & is, by concept, not interested in community & equality! That realization was a life changer. I’ve tried to pass this lesson on to my children, but my son only keeps saying: “What are you talking about, Ma. Are you saying you are fine with any nursing home we’ll find for you when the time comes?” That’s NOT what I am saying. I know that in this current system the future of my dignity very much depends on money . . . .I’m saying it shouldn’t! I’m saying . . . Ah, nevermind.
Sometimes I still miss the Pay & Pay. But, finally, the Park & Pay is better. & I know that change is inevitable. I’m older but not one of those, “everything was better in the Middle Ages” type seniors. (I have a computer & I do my own cutting & pasting.) & after the Pay & Pay, & after the abandoned lot it was through the years of “Morning in America” & “High Noon in America,” & “Sunset Approaching America,” we really needed a place for mourning the results of our neglect. Together. So, well done. I just wish they’d find a way to not exclude people like me, who don’t have cars anymore.
If I had the strength & capital, I’d invest in a Park & Park. The other day, I told my son that. I described it for him. He said: “What are you talking about, Ma? Sounds like a Park & Park is just another name for cemetery.” I had no reply. I thought of Dan, the father of my children, & his powerful genes that must have shaped their empathy centers. Dan was always less prone to melancholic drifting. For our first date he took me to the Bare & Grill. Even though our marriage didn’t last, ultimately, I have fond memories of the Bare & Grill.
★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
Eddie G.
As a doctor at the hospital I have to say I have a different experience with these so-called “boundaries.” I view the space of the hospital quite differently than the view of an average patient or visitor. While at work, I often hear honking & screeching of tires from the Park & Pay, & there’s this one hallway I walk through every day where I can smell cigarette smoke & the exhaust from the idling bus! To top all off, I have a small office, on the east wing of the building, that looks down at, of course, the parking lot. So there’s really a lot of parking lot in my daily life, even at the hospital. I imagine it’s the same for the projectionists & the concessions clerks at the movie theater. Where the parking lot ends really just all boils down to personal experience. I argue that it never ends. Just last week I noticed a small scratch in the rear passenger’s side door of my car. I’m guessing that it had to have happened in the lot. Now when I look at my car I think, Park & Pay. & I just can’t get it out of my head for the rest of the day. Sometimes I even look out the window of my office to see if the thing is still there! It always is.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Carol L.
This theme park is jst coasting on its reptation. It seems like they know yo'll pay whatever they ask & give cstomers terrible experiences in retrn. Broken rides, terribly long lines, over priced t-shirts, sovenirs, & shrink-wrapped brgrs. They say it’s “choose yor own adventre” & then they give yo this bll!? & when yo complain they tell yo yo chose it!! Avoid.
rsla wasn’t pset, thogh. She fond it nbelievable
rsla, I do not nderstand yo! Bt: I love yo! I miss yo!
Sorry if this is hard to read my "yew" (the one between t & v in the alphabet) key is broken on my keyboard.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Smoking Cessation Kit
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Dennis Y.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to quit. Gum, patch, meds, cone, nothing has worked. Everyone always wants to give me advice. You gotta do it. Just keep trying. You’ll feel better, I swear. I don’t want advice. I just want to sit here & smoke. There’s nothing like a long drag from a red-tipped cigarette on a fall evening. Listen to the leaves rustling in the cool wind.
When I smoke, it’s like I’m acknowledging my mortality in a way where I have agency. Like Oh yeah, I’m gonna die, well watch me help the progress along, shithead. Mind you, it's not pushing me along to any kind of afterlife. There are no cigarette angels waiting for me. There's nothing waiting. Seriously, smoke em if you got em.
After years of trying to quit, I went to CVS & bought The Shadow of Nothingness Smoking Cessation Kit on a whim. Just like Hey here’s my 50 bucks, let’s just roll the dice on this one. Unlike the patch & the gum, this product encouraged me to continue to smoke while taking it. It even sent text messages to my phone every hour or so with messages like Don’t you think it’s time for a delicious cigarette? & How about you go take some “me” time & take a long drag of a smooth butt? Honestly, it was a bit confusing. How was I supposed to quit smoking? Either way after about two weeks, I no longer felt any anxiety about mortality, so I didn’t feel like I needed agency. I’m gonna die, yes, but who cares? Might as well breathe until then. But then after a couple months, I got used to it, & started smoking again. I guess the creeping spectre of death doesn’t really matter that much anyway.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Car Service
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Reed W.
My ride from the airport was the best thing that has ever happened to me. & my driver! My driver! My driver was just the best.
Two words:
Orlando.
Bloom.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Pick-Your-Own Strawberry Fields
★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
Frankie D.
I have never actually seen a strawberry, let alone eaten one, though I have seen pictures of strawberries on the internet. I have still never seen a strawberry, even after visiting this place, as I’m not sure I’m not sure if we ever got there. After seeing a sign for pick-your-own strawberries, Jack & I pulled off Route 168 onto a dirt road. Jack told me that it was time for me to eat a strawberry. “It is time for you to eat a strawberry,” he said. I was excited, & rolled the window down so I could stick my feet out & feel the breeze on my toes. The road curled through the woods until it cleared into an open field. A little further down the road we saw a small, tattered hut. Jack pulled the car over. We walked over to the hut. There was no one there. There were no maps. There were no buckets or baskets. When we looked around the field, there were no strawberries. Jack didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong. He went back to the car & grabbed a blanket. He said that we should have a picnic. “Let’s have a picnic,” he said. But we didn’t have any food, or strawberries, though we did have a four pack of Bacardi Breezers that we had just picked up from the convenience store. We walked deep into the field, Breezers in tow, without a strawberry in sight. It took us a while to find the right spot as Jack is a sit-in-the-shade guy & I am more of a bask-in-the-sun girl. We found the right spot eventually (where I could sit in the sun & he could lay in the shade of a tall tree), laid the blanket down, & cracked open a couple Breezers. As we lay in the grass, with the cool autumn wind rustling the leaves around us, Jack started talking about his childhood. “I didn’t see mom much,” Jack said. Jack's mom was in the hospital; we had just been there an hour earlier. I finished my Breezer & opened another one. I told him I never knew my mother. “That means you don’t have to watch her get old & die,” Jack said. I remembered that we had a pack of cigarettes in the car & offered to get them. “No,” Jack said, “I’ll go,” & off he went back toward the car. “I never knew my mother,” I said again, aloud, to myself, & took a sip of Jack’s mostly-untouched Breezer. I thought about what I’d say when Jack came back with the cigarettes, something about how experiencing the death of loved ones is a universal experience, how his pain is valid & that I care, but also how we must move forward with our lives until our own deaths. The grass rustled with the wind. The sky stayed the clearest blue. The grass kept on rustling. I finished his Breezer. I thought, “I shouldn’t say that stuff. I should say that we should just enjoy the day & the autumn breeze & the Breezers, & lay in this strawberry field without strawberries until night falls,” & I propped myself up on my elbows & looked across the field. Jack with a lit cigarette, trailing smoke, sloshing his feet in the tall grass.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Jane S.
Way cool! Some {very|extremely} valid points! I appreciate your {points|idea} about this {place|product|service} {and the|and also the|plus the} rest of the {review is|post is} {also very|extremely|very|also really|really} good. This {paragraph|piece of writing|review} is {nice|pleasant|good|fastidious}, my {sister|younger sister} is analyzing {such|these|these kinds of} things, {so|thus|therefore} I am going to {tell|inform|let know|convey} her.|{Saved as a favorite|bookmarked!!}, {I really like|I like|I love} {your reviews|your writing|you}!
Umbra Nihili/ Sun Lotion
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Caroline D.
Bought this sunscreen because a celebrity (* HINT: O.B.) mentioned it in an article in SoN Weekly on “things I can’t live without.” Well . . . I don’t know where to start. The packaging felt glib & cold & colorless, un-designed almost. & un-design these days can really be upsetting. If you can’t grasp the message, how are you supposed to relate to it? If you can’t grasp the brand, how are you supposed to integrate it into your lifestyle, i.e. life?
The lotion itself is also strangely unfamiliar. Other sun lotions are either a gel, a mist, or a glob. Umbra Nihili is not like any of these. & again, here I have trouble describing what it is, because it isn’t. It isn’t more than it is.
I am not sure anything came out of the package, however I am sure that I was ultimately covered in it. Entirely. What I am saying is that this product is not to be dispensed. Truly indispensable. It is, however, clingy & all over me.
It did not protect me from sunburn. But I did not care. If you ponder a sunburn in the larger context, all it is is the violent death of many skin-cells. & don’t we all constantly lurch toward a multitude of violent deaths? We do. & that’s a fact.
Being covered in Umbra Nihili transmuted my mourning on account of such ancillary facts of life as death. Since Umbra Nihili nothing has changed, but now I know it.
Actually I un-recommend it. But I don’t think my un-recommendation matters. Most people look for it. A celebrity recommended it.
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Niesha P.
Warning, packaging looks like Umbra Nihili Breakfast Spread.
So if you are a little less careful you might end up with lotion on your roll & spread on your legs. Then again, a roll can be a leg & a leg can be a roll. I’ve been there.
Umbra Nihili/ Breakfast Spread
★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
Jamar S.
I would pretty much call myself the king of spreadable bread-toppers. It's a passion of mine. I know all about cream cheeses, liverwursts, jams, marmalades, butters, ghee, etc. When Umbra Nihili Spread suddenly appeared, I was intrigued. Shortly after my 40th birthday, I received a free supply. (They are apparently test-marketing to middle aged people.) Fine, I said to myself, I'll try anything on my daily bread.
I did not take any effort to apply it. It is beyond spreadable. From the beginning it almost slathered itself onto my sourdough slices. So, ease of use: 5 out of 5.
Its appearance is vague & translucent, either obscuring the bread or elevating it. Which one it is depends on the weather, really. Internal & external weather. There’s no pattern.
Some days, bread slathered with Umbra Nihili (UN) just makes you cry, because BREAD (!), my heavens, bread is so fully perfect & glorious! Bread! On such days even Montrachees Triple Gooseberry Preserves cannot come anywhere near UN & its inherent exuberance. Other times, though, the overpowering presence of UN obscures even the basic purpose of bread, not solely its taste. I've had days where I just said: what the hell am I even eating for? What the hell am I even hungry for?
UN’s uninterrupted presence on my daily bread is now a fact, so if you like dependability in your breakfast spread this is for you. But its inconsistency in taste prevents me from rating it at five stars in the overall category.
It's sugar & cholesterol content are A-OK. But, on the other hand, it can raise cortisol levels, & it can rob you of self-empathy.
Although, if you are researching Umbra Nihili Spread, you probably own it already.
Good luck.
Not a family food, better for the eclectic loner.
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Niesha P.
Warning!! Packaging for Umbra Nihili Spread looks like Umbra Nihili Sun Lotion.
So if you are a little less careful you might end up with lotion on your roll & spread on your legs.
Then again, a roll can be a leg & a leg can be a roll. I’ve been there.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Hospital
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Frankie D.
Jack’s been spending a lot of time here, & he’s been telling me all about the vending machine on the third floor, in the oncology wing. He told me that he wishes there were more healthy options, like a pack of baby carrots or something. "I wish there were more healthy options," he told me. Instead he mostly eats Old Dutch Party Mix, Cool Ranch Doritos, Cheez-It Baked Snack Crackers, Twix, Baked! Lays Original, etc. & FYI, the vending machine also has non-food items like tissues & moist towelettes. So anyway, Jack’s there talking to the oncologist, & I call him the on-call-ogist because he’s a doctor that’s . . . on call :). Anything to lighten the mood, you know. So Jack’s talking to the on-call-ogist so I decide to go to the two vending machines—there’s the drink one & the snack one. I had brought us chicken salad sandwiches but what's a sandwich without chips?! I thought I'd go to the drink one & the snack one. Maybe get some chips & a Pepsi or something. "I'll go to the drink one & the snack one," I thought. So before I can get my Pepsi, I notice that there’s a small crowd of people around the snack machine. They seem like they are totally entranced by something in the machine, like they’re watching a really riveting tv show (my favorite is SoN Tonight). So I go over & try to see what they’re looking at. The machine is making a low humming noise & the circular metal coil-guard-thing is turning very very very slowly. These people are just waiting for a snack to fall. But yes, the coil is turning so slowly that there definitely is some level of excitement in the air. When will it let loose the Snyder's of Hanover Mini Pretzels? So the coil turns & turns, creeping toward snack release, creaking around & around with barely-visible micro-movements, until, until the final moment, the moment that we—the crowd & I—are all anxiously awaiting, the moment when the Snyder’s of Hanover Mini Pretzels will fall, with a meaningful & satisfying thud into the collection basket—the bill validator’s blinking green lights seems to slow, as if the snack machine itself is holding its breath—and that moment, it comes. The coil releases the bag. But then . . . tragedy. The bag becomes snagged on, & then wedged slightly behind, the bag of Bugles Original Corn Snacks. We all gasp. One guy slams his foot down & yells, & from my angle, seems to just run away. But then. But then, a miracle! The force of the man’s foot must have travelled through the floor, up into the machine, & jostled the bag of Bugles Original Corn Snacks because the Snyder’s of Hanover Mini Pretzels tumbled into the basket ready to be received & eaten & rejoiced in. So much excitement, so much drama. I leave satisfied, even Pepsiless, yes, even Pepsiless.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Tyler C.
This is about the hospital vending machine. This is about vending machines. It’s about vending altogether. It’s about crooked vending & my venting about crooked vending. OKAY? I frankly don’t care if it’s okay. This is my free speech, & I am outraged. What’s the point of pricing a shitty bag of Pretzels at 1.15 when the machine tells you it can’t take coins & it can’t make change? What’s the point? No, I’m asking. What’s the point other than robbing you/me & giving it to THE MAN?
The vending system is fucking rigged.
I came to this hospital with severe dehydration. I thought it was serious dehydration, they said it’s not, they said I’m fine. Fuck them! Instead of treating me for dehydration, I had a gaggle of nurses telling me to check my privilege. Fuck that. On the way out I felt like punching a vending machine. & because I’m basically a peaceful person the thought of punching a vending machine made me want to purchase some salted Pretzels & a Pepsi from a vending machine before I punch it. So, I asked a guy in scrubs where there’s a vending machine & he yelled “oncology” & rushed off. Fuck oncology. You’d think they’d have a vending machine in dermatology, but NOOOO. You have to traverse a fucking maze of hallways to get to oncology. But eventually I made it. Thanks to Ted Bruce, the helpful rep from the SoN funeral home, who was roaming the hospital halls. Classy guy.
The vending machines in oncology looked fucking good! I admit. Vintage! They had a drink one & a snack one. I was planning on using both. They had no frills Pepsi bottles in the drink machine. Which is better than all those special edition things, like those coke bottles that say “share a coke with TYLER.” My fucking name is no-ones fucking business. The only coke bottle I’d ever buy is one that says “share a coke with JACK” That’s just good advice, IMO. Hahaha! Jack & Coke. (Fucking never ever say I have no sense of humor. OKAY? I got excellent jokes coming out my pores 24-7-52-365.)
I decided to head to the snack machine first, though. Cause after the long-ass walk to oncology, my stomach was growling & they had already told me I have no dehydration. So I face the snack machine & that’s when I see that it can’t make change & can’t take coins. But at this point, whatever. At this point I’m invested & hungry enough to pay two bucks for pretzels. Supply & demand. That’s the world we live in. Right? & in comparison to the movie theater’s pretzel-prices, oncology is still a deal. So I uncrumple my dollar bills & I feed them into the machine. The second dollar keeps being spit out! Fucking automation! I flatten & flatten it, but the machine just has a temperament! Finally, finally, after pleading with its mouth (the intake-slot) the bill goes down its throat & the display says I got a 2 dollar credit. YES!
And, wouldn’t you know it, the machine does what it’s supposed to do, the coil that holds my pretzels (H4) starts turning. Hallelujah. That’s so fucking entrancing . . . When a coil spirals toward you, it feels like you’re falling into the cosmos. No shit. & if a bag of Pretzels is riding on the coil, moving towards you, man . . . . Wow. Just wow. The promise of those cosmic pretzels that’s what it’s all about. That’s existence in a land of vending machines. The pretzels, once you have them, the pretzels will complete you. You just know it. You’ve been walking around like a half-formed human, in a permanent state of hunger, but when the pretzels will be in your hand & down your throat, you will be complete. Complete & satisfied. It’s the promise of Vending at its purest . . . . & consuming brings people together. I was standing surrounded by a mesmerized crowd when the coil finally released the Pretzels. I was standing WITH A CROWD! Of oncology visitors & patients. & I would have offered every single person in the crowd a pretzel...
And then? & then? GUESS WHAT?
When the bag fell, it got SNAGGED! It never made it to the dispenser tray. Instead it started fornicating with the bag of corn-fritters in G4. While I had strands of saliva hanging from my mouth in anticipation, these two snack bags were getting it on!
I’m so done with this shit. SO DONE.
I couldn’t even feel angry, only cosmically abandoned.
But man, in a last move of revolt, telling the universe “I see you! I see what you’re doing, you eternal cesspit” I stomped my foot so hard I could hear my hip splinter. Then I left. Limped off. Without a pretzel. Without anything.
I mean . . .
What does it tell you about our so-called “meritocracy”? Who’s walking off with my dollars & my pretzels?
The MAN who owns the MACHINE. Not me.
And don’t ever fucking say I’m not a people person. I have emotional intelligence coming out my ears.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Deshi F.
My life is lived in oncology. There’s always something wrong with me. I am always in need of repair or diagnosis. I haven’t worn clothes that are mine as long as I can remember. My gowns tie in the back.
I love the vending machines here, though. It’s where I go to feel human togetherness. Everyone likes to look at the coils moving snacks toward them. Everyone feels such childlike anticipation. (I often remember my childhood. The coins my brother & I took to the gum ball machine outside the local grocery. The gum was vile, bitter & brittle, but the interaction with the machine, the sound of the gumball dropping down that chute . . . I’ll never forget it. My brother & I, unified in anticipation.)
Not that I am particularly interested in the snacks either. I am not supposed to eat most of them anyway. But I like the impromptu crowds the machine creates, the shared rooting for the arrival of the snack.
I asked my brother to put matchbooks under the machine’s front, so it tilts back a bit. Because of the tilt the coils move a little slower & everything in the top four rows will get snagged. & he did that for me, my brother. People who visit the machine, of course don’t know that. & it’s not that I want them to suffer the snag. My hope is always that they will put in another couple of dollars & choose the snagged row. So we can all be mesmerized again & doubly so. But only few people do. Most get very angry, because they are outraged that a machine refuses to do their bidding. The people who get angry are often people who are healthy. & whatever unexamined expectations they have of their body, are the same expectations they put on the snack machine. Do your job, they yell.
Often a little gentleness & a little patience would do the trick. I wait & when the crowds disperse, in a quiet moment, the pretzels will fall. Then I retrieve them. When my brother is visiting I give the pretzels to him. If not, I give them to the nurses or to the oncologist. The oncologist always says he’ll take them to the bar & have them with his lunch vodka. He’s such a jokester.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Orlando B.
oncology = 6
INFINITY !* *! SYMBOL FOR — TO GET PREPARED, NOW EAT CROW, STAND mature
PURGING !* *! AWAKEN, EAT CROW * CAWS & THE CROWN OF THE WAY! NOW! Psalm 91:1-16 JOHN 3:16 17:3,4 14:6 ^*
harsh mistress — Just ask free fall but are REGARDED as the most particular group; an anticipated As A Revelation in the state of going for the PERIODIC GREEK ALPHABET: I - CH - TH - Y - S. WHEN YOU REALITY ^ FOUNDATION ^ DOUBLE GOLD FOR THE PROPER INITIALS for INSIGHGTTT
THE CORE OF FLAME
THE WHOLE EARTH . . . UNTIL WE HAVE SEAL of THE TENTH HOUR
The State
nimbus an intelligent or like an atom
Outstanding sensation Of Divine Will.
HAUNT
NOW YOU CAN
have no world,
hermits
GATHER
travel the (usually a trip
travel the (usually elliptically
GATHER
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Sofía F.
I spent all night in the emergency room. It’s the next day & I am still here. Our experience in the waiting room was surprisingly great. It was fast, courteous, & organized. That being said, they kept asking my girlfriend her birthday over & over. I guess they were being thorough. It became a chant. Over & over “8/8/80, 8/8/80,” sometimes “8/8/1980,” sometimes “August eighth, nineteen, eighty.”
Anyhoo, the Chabs playoff game was on in the waiting room, which was a nice distraction. Go Chabs. They came from behind & won in spectacular fashion, but I wasn’t there to see that. I saw the result on my phone while we were sitting in the bowels of the hospital, IV in my girlfriend’s arm, waiting. I have spent a lot of time on my phone while waiting. I mostly read the news. People are afraid. It got me thinking about how everyone’s afraid of terrorists. I guess it’s right in the name there, “terror.” Everyone is in terror. Why is everyone so afraid when the likelihood of it happening to them is so low? No one is going to suicide bomb our town’s CVS. I guess it’s because, & I realized this while in the hospital, it’s because life is a series of terrorist attacks. To live is to be in terror. Of what happens next. Once you get old enough, it keeps piling on. More terror. One bad thing. Then another. We’re just terrorized over & over. Maybe people think that if we bomb a country they’ve never been to or pass a law preventing immigrants from coming to our country, they’ll somehow protect themselves from the terror of existence. Maybe we create these artificial boundaries to help us situate ourselves in the vast chasm of whatever.
Either way, we’re still in the hospital, & I have no idea what’s going to happen or when we’re going to leave.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Jack V.
The hospital is a place where you can pay to look at dead bodies, & drink stale soda, & talk to people about their families, friends, illnesses, & deaths. It's a place where you can be your true self & pay to look at those who have died or are about to die or maybe just born, while drinking Pepsi & eating the pretzels from the vending machine on the third floor. There’s a dark room in the basement, where you can watch the ceiling slowly lower, & the mirrors on the ceiling come closer & closer, & the view is deceiving. You see yourself, you feel yourself getting closer, but you never actually get to yourself. Instead you lounge in the bowels of the hospital, nursing a hangover, & watch the endless loop of commercials. While you wait, wearing comfortable, loose-fitting clothing, for the inevitable visit upstairs, you chat to the oncologist, who strangely enough, you know from the bar.
Umbra Nihili/ Company
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Reed W.
Do not work for this company! Do not. Even if they offer you lunch & benefits, there aren’t any. If you believe in the current economic system & you want to get to the top, if you wanna get yours, stay away from Umbra Nihili, LLC.
There is no leadership, no mission statement, no stock-options (haha), no five-year growth plan. Nobody believes in what they do. They have no ambition & that culture is pervasive.
Plus they are NOT selective. They’ll take just about anyone. The only good thing I can say about them is that they do have gender parity.
I was feeling very low, after leaving SoN University with a degree in Expertise, a minor in Canonized Literature (a degree that cost 160,000 btw), & I was looking for a job. I had been facing questions of purpose for a while & when no answers crystallized, I fell right into Umbra Nihili, LLC. All summer I labored & belabored the agony of Umbra Nihili. I was not recognized for my efforts and, what’s worse, I didn't even know whom to impress.
Umbra Nihili, LLC is for people who made friends with Sisyphus!! Okay!?! These people do all kinds of things without caring whether it amounts to anything. OMG! I cannot even . . .
Okay, one of the people, a woman named Lorna, wrote poems (that’s okay, I mean we do have Poet Laureates & stuff, so even though unlikely there is a potential career path. I’m not, like, opposed to that). & one day I went by her desk, all hungry & yearn-y, & I said, “Whatcha got Lorna? Cookies? Poetry? I’d love to have a sample.” She had no cookies, but she read me a poem. & it was GOOD (It was so good that it was actually the only moment I didn’t actively hate it at Umbra Nihili…). Like, formally, I think it was also really good too, her poem. She’d have a real shot at Poet Laureate-ing, if she’d, like, apply herself & get a personality going, & a website, & a strategy!!! So I said, “Lorna, you got something there. Lorna, let’s get you out of here, let’s get you polished, let’s get you submitted, let’s get you published & reviewed by the tops of the tastemakers. Lorna, I don’t have much to do right now, I could totally get you back on track!!!!”
LORNA DID NOT WANT TO (short version). OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!
And this is why Umbra Nihili LLC must die. If it’s the last thing I do, I will starve them. Goddammit people. Believe in the system! Or at least a system!
No, seriously, don’t go near UMBRA NIHILI!!
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Dennis Y.
Somebody recently told me that The Shadow of Nothingness is the only thing that will save us. I mean, what else is there? The billboards are everywhere, but so are the screams. The Shadow of Nothingness screams & screams & screams until the screaming seems like silence.
The Shadow of Nothingness makes you believe you’re safe, even when you’re not. I was worried about the broken glass & the dead tree in the lot. But now, I’m not. I was worried about the screams, but now, they’re like my white noise machine I have at my desk. They’re almost calming. Strangely, the screams emanate from different sources. Today: the lot, tomorrow: the chicken salad?
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Lorna R.
I guess I am still in search of the meaning of life. I am more determined than ever. I will find it. I have been searching for it for a while. & now? A hint, a clue…
I was miserable here. & when I left, I found that leaving a bad situation can create new meaning.
I had never been surrounded by such bitterness & sterility & I guess I just never noticed until the day I decided to leave.
I had finished my work day w/ a snack from the machine & a cigarette in the lot.
I had finished my day w/ a thud. A dull one no less.
I had started feeling like my days had no meaning.
I had started feeling like my work had no meaning.
As if I had been working inside the snack machine
turning a lever to move the metal coil
watching the snacks fall
or not fall.
I knew I had to quit.
& I did.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Chicken Salad
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Frankie D.
I recently picked up some Shadow of Nothingness supermarket brand chicken salad as my work lunches had been pretty boring—mostly peanut butter sandwiches or yogurt cups. Jack’s not a big fan of mayonnaise so I made this purchase just for me. Anyhoo, I was pretty excited to try this chicken salad because I heard so many good things about it from my coworker Dennis. Dennis said that I “had to try” the chicken salad. “You have to try the chicken salad,” Dennis said. So I bought some & brought it home. I wanted to just try a little bit before I made the next day’s sandwich, & my first thought was that the packaging is gentle & dignified. “It’s really easy to open,” I thought. So I went & tasted a tiny teaspoon of the salad. It was amazing! It blew me away. I had to call Dennis immediately. “Dennis, it was amazing! It blew me away,” I said. & it took him a second to realize I was talking about the chicken salad, but then he gave me an “Oh yeah,” followed by a silence that I could only read as a combination of “I told you so” & “Bring me some of that chicken salad.” So I made two sandwiches & brought them to work the next day. At lunch I offered one of the sandwiches to Dennis. I told him that I had made it just for him. “I made it just for you,” I said. But Dennis pointed to his desk, & what was on that desk? A chicken salad sandwich! I asked him if it was from SoN & he said of course! “Of course,” Dennis said. So after work I put the second chicken salad sandwich back in the bag & drove it over to meet Jack. I thought his hatred of mayonnaise might be conquered by the power of this chicken salad & also that eating party mix & candy bars from a hospital vending machine every day must get pretty old. I met up with Jack in the hallway outside of his mother’s room, & I said, “Jack do you want this Chicken Salad sandwich?” & he said, “Sorry, I’m not very hungry. This is too hard.” & I told him that I understood, but said that he should try a little bit of the salad. “You should try just a little bit,” I said. & he did. & he liked it! So now Jack & I make SoN chicken salad sandwiches for each other every morning before work. “It makes the day less painful,” Jack says.
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Carol L.
chiken salad
ym
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Jamar S.
The chicken was questionable. The chicken was slathered. The chicken was
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Jamar S.
cheap chicken. Would be better with ham.
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Jack V.
My mother made chicken salad for me.
Now the Shadow of Nothingness makes it.
I eat it. I eat it.
★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
Orlando B.
THE CHICKEN SALAD POSSESSES A TERRIBLE POWER.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Bar
★ ☆ ☆ ☆★ ☆ ★
Eddie G.
Low lighting, yeah. The music, the humming drone of static-y something, yeah. A decent happy hour, yeah. Better to be here than my job, right?
This is an okay place, but I’ve been drinking here too much. Been here drunk drunk for two weeks starting in the afternoon. Bad times. The bartender, God bless him, recently called me out on it after I fell off my stool. Too drunk to think about it now, but I’m not going to apologize to anyone. I have a new theory / plan about life. I don't think anyone should ever apologize for anything. Unless, it's something like, "I'm sorry I killed your child with my remote-controlled bi-plane."
So yeah, I’m here now. I’m always here. If you ever come back stop in & say hi—you’ll see me in the corner—I'm filling the horrible void of sexual frustration & low level depression with vodka, fried starches, & salt. I’m keeping it potato. Hopefully I'll have a heart attack before I go to work tomorrow.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Pali A.
Passed the Shadow of Nothingness bar on the FIRST TRY. Am now fully certified & able to practice Nothing anywhere & on all continental barstools!
Am thinking about joining the corporate Shadow of Nothingness Inc.? Although . . . it might be more humane to have a small independent practice of Nothing?
Am weighing my options.
Neither option weighs a thing.
It’s a conundrum. But: As my aunt DeeDee, who pursued a patent for fried vodka, said: “No worries. Nothing will come of it.”
I’m confident. It’s now my bright future’s turn to fail to materialize.
Shout out to Umbra Nihili LLC! Great Company. Couldn’t have passed w/o your discouragements!
Ask for Lorna.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Dennis Y.
After they kicked me out into the night, I stumbled through the forest of Smokers' Outposts, & the night became something else, something without boundary, something more sinister, because that night’s when I tasted a cab handle & kissed a sidewalk w/ my orbital & w/ the thwap of AM, I'd feel that sick shiner, but at night, the Tylenol PM w/ cigarette smoke & slice o pizza, its cold-handled crust a blur in my stinky hand.
One of Five Mops
therealMOP
Here’s the thing. I’ll put it right out there: I am a sentient wet mop. & I’ll put another thing right out there: being a non-sentient mop, i.e. a regular mop, is easier. I was one once, & I long for it. But now that I am what I am, I have to put up with all sorts of bullshit. They (the bartenders) store me mop-head up, flaxen strings hanging down, in the corner by the left end of the bar. & there I stand, my long fringes drying from a hard day’s work on the floor. And, let me tell you, me just leaning there, near the dark & far edge of the bar, is all it takes to be hit on by a regular drunk bastard. “Do you come here often?” he says. I don’t let on that I live here, that I am still soaked in Mr. Clean, that I am not a human. I just lean there & say nothing. I say nothing because I can’t. Because of lack of vocal cords, mouth, etc. Makes him like me even more. He buys me a drink I cannot drink. Because of my lack of lips, tongue, peristaltics etc. But I can’t leave either. Because of lack of skeleton, legs, muscle, etc.
That’s mop life.
I feel a lotta things, but most of all, upside down.
Umbra Nihili/ Espresso Machine
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Mas L.
Bear with me, please. I know this will be longer than usual, but it will be worth it. Especially for serious coffee aficionados: Do NOT SKIP over any parts. Too many reviewers take to the keyboard in a state of uninvestigated rage, outrage, or because they are paid to be biased. & too many readers just look at average star-studdedness of a product.
Please, be mature enough to get involved FULLY!
I have to make a few things clear before I can dive into the actual review of the actual product. & this isn’t just because we, Tap & I, believe that the circumstances under which one encounters & tests a product have an effect on the perception & evaluation of the product. If one tested a product while inebriated, for example, one's capacity to judge & describe this product might only benefit an equally drunk reader. Furthermore, reviewing done in a state of drunkenness, usually lies beyond fair & balanced. So unless you are a drunk reader, the drunk review might be woefully slanted. For example: Tap & I, we, went to a local bar which we expected to be quite mellow & philosophically welcoming, based on the review of a regular patron there (His take on apologies & their overuse really resonated with us). But, once we found the place & had ordered our club sodas, we had to admit that this sawdust & vomit scented cave only holds charms for those who can overlook (and oversmell) its obvious dead-endedness. [BTW: The “free peanuts” served at the Shadow of Nothingness bar were a bowl of shells without nuts. Also, you might want to bring your own lemon wedge & CO2 when you order Club Soda there. Also, if you plan on using a selfie-stick to document your visit, be forewarned that it is not looked upon with a sense of humor by the barkeep. Unless you have a cellular device that is fire & stomp proof, & a selfie stick that resists being plunged down a gutter, I suggest you absorb your stay at this bar with your god-given organs only.]
But this is not about a bar.
I took to the interwebs for a different reason. Coffee. Machines.
Tap & I, we, were on our yearly vacation. We had planned it meticulously & vetted our host, Pierre, carefully with our mobile devices. When we arrived, however, there was no host!! No host. This failure to connect with Pierre dislodged us, Tap & me, to the core. Our belief in vacations (and anything else) began to falter as we found ourselves unexpectedly Pierre-less. Stranded on foreign sidewalks, we had to ask ourselves the hard questions: Does our vacation depend on hosts? More so, does our existence depend on hosts? Can one go anywhere without a host? Does the concept of host extend beyond humanity? Is it universal? For example, is nature hosting humanity? Are we continually being hosted, just not by Pierre? Are we, in turn, hosting? By default? & furthermore, are we, Tap & I, good hosts to each other? Or are we in fact host-ile? Generally, is the etymology of “hostile” tied to “host”? Is Pierre, in his refusal to exist as we expect it, host-ile? & so on . . . We needed answers. So we googled. “Is Pierre hostile?” The results were shamefully inconclusive, but it did lead Tap & me, us, to a page with an excerpt from the book Ideology & Classic American Literature. & there, highlighted & uniting the keywords of our search, was the sentence. “This ‘hostile necessity’ represents a need that Pierre attempts to fill through language.” (There were many other sentences surrounding this one, but because we, Tap & I, had used google in the oracular sense, we felt it was necessary to ignore all textual surrounds.) The pairing of “host/ile” & “necessity” puzzled us further . . . & what is the hostile need our absent host must fill with language? What language? The only languaging in the wake of Pierrelesness was perpetuated by us, Tap & me . . .
WOW!
We really wanted to wrap our minds around the concept that Pierre’s absence was precisely the hostile necessity that we needed in order to find the host within ourselves.
It was too much to sort out, depleted, there on the sidewalk. The buckles of our suitcases (we had used our suitcases as stools while researching Pierre & host/ility) were leaving small horseshoe-shaped poke-marks on our rear cheeks. Exhaustion befell us as the word HOST/ILE kept snaking through us like a stock scroll. Our eyelids grew heavy. It became clear that we needed a place to lie down & something to pick us up, coffee.
So now you understand that our need for coffee was not superficial, but existential! We, Tap & I, in this moment had a need for coffee so deep that our sense of purpose depended on. We did not just need a regular jolt, we needed strength & renewed intellectual vigor to uncover MEANING. Fast. Which is why we needed espresso. Which is Italian for “fast.”
At our substitute hotel, which we finally found accidentally while map-lessly (there are no maps available!) roaming this odd township, the automated concierge directed us to a store entirely stocked with espresso machines. Feigning interest in the machines on offer, the concierge had advised, would get us two free trial espressos. & since we, Tap & I, are budget conscious travelers we enthusiastically accepted the concept of “free” espresso. We made our way to the Umbra Nihili Espresso center. UNespresso. We, Tap & I, had never seen such a place.
The coffee grounds were already prepackaged, like pills or, better, like bullets, in proper dosage capsules. The walls were niftily lined with these one-shot coffee bullets. The bullets were of matte metallic colors & they looked absolutely elegant as well as lethal. What care, what a statement! The machines were gleaming on counter-high shelves along the store’s perimeter. Varied in size, color & design, there stood a suitable apparatus for every UNespresso drinker imaginable. So, everybody —from higher middle class to lower upper class—could find a fitting model on the showroom floor! (We, Tap & I, were told that there is a separate gallery of products reserved for royalty behind a locked beaded curtain. We were told that if we ever received royalty passes, the curtain would be unlocked for us. Alas, no-one could tell us how to receive royalty passes. This is an ongoing investigation.)
In the main showroom, the machines stood like polished futuristic weaponry, ready to fire. Sales people, clothed in fine charcoal grey suits, responded promptly to our astonishment, scrutinized our attire, & then asked us if we wanted to sample an espresso from the Umbra Nihili Basic Line. Of course we accepted. We, Tap & I, let it be known that we’d prefer short & powerful blasts of caffeine. The attendant handed us bullets labeled FULL PURPOSE & we were instructed to load our assigned machines, Umbra Nihili Dispersers 2.2, with ammunition. Firing was easy. We, Tap & I, pressed our respective espresso fire buttons & a pleasant roar began to fill the room, harmonizing with the roars of other, concurrently firing customers. Espresso shot darkly into a cup emblazoned with Nothing, the Umbra Nihili Logo. Steam rose from the Disperser’s nozzle. brushing past our cheeks, blushing us lively. The smell of the dark liquid was recognizable & yet superseded any memory of coffee we had catalogued. & the taste? OH-lala! We, Tap & I, had to admit that we hadn’t had a clue about the possibilities of coffee! The first sip instilled in us a new sense of purpose. We, Tap & I, knew right then & there that we must become café aficionados. That this is what we were born to become & be. All our previous & torturous questions vanished in an instant. As we finished our espresso, we gratefully accepted that Pierre’s non existence had led us, Tap & me, to find our purpose in the bean, the bean bullet! We immediately purchased a middle class high-end model, the Umbra Nihili Avoider 2.0, & as much ammunition (FULL PURPOSE & UNBOTHERED BUZZ espresso capsules, primarily) as our human arms could carry. We, Tap & I, now feel energetic & awake!
We’ve been content ever since we’ve had the espresso earlier this afternoon. It is a different & right kind of mindfulness.
All our thoughts now revolve productively around café. We are even planning to pair our next shot with a biscotti that contains surprising nuts!
No longer must we fill any “hostile necessities” with anything other than a cup from our Umbra Nihili Avoider 2.0. We are filled with shots of purpose!
PS: Some people say that UNespresso is like Nespresso, but we, Tap & I, do not agree. Worlds apart. Worlds apart!
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Jacob R.
...reminds me of Nespresso. All of these pod-obsessed companies are awful. It’s just a bunch of profit-driven maniacs. I bet now that every Tap on the planet has a machine they’re gonna change the shape of the fucking bullets . . . I bet you. I bet you espresso grenades are next! Commemorative grenades are only a matter of time & greed. Wanna bet? I’m putting 5 bucks on yes.
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Reed W.
TL:dr!! Meaning: I didn’t read your whole post, Mas. IT’S TOO LONG. You sound like a webinar at Umbra Nihili LLC. But I did read up to the part with the bar. Where is that bar? I’m googling it. Shadow of Nothingness Bar? Which one? They’re showing up everywhere, but I can’t find a location . . .
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Walter T.
I like milked steam with my UNespresso. I’ll only get Umbra Nihili Avoider 2.0 if it has an attachment to milk steam. Otherwise I’ll stick with the old model I got for a gift. The Umbra Nihili Obscurer 1.2.
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Tyler C.
I think you & Tap are windbags. That’s what I think.
What’s wrong with Chuck full-o-nuts percolator brew, you windbag?
That’s what got me through reading your long ass post.
Take some brevity classes.
Windbag.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Niesha P.
I’m more of a tea drinker.
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Caroline D.
I had the Umbra Nihili Avoider. Just a warning: When it breaks, you cannot replace it. You have to invest a chunk of dough to upgrade, unless you want to return to dissolving into a puddle of existential doubt.
I upgraded.
I now have the Umbra Nihili Obliviator 1.0. It has an integrated Ego (pronounced ae-GOU not EE-go) Frother too. It only takes the new kind of coffee bullet, the spleen-shaped ones (some people say they look like grenades, but they are definitely spleens!!!). And, the spleens come with spiritual quotes in the packaging.
“A true gambler must choose not to quit every moment of his life.” That’s what my spleen said this morning! Just think about THAT.
Frankly, the Disperser is more of a ground-level product. But good for you, you & Tap, for finding the product line.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Cleaning Service
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Dan D.
It started with the ham—as I call it—the ham radio, a full-featured transceiver, or “rig”—as most hams call it—a clever vanity call sign, amateur “extra” station license, the licensing manual read, then blotted with coffee rings, then lost behind the desk, a transition to dust. After that came the Dead, the jiggling skeletons on T-shirts & bumper stickers, the whole catalog, boots of thousands of shows, stacks of tape cases, labeled 5/08/77 CORNELL & 8/6/74 ROOSEVELT, tapes of different versions of the same song repeated, labeled SCARLET SCARLET SCARLET SCARLET SCARLET SCARLET, left on the dash of my car, records sold for 50 cents a pop, shirts lost at the laundromat. & who could forget the antique planers? Wooden ones, elaborate spokeshave & Millers Falls, blades rusted, now mouldering underneath the deck. Oh & yes, the Pez dispensers, in packaging—big money went into these—the museum off I-95 in Connecticut, the cardboard boxes in the garage, the candy pulverized. Then on to vintage motorcycle magazines, Chopper & Cycle, kept in drawers, closed, never opened. A recent addition to my collection, timeworn frames, now down in the basement, stacked & left to frame each other.
I don’t know what to do with all of these things. I saw that weird ad SoN’s got running at 2 AM & called them the next day. And, man, The Shadow of Nothingness service was by far the worst cleaning job I have ever seen! I paid for a deep cleaning, internal organization, & debris removal, & the cleaners could not even bother to move a single thing in my home & clean underneath it. They left garbage everywhere, & the dust! The dust remained. They couldn’t even remove the remnants of my former lives! When they left everything was still there. The things I wanted out of my life, the memories of the past, all still there, even the Hummel figurines, my life’s trash, my life’s things, the things the things the things the things the things the things
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Hotel
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Jeb C.
This place is filthy. Cigarette burns on the blanket, no towels, no toilet paper, no kleenex. This is a terrible hotel & very dangerous for someone traveling alone, especially women. This hotel rents rooms by the hour! That should give you an idea of what this place is like. Additionally, the main desk is surrounded by bulletproof glass, & if you look carefully you can see bullet holes in the walls around the lobby. Also, there was a man in the lobby with a huge wad of cash in a C-Town bag.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Doris C.
Saw this review, & have to wholeheartedly disagree. The place is filthy in a way that explains cleanliness. The absence of blankets/towels/TP only points to our incessant need to distance ourselves from our debris. This place forces us to confront our debris. One day our debris was destined to become sentient & haunt us. Well, it’s happening.
The cigarette burns simply symbolize our longing to permeate the impermeable. The burn holes filter the absent sunlight in most perplexingly gorgeous ways.
The Shadow of Nothingness Hotel is not dangerous either. The Shadow of Nothingness commits to ultimate security by no longer differentiating between safety & unsafety. There is purely & only one condition, dwelling in the Shadow of Nothingness, which includes & obliterates danger.
The bulletproof glass & the hourly rental-policy are a palpably clear explanation of the alienation effect. By stating loneliness & mistrust so plainly it allows the guest to transcend it. Hour by hour. & the bullet holes are nothing less than human yearning stenciled into architecture. And, by God, haven’t we dreamt of buildings that no longer make us choose between vibrancy & muteness, inside & outside? Oscillation of life-forces is facilitated through these bullet-riddled walls! It is ma-gi-cal. But, obviously, my husband is & remains the literalist he was born to be. Hence his review above.
The man in the lobby is my husband, I am the C-town bag & the wad of cash is the ridiculous remnant of our old belief-system!
This hotel has no exit, we play parts assigned to us by others, & we cannot afford the Marriott or other comparable delusions.
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Eddie G.
Don’t we all come to think of the end result as inevitable? We all end up in this longitude—hoping for better homes, better neighborhoods, better futures.
I live in a hotel. I knew its name … I know its name . . . but I can’t remember it. Because no matter how many times I look through the curtains, up at the sign, I keep asking, “How did I get here?” or “Why am I here?” & if I could find an answer to that question, where do I start, where do I go next?
I would much rather die than be dominated by a vague fear of the absurd.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Stadium
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Jeb C.
We went to see the Chabs/Snakes game here last Saturday night. Go Chabs! First of all, the food is confusing as fuck. The Chabs Dog is just a hot dog without a bun. The Chabs Nachos are just nacho toppings without the chips. The Chabs Soda comes without a cup. They just pour it into your outstretched hands.
We thought our seats were going to be pretty good for what we paid, but the view was awful. I guess I should clarify. When people normally complain about having bad seats, it’s because they can’t see the game or they’re too far away or the view is obscured or something like that. That was not the case here. Instead, we saw everything, too much of everything. Maybe the view was too good. By seeing everything, I realized we were looking at nothing, the game was then totally devoid of meaning, the players soulless, the vendors weightless, the stadium pointless, me pointless.
★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
Doris C.
In this case I somewhat agree with my husband. Full disclosure: I did not go to the stadium (the Chabs mean nothing to me), he went with his “friend.”
It has been humanity’s greatest quest & folly to build a structure large enough to contain the entirety of nothingness & its shadow. I have studied architecture & am a specialist on the poetics of space & even without having seen these Chabs or the stadium, I can confidently say that the structure is a FAILURE. PUh-lease.
As the reviewer above (my husband) astutely noted, or unwittingly demonstrated, seeing everything is dispiriting, even life-threatening in its windowless totality. We must depend, for our sanity & survival, on a multitude of others. We must be content with our personal slivers. No single one of us must see everything. We must submit to being pieces of a puzzle, pieces that can only embrace their neighbors perfectly, but must leave the larger enjoyment of our purpose to nothingness itself.
From the time I spent as a C-Town bag in a shady motel, I know that confinement is the key to a healthy & bearable experience of nothingness. Nowadays, I wear coin-sized spectacles, a bike helmet with visor, & spanx at all times. I do what I can to delay my inevitable dispersion & the darkness of full enlightenment.
As an expert, I propose to tear down this failure of a stadium & to erect a substitute in which all seats face away from the game & concessions are made not sold.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Multi-Floor Bagless Upright Vacuum
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Jeb C.
I’d like to address some of the other reviews of this product, as I have been left less than pleased.
> This thing is great. It makes me happy! I can vacuum all my rooms in no time. Then I have more time to spend with my family!
Happiness is impossible. There are far more terrible things than good things in the world. This vacuum should be included in the list of terrible things. Don’t get me started on how it treats oriental rugs.
> The vacuum has a really really long cord, which is totally great for getting around the house without having to unplug & replug. Though sometimes, it’s so long it seems to get in the way. That being said, when I’m vacuuming, the weight of the cord makes me more aware of where it is, which is totally helpful.
I question the concept of awareness. My awareness of the world & my surroundings is the same as my awareness of the presence of oxygen in the atmosphere. My body knows it's there, but I pay it no mind. The cord offers no promises of a heightened awareness.
> The manual that comes with the vacuum perfectly explains how to keep it running forever!
There is no manual for existing in this absurd world.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Doris C.
During our last fight I called my husband a Multi-Floor Uptight Bagless Vacuum.
I said: I can’t talk to you. You’re all about your Chabs memorabilia. All you talk about is game scores & snack foods. Your clutter & your chatter are stifling. You suck air out of my lungs & blood out of my veins. I am being pushed aside in this house, cornered like a dust bunny. You & this house, both of you are MULTI-FLOOR UPTIGHT BAGLESS VACUUMS.
Then I slammed the curtain & left. I haven’t gone back since.
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Jacob R.
I fear dust & dirt. What we will become.
This product did not exist before, but now that it does you can hold nothing in your hands.
It says here in the product label that these vacuum cleaners are not suitable for all circumstances. For example, they do not perform well at night when there is a lack of breathable air.
It should be noted that these vacuum cleaners are not intended to replace bodily care. Rather, they are a way for a cat or dog to relieve itself in a way that is non-removalist & non-conformist. Simply turn on the vacuum & create a vacuum. The pet waste, gone.
It should be noted that the vacuum cleaner’s bags are not recommended as temporary clothing or as emergency blankets. They don’t protect you from the elements. Instead, they protect you from the end result of your inherent self destruction.
Some cats like these vacuum cleaners. & heh heh heh. Heh. Heh. Heh. I’m one of those cats.
mmmbra Nihili/ Food Court
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Jeb C.
We are living in the future, but nobody is dressed like it. Everyone's just shuffling through the court in their sweat pants & flippy floppies, but also, at the same time, carrying all the world's knowledge in their pocket. We can instantly send messages to each other, across the globe, while simultaneously watching a movie, checking sports scores, & reading an encyclopedia entry about strawberries, but at the same time, I just saw a guy who was wearing an olive-green Taz t-shirt emblazoned with the words "Here 2 Party." I thought, & I don't think I'm alone here, that when the future came, when we had technology like this, that we'd all be wearing like shiny silver jumpsuits or something like that.
Anyway, the food court is a great place to come people watch. Now that I’m unemployed, recently separated from my wife, & have no other place to be, I spend most of the day here. I just sit here & go steal free Pepsi refills, & drink out of my Chabs cup. Right now, I’m watching a family of four all check their phones simultaneously, connecting to satellites that orbit the Earth, communicating through the vastness of space, while all wearing various shades of denim jorts. The future is wild. This place is wild. The food's not that great, but what do you expect from a place where twelve out of the twelve options either have the word "fried" or "express" in their names?
On a side note, I noticed that there really aren't that many three-star reviews on here. People tend to go one way or the other. It's either five stars or one star most of the time. Extremes. One could argue that's what life is, but I would disagree. In general, life is like the three star review. Nothing mind-blowing, but also not total shit at the same time. I understand that there are highs & lows in life, but most of the time is spent in between those moments. Like now, for example, while I write this review at the food court, nothing is particularly great or terrible about my life. I'm just sitting here waiting, I guess. For what? Nothing, I guess.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Orlando B.
Hello Every One Out Here
I'm ORLANDO BLOOM. I'm From UNITED KINGDOM. I never believed in love spells or magic until I met this spell caster, but after 6 years of joy my WIFE left me so I spoke to this medium who urges every single soul with problems. He got back to me in just 24 hours. I want to tell the whole world that DR. FOOTLOOSE is a solution provider. No one could have ever made me believe in superstition but by emailing the drfootloose@shadowofnothingness.com, I received a reply that was striking, & now I have my wife back. I am now happy & a living testimony of joy. The spells are real & the magic will put a smile on your face.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Carol L.
rsla & I eat at the Food Cort often. Sometimes, when we are eating together, I look at her pt food in her moth, I look at the food in front of me, & I get really depressed. There's something abot the banality of eating that makes me qestion everything or think abot the pointlessness of existence. If we're at home, I'll look over to the window & think abot jmping ot. Or dancing ot. With a perfect pas-de-chat ot the open window. If I'm here, I think abot rnning ot of the mall, ot the front door, & and jst lay down in the middle of the road ntil I'm rn over by a trck. What do I intend? All I can do is eat & chew & throgh the food, speak softly, & say “this is my moth that’s where the food goes that’s where the words come ot” bt, my moth fll, it sonds like “dsh es ma moche dash wr le foo go dash wr le whir como.”
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Restaurant
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Jeb C.
Imagine a pirate’s voyage-fermented rations. A lumpish boulder of sour potato & brazen onion. Thus was the chaos of the appetizer, a surly dish with hints of tobacco spit & toilet cloth. Then the taco, framed by a lip-gloss-flavored guacamole ring & stuffed with a sandy beach towel of oyster. The glossy tarp of tortilla was the only thing that could hold back the pre-chewed texture of the dish, but I was left with the lingering taste of a rollerblade's wheel. For the entree, a jerking burden of bald falsehoods, I can only hope that the cook was drunk, because otherwise my faith in humanity would be totally shattered. The meat was an enigmatic beige. The whole entree was a magmata of sweat & undercooked starch surrounded by a wreath of grease. To conclude this ordeal, the peach dessert was brutal, with a demented snort of cream & an afterthought of bruised sugar.
After this wicked ordeal, I immediately drove to CVS, where I cleansed my palate with the unexpectedly delicious flavor pairing of Cheesy Enchilada/Sour Cream Doritos Collisions & Assorted Tropical Fruit Tums. Then I went back for more, something that could get this wretched taste off my tongue. I found a package of Snack Size Almond Joy Candy Bars & ate those while I loaded up my cart with Chex Mix Muddy Buddies Peanut Butter & Chocolate, CVS Gold Emblem Pistachio Delights, Enjoy Life Plentils Crunchy Lentil Chips Light Sea Salt, Gold Emblem Abound White Cheddar Flavored Heavenly Light Popcorn, etc. I purchased all these things, & more, & ate them in my car as I wished for short term memory loss, anything to get the memory of that “meal” out of my head. I made a stop at the liquor store & drank a palate-cleansing 750 ML bottle of Popov while sitting in the driver’s seat of my car & contemplated driving into oncoming traffic.
After the suspicion of a one-eyed slur of a drive, I awoke in the early morning, still behind the wheel; an echo of the empty plastic vodka bottle knocked around at my feet. The hangover was slightly more pleasant than the meal, & after stumbling from car to house to kitchen floor, I continued to be astonished by the color palette, texture, & flavor of last night’s orgy of terror as I lay in the grey-green slop of my former nightmare.
I am separated.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Doris C.
I eat here sometimes. A single person does not necessarily like to cook. What can I say, that the reviewer above, my estranged husband, has not already said? Nothing. His articulations are full & accurate & belie his simpler views on the Chabs & Hotels.
Here is how I would like to sum up my experience:
This restaurant’s food has perpetuated my life in spite of my best intentions.
I will be looking for meaning, connection, & forgiveness in the digestive aids section of the local CVS tomorrow at noon. I will be wearing what is left of myself & holding a bottle of baby aspirin. Find me, please.
Umbra Nihili/ Recipe
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Sofía F.
This is great. You should have everything you need at home. Even if you think that your fridge is empty, you can totally make this. & when I say empty, I mean empty. Some people have colorful & exotic condiments in the butter dish. But others don’t. This will work for either kind of person. The have & have-nots of condiments.
If you like almonds, though, I say go get them & add those. Toast them if you want. Toasting adds flavor to the almonds, & the almonds add flavor to the dish.
Maybe think of adding filler, too, especially if you’re hungry. Any kind of filler—think of any kind of rice as a good filler. If you add rice as filler, the dish will be filling.
I usually get my food at the convenience store or al fresco. I like a commemorative corn dog as much as a fresh strawberry. But just looking at this recipe for Umbra Nihili & using my expertise as an eater, I say double the sour. & also double the cream.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Bar & Grille (Route 168)
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Kofi S.
Had high hopes for this place, especially since it’s so close to the highway. The Shadow of Nothingness is kinda funky inside, but I should have known better when it took us an hour & a half to get our Pepsis & water. Then we waited another hour only to have the waitress tell us that we’d be here much longer than we anticipated.
And this waiter, he wasn’t our waiter, but he came up to the table next to ours, & this is after he brought their crab dip—and I have to say, I think we made a mistake not ordering that crab dip because it did look amazing & came with this basket of obviously homemade tortilla chips & I’ll have to get it next time—but yes, the waiter. He is not American obviously. I think he is some kind of Austrian, but that’s fine with me, no problem with the Austrians, but he just comes up to their table & mocks God. Right in front of us. Just totally blasphemes & says the LORD’S PRAYER but all wrong, just replacing most of the words with nada, which you might know is Spanish for nothingness (thanks Señora Baker, 11th Grade Spanish!). Is this what management tells staff to do? Is this some kind of like internal ad for the restaurant? Just say the name of the restaurant in Spanish over & over while mocking God? I don't understand. What about the Birthday Song? I didn't hear that sung or anything or see any candles or cakes or any of those pointed cone birthday hats passed out, but what does management train these people to do with the Birthday Song? Happy nada to you, happy nada to you, happy nada dear nada, happy nada to you?
At least they have free refills on the Pepsis but it seems like customer service is not a top priority. We’re still here waiting for our food, & it’s been so long I can’t even remember when we got here.
(response to Dennis Y.’s review on March 3)
Walter T.
Dennis, obviously you ate a different bar & grille than the one you described in your review. When you said “the chicken strips provided another reason to consider suicide,” you must have been drunk on the free beer we gave you after you sent back your Strawberry Lime FroYo-JITO™ for being “too cold.” The Fro in FroYo stands for “frozen,” Dennis. Get it together. We don’t have chicken strips. We have Peanut-Crusted Chicken Brittles™. The three different Brittles™ we offer all come in a RING shape. If you can't handle the ring, I would suggest the Chikensalad Clubkid™, as it comes in the classic SQUARE shape we all know & love. Lastly, you said your server Helmut “laughed about the true nature of time & basked in the dry light of my agony,” while you waited “over three hours” for your food. I assure you that we train our staff to have a firm grasp of the nature of time.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Orlando B.
Tough issues !
TROUBLING TRUTH *"! Mat 10:39 ", as KING OF CHRIST! WAKE UP "HE WHITE CROW"WE HOPE, YOU "! Refer to # 35 "A NEW ASSHOLE"! Isa 53;12
protectors personal. While The END of CHAOS ON PLANET EARTH!
onerous not easily borne; wearing
gratuity an award (as for INSIGHTTT
Try these powers, though issues !
impotentanz German foe.
LOVE YOU GET THERE! "AND IT MUST OCCURin the bearer mysteries of the FATHER EXCEPT THROUGH ME! John 14:6. SOON IT WILL SWOOP DOWN!
AS YOU READ MY WORDS OF POWER *I WILL BE
ORLANDO BLOOM
(response to Lorna R.’s review on April 2)
Walter T.
Once again I have to come on here & correct the lies that some of our "customers" insist on telling. Why do they attack us? Why do they spread lies? These reviewers are rotten trolls who make up stories about us in order to make themselves feel better about their terrible lives. As a manager here for the last two & a half years, I have come to cherish this place, our management, our staff, our walls, our floors, & mostly, but not always, our customers.
Watching my customers leave satisfied is one of the best feelings in the world, but when customers eat all their food, drink all their drinks, pay & leave & say NOTHING to me or my staff, & then come on here to complain & make up a bunch of stuff, I just feel like this world is going straight to heck.
So another liar, Lorna R., wrote a review, & I have to say, I have seen your profile pic, Lorna, & I have never seen you in the restaurant. You say you were here, but I don’t think you were. I don’t think “Lorna” even exists. It's "customers" like Lorna that purposely write fake reviews to meet some kind of twisted agenda.
Business owners & managers come on here all the time & apologize to their customers, either for bad service or bad food or something else. Those people are losers & their restaurants are failing. I run the best bar & grille in the world, unparalleled in our food quality, drink selection, & parking availability. So where's my apology? Why aren't these liars & fake-reviewers apologizing to me for spreading their lies?
Lorna, I did not appreciate your tone or the sarchasm in your review. The Frosty Donut Hole Deep Fried Delight™ might have been the "best hole [you've] ever eaten," because yes, it is delicious, but when you wrote "The Breezers never arrived. Perhaps the waiter fell into the giant pit near the bathroom," it was a serious & libelous fabrication. The small, almost imperceptible hole in the floor has only been there for two days. And, due to a supply chain issue, we have not stocked Breezers since Tuesday. Obviously you're making stuff up on the internet because you have no life.
When you said the onion rings looked & tasted like deep fried handcuffs, you obviously didn't understand that our BraiZed&BaTTeRd Onion-Shoes™ are not only a fun play on the classic horseshoe shape, but also triple fried in not one or even two but three kinds of fat. I can tell you that every Onion-Shoe that comes out of our kitchen is the most delicious shoe you've ever eaten.
When you compared the taste of the Oreo-Blasted Tequila GuiltShake™ to "rain that has pooled in an overflowing ashtray," you must have been at a different bar & grille because not only is every GuiltShake made to order with precision, each one is a gift to the consumer, an artisanal triumph in the world of Oreo-based mixed drinks. As well, smoking is not allowed inside our establishment. There is a forest of Smokers' Outposts available outside, near the rear of the building for those so inclined.
I hope I'm giving the rest of the readers a screenshot of daily life at the bar & grille when I say that everything we do is done with a deep love for the product & the company & that service is our number one priority. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar, especially when they write things like "the place has an atmosphere like a latex fire." Simply not true. Our atmosphere is compliant & consistent in every way with the layer of gases that surround the Earth.
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Dan D.
Bar & Grille? Since my young adulthood they’ve moved the “e”! It used to be the Bare & Grill. Now it’s the Bar & Grille? This makes me sad. I used to love to come here. You could take off your shirt (and more) & grill a good piece of meat on an individual grill adjacent to your table. The heat from the grill made it pleasurable to be bare. & grilling without getting rayon or cottonblend sleeves near the flames is safer, too . . . Everything was just meat. No ™, no fuss.
Nothing reminds you of your own nature more than preparing & eating grilled meat while being bare. Many marriages began at the Bare & Grill with pregnancies. Mine too.
They had white tablecloths. & napkins.
I had to take a job in teflon after our daughter was born. I never had time to go back to the Bare & Grill, & now they’ve moved the “e”! & I don’t know what a Grille is if it’s not on my car, & I won’t find out. I don’t have a car anymore anyway.
I’m in the third segment of life now, retired from teflon, sitting in an empty house so full of crap. Even a yard sale & a cleaning company couldn’t unburden me. (Do you need THINGS? If you need things contact me!)
And now all my old places are going or already gone. First the Pay & Pay, now the Bare & Grill. Only the Maze still exists. I hope.
I’m thinking of running away from my things & out into the wilderness, away from the Shadows of Nothingness & deep into the mountains. I’m thinking of being bare with bears. I’m thinking of being nature again.
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Dana H.
Service: Below Average
The fries came out cold & went straight into my BUNNY cup. I asked the waiter if he meant to leave nothing to the customers’ imagination, with his shortest of short shirts & most cropped of crop tops. He shrugged out a grunt & disappeared for a good five to ten minutes. When he came back that’s when he brought me the cold fries & plopped them directly into my BUNNY cup. That’s when I said that I wanted new, hot fries, & I did not want them in my BUNNY cup, I wanted them in my KWEEN cup. I had come here to mourn the passing of my cat Trevor & instead of feeling calm or relaxed or happy, I felt ignored & stressed. So I just walked out & tossed my BUNNY & KWEEN cups into the trash & went to the Cassinoh instead. At least they have the decency to understand their own worthlessness.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Country Corn Maze
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Dennis Y.
Sometimes I feel like a microchip, pulsing a beacon from a disemboweled animal who has soiled itself. Never to be found, or if found, when it's too late. When is it too late? Always. When I wake up in the morning, I wake up late. I crush the shit out of my alarm clock, just pound the hell out of it, pound to zero it out, to stop time, & it never works. This morning was no different. I ran out my front door to the car, to work, to some kind of vague comfort & then when the work was done, I got back into my car again. Normally, I drive back home, ready to repeat the same thing the next day or I go to the bar or get drive thru or groceries, but today I drove with the intention of getting lost.
So I drove around, for maybe an hour, & as the town made way for farmland, I saw a sign that read "Country CornMaze Ahead 1 MI." As I pulled in, I noticed quite a few other parked cars, but no obvious place to pay an entry fee, so I just walked right into the maze, right under the giant wooden, curved arrow pointing downward with "Maze Entrance Hear" painted on it. While I walked through the maze, I didn't see anybody else, but I kept on thinking about how satisfying it would be to reach the center. The sun was setting & the air felt much cooler in the maze. As I buttoned up my jacket I had many different thoughts. What would I find there? Is that where I would find everyone? Just standing in the center of the maze checking their phones? I wanted a cigarette but I didn't have any. Maybe someone in the maze would bum me one. Maybe I should just leave the maze & go buy some cigarettes. No, I quit cigarettes. Cigarettes won't help me find the middle of the maze.
Eventually, I cheated. I looked at the satellite view on my phone & navigated myself right to the middle. Did I find anything interesting? Anything life changing? Anything worth spending my time writing this review about? I can't say that I did. Seeing as how I never really got lost, I never really achieved my goal. I was just there, alone with my own thoughts. Thoughts about trying to get by, to live, with money, my hilarious careening down several classic narrative slides, life clichés, rotating along revolutions of a large wheel, investing in grim futures. When I was younger, my mother told me the animals laying in the road were sleeping. Tearing your insides out seemed like a funny way to get ready for bed.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Carol L.
Cld not find the entrance sign yo speak of. Cld not find the maze at all. Have been wandering for hors. No maze. No maze. Only fond canned corn at the convenience store. Which I boght. Because yo like it. Yo like corn & condiments.
I lost yo. I love yo.
Where are yo?
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Deshi F.
After getting lost in the maze, I had to deal with the lingering effects of being lost. I guess I am still feeling those effects. I’m in the oncology wing, mentally preparing for my inevitable release. I am also paying the tab for the maze, which is a metaphor btw.
The secret to staying alive involves a kind of portal or group of portals. Hoops, if you will. I jump through them. The portals dissolve & then reappear somewhere else. The hoops bend & elongate.
I know I can only return to the present, to the present moment, where I am temporarily protected from the threat of death. But who is to say what will come next? Too bad the portals can’t take me back. But what would I even do when I got there? Too bad the portals can’t take me forward. I’m pretty sure there’d be nothing to see, but only the dead could tell you that.
Umbra Nihili/ Antidepressant
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Tyler C.
Am I taking it? Am I not taking it?
What do I know. It works just as well as placebos, which is better than Wellbutrin. I know that for sure.
Should you take it?
Tell me if you manage to not take it.
It’s not a pill, it’s not a gas, it’s not a skin patch. It’s just in the air. Like the way they spray for mosquitoes at night without telling you. One morning you wake up & you’re covered.
You’ll know you’re on it when you look at children on the playground merry-go-round & shrug while thinking: & so it goes. Again. Again. Again. They’re spinning happily toward nothing.
You’ll know you’re on it when you laugh at your laundry in the dryer: Sometimes the underwear is up & then it’s down.
You know you’re on it when you look at your skin & wonder what the hell it is trying to keep inside. & then you decide that you don’t really care.
Umbra Nihili is a fact. That’s all there is to it.
Oh, I should say though that my cousin Helmut, who is on it, swears it sets him free. He now listens to The Degnans (a spheric totally underrated ’80s band — all harmony, no sarcasm), wears crop tops, & smiles at strangers.
So, maybe it’s a matter of the dosage.
Tell me if you figure out how to dose this.
Anyway: I can’t imagine life without it. Truly. I am trying to remember how it was when I didn’t know about it, but that time seems loooooong gone.
Pro: it’s so affordable. Con: you have no option not to have it.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Investment Opportunity
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Tyler C.
Listen up, Karate-fanatics.
This is a great place to lay your headband.
If you feel down for a long-term transaction this fine place will help.
Short-term, but steady investment, could pay off your student loans,
could pave the way for a career in business or even better,
a career in karate.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Bakery
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Dennis Y.
I called this place up & ordered a cake. I'm guessing that people often want things written on their cakes like "Happy Birthday" or "Congrats!" That's not what I wanted. I just wanted a cake. It was Lorna's last day at the office, & as she seemed to be really ready to get out of there, I thought a cutesy saying wasn't really the way to go. When the guy on the phone asked me what I wanted on it, I said, "Nothing. I want nothing written on the cake. Just cake. No words. Nothing." So, I go to pick up the cake, & what do I see written in big brown letters over the shiny, white icing? You guessed it, "NOTHING." When I called back this was the response:
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. I’m sorry, but ha-ha."
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Convenience Store
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Eddie G.
What I wanted was the largest goddamn soda they had. What I got was a large soda in a Chabs commemorative cup. Did I intentionally get the commemorative cup? Was it like when I saw this face pulsating & growing out of my bedroom wall, & I screamed & I woke up Mom & Dad? I guess the face was both the cause & object of my fear. Was it like that? Do I ever intend on doing anything? What is fucking intention anyway?
I guess, in this case the cause (it was the largest cup) & the object (hey, oh shit look it’s actually a commemorative cup) are the same thing? Are the cause & the object the same thing?
Maybe not all intentional actions have mental causes. Maybe mental causes aren’t actually very important at all. Maybe a mental cause is something that passes through the mind. Maybe a 64-ounce Dr. Pepper is what you need on a 90 degree day in August.
★ ★ ★ ★ ☆
Tyler C.
Drove around. Heat. August.
Thought: Hydration!
Hydration is always a struggle. I’ve been to the hospital.
Thought: Hydration! Soda. Sodaaaa!
Next thing: Billboard: 64oz Giant Gulp! @SoN Convenience.
One minute later: Holding cold jug of root beer against my forehead.
Thought: Hot damn. Convenient. Living up to its genre, that store.
Wondered about the store name: Shadow of Nothingness.
WTF.?
Shrugged. Drank Soda. All 64 oz of it.
Hour later: circumstances, traffic. Pressure on my bladder.
Usually a champion holder. Eight hours w/o passing water? No problem.
But right there on the thruway? No place to stop. No shoulder.
Should have stopped at the roadside Cassinoh I passed!
Instead: Tried to relieve myself in motion - almost managed.
But: Splatter.
Khakis are unforgiving fabric.
There it is: The Shadow of Nothingness. HA!
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Eddie G.
Oh & another thing. When I walked through the door, I didn’t have to think, “I have to open the door first.” When the stoned-ass cashier offered me the Chabs commemorative cup, I said, “I don’t give a shit about the cup, I just want your largest soda.” I didn't say, “I don’t want the commemorative fucking cup.” Anyway, my dentist recently told me that intention is never a performance in the mind. The large soda was to walking through the door as receiving the commemorative cup was to opening the door. In order to get the largest drink, I had to get the fucking commemorative cup.
A couple days later, I again really wanted a fucking giant goddamn soda from The Shadow. I intentionally got a large soda, & I paid the extra dollar with the intention of getting a large goddamn soda. I said, “I don’t give a shit how much it costs.” “I don’t give a shit how much it costs” meant that I intended on paying x, where x was any goddamn price. I wanted to get this large fucking soda so bad.
So I intended to get a large soda. I intentionally got the large soda & I intentionally paid x. Although I had no foreknowledge of the drink's actual price, it didn’t fucking matter. My intention was to pay x, where x was any goddamn price, & that is what I fucking paid.
I had intended to pay the extra dollar depending on the description of my actions. If I swiped my Visa credit card, paid the extra dollar, & was not aware I was paying the extra dollar, I guess I was still acting intentionally. I guess I made the same bodily movement if the drink was a dollar more or not.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Eddie G.
Oh yes & one more thought. You know there are two ways to pay. When I took out my busted-ass wallet, took out some bills, & just handed over an extra dollar, I intended to pay the extra dollar. I moved my arm, I took out the money (extra dollar included), & I handed it to the stoned-ass cashier.
If I paid for the drink with my Visa credit card, got the receipt, & saw that I had paid an extra dollar, I could have returned the drink & shouted, “I don’t want this if it costs an extra dollar!” But that’s something an asshole might do. What I know without observation are my certain bodily movements. A few days ago, when I swiped the Visa, I knew without observation that I would be paying amount x (where x is any fucking amount because I needed the soda so goddamn bad).
I guess “Why?” could be applied here as well. In this case, if you asked me, “Why did you pay an extra dollar?” I would respond, “Because I wanted the biggest fucking soda on God’s green Earth, motherfuck.” If you asked me to elaborate I would say, “I wanted the largest soda, shitwipe, & I didn't care how much it fucking cost & because fuck you that’s why.”
Anyway, it’s right off the highway & they have really big ass fucking sodas so definitely 5 out of 5 stars.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Snack B.
Have you tried their Cool Sage & Honey flavored Pretzelsticks with your Drink?
Like wine & cheese, like pb & j,
it’s Shadow of Nothingness, Cool Sage & Honey flavored Pretzelsticks from Umbra Nihili Snack Co., & your Drink!
A pairing that is meant to be.
You can’t get any closer to the abyss of deliciousness.
It’s the last blast before taste oblivion.
Umbra Nihili Snack Co’s Cool Sage & Honey flavored Pretzelsticks.
Xoxo, Your snack from Your snack buddy.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Snacks (Blasted with Chicken Wing Flavor)
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Jamar S.
Got the Shadow of Nothingness Snacks today. Great appetizer. They’re small & dignified. It’s like the chicken wing is a universal condiment. Would be perfect with a Snack Size Delight. Would be perfect with Birthday Mixes too. Great snack, especially for a late bloomer.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Eddie G.
As a doctor at the hospital, I have to say I have a different experience of the everyday. I mean, everyone’s different, right? Everyone’s experience is different, right? Some days I am completely overwhelmed with déjà vu, some days I am more present in the present moment, but on other days I just sit & think about death. Sometimes I even cry. & this is not just in the hospital. Sometimes I just stare blankly at the wall, or sit in a busy hallway, or sit in a busy parking lot, & shout. Can you see me?? Can you see me?? Can anyone see me??
I’m a thin pencilled line on a plain piece of paper. This is totally fine, but sometimes a single correct & alarming thought circulates through my head, & my entire being is threatened. When that happens, I lose it. I'm not just angry, I'm in tears. I'm in a constant state of withdrawal, even when I'm doing something productive like buying chicken-wing flavored snacks. I lose it, too. I'm in a permanent state of low self-esteem. & because of this I frequently engage in illegal activities, like drinking & driving. What is my punishment for engaging in these behaviors? Nothing.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Info Center
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Tap S.
I am not sure why Mas & I chose to come here, except that people told us we have to come here. Now, in hindsight, I think that “have to” has some nuances. You have to try the stuffed olives is different from you have to pay the ransom.
Coercion/suggestion/fate. All of these can be said in the words “you have to.” We assume that context will tell us the true meaning of “have to.” But it doesn’t always. Sometimes it does not. People told us we have to come here. We’re here. & now, in hindsight, I’d say it was a coercively suggested fate that brought us here. But, no matter. We’re here. Without a guide or a place. We were expecting Pierre, but found none. Instead we perceived a lack of Pierre, & that’s not nothing.
It’s hard to get your bearings in this shady township. Mas & I could not figure out the lay of the land. We’re used to depending on Google Maps, etc., but all we get here is a spinning wheel & the notice that the connection to the server has failed. & if you google “map of Shadow of Nothingness Township,” you get a map for “Shadow of War” (?). It’s as if this place did not exist. It’s disorienting.
So, instead of a Google Maps connection, I tried to get an old-fashioned paper map at the Info Center, but I couldn’t figure out where that was. Eventually, while Mas was taking a course on Descaling at the town’s UNespresso Store, I went to the SoN bar next door (the other one), where I took a seat at the end of the bar & ordered a drink that, now that I think about it, I am still waiting for. I do perceive a lack of drink. Which is not nothing.
While waiting for that drink I opened my notebook. I like to keep a travel journal. Although, in hindsight, it is often not very exciting. I perceive a lack of excitement in my travelling life. Which is not nothing either. Oh well. In an attempt to regain orientation I crudely drew Pierre’s supposed abode in the approximate center of my notebook page, & then I stopped. To take in the effects.
Suddenly a local, exceedingly lubricated chap leaned over to me, asking me if I come here often. I was unable to answer that question, because, while I don’t know where I am & haven’t been here long, I do feel as if I have never been elsewhere. I answered, “Where is the ‘here’ you are referring to, good man?” He looked blankly. “Where are we?” I clarified.
He pointed to a spot on my notebook page & said, “Here.” Then he hiccupped & his finger moved considerably northward on the page, propelled by the reverberation of his small & cognac-flavored peristaltic revolt. I pointed to the spot he had originally fixated on my nearly blank page & asked: Are you saying “‘here’ is here? Or is ‘here’ where you are pointing now?” He looked at our two fingers on the page & then measured the distance to No-Pierre’s house. “No, no—’here’ is here” he then said & insisted on a third location. “north & west of the house.” he added with an undisguised burp. “The house? Do you know Pierre’s house? Do you know Pierre?” I asked. “No, who’s Pierre? I don’t know Pierre but a CVS is right next door to here,” he said, nodding proudly. Then he leaned forward & fished an olive from behind the bar. “A CVS is right next door, yes” he said contently chewing on the olive. To confirm I drew a square on the page where his third finger had been, wrote CVS on it & put a square labeled bar right next to it & the coffee store to the other side of the bar. “Like this?” I asked the man. “Yes. That’s here. Definitely” he agreed. I felt a surge of relief. Somehow the smallest understanding of my coordinates, the smallest sense of orientation made me feel elated. With this fellow’s help, I had recovered meaning in the words left & right. East & West.
“Let me buy you a drink!” I joyfully proposed, to which he agreed. Then I continued to point to various spots on the page, asking “What’s here?” He answered my inquiries in ways only a true local could. I drew according to his pronunciations. (The amoeba-like culs-de-sac were the most difficult. They are arranged around a funeral parlor!) After drawing each new landmark, I always asked, “Did you mean like this, good man?” to which he usually nodded. This way we—his knowledge, my hand—managed to draw the entire township. The roads were tricky. “The main road 8s around my whole life,” said my new friend & guide before he fell into a long nap on a pillow of cocktail napkins.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Jack V.
It’s a bad sign when your town’s information center is covered with occult graffiti & surrounded by dog shit & broken glass. The back area facing the woods is covered with the stuff. Some of the things written there are pretty scary. Repent & all that. Flaming swords smiting the unclean. That type of stuff. Sometimes I think that there’s something really wrong with this town. Sometimes I think that I should just pack a bag & leave.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Orlando B.
"HE that PUTS FAITH IN ME, JUST AS the SCRIPTURE HAS SAID: OUT FROM HIS INNERMOST PART, STREAMS of LIVING WATER WILL FLOW!"
* THE MYST ICAL CROW - WHITE BRILLIANCE, CORVUS COR NONE 111, CARRI ON>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>"LET THE GOOD ONES BE PURGED BY THE PROPHET!"
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Chabs Alarm Clock
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Jeb C.
There's nothing wrong with the original Chabs Alarm Clock. In fact, my wife & I really love it.
You know, the clock does wonderful things with time. Like when you discover your child is actually alive. Like, when you open the package & see that your child is actually alive. Like, alive in well, in the box. Like, when you pluck your child’s body from the box, alive & well.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Doris C.
As my husband says, there is nothing wrong with the Alarm Clock per se. This morning I compulsively checked it (at least five times) & every single time it did announce, on its face, the passage of time. However, I left unanswered the question: Which is closer, life & death?
Perhaps I simply cannot conceive of the latter. Perhaps I simply need all the time in the world to ponder nothing, no matter how circular & pointless it seems. Perhaps I simply need excessive time to think about what happened before we opened the box. Time to think about what happened while we opened the box. Time to think about what happened after we opened the box. & so on. & so on. & so on.
Alas, it does not matter: we opened the box.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Tyler C.
I don’t have one of these, but I’m thinking about getting one.
I’m thinking of getting an alarm clock that wakes me up & says “Hello Everywhere! There’s No One Here!” But the sound of an alarm in crisis is not unlike the squeak of a car while the steering wheel is turning.
I’m thinking of getting everything I need at home. What can I get for my money & how much does it cost for a good alarm clock?
I’m thinking of becoming a small business owner. Self-taught, with experience, ready to get back to business. Should I start a karate dojo?
I’m thinking of getting a watch, but with an alarm, something that reminds me, or even scolds me. Something like, “I don't understand why you would want a high-end sofa like this.” You couldn’t just leave it hanging. It would demand a response.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Funeral Home
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Dan D.
“Don’t call us. We’ll call you.” That’s their slogan. & it’s true. They cold-call people frequently to inquire about their (and their family’s) health & to explain the benefits of arranging a funeral well before death.
I answered one of their calls accidentally one day, thinking it was the Bar & Grille, telling me that my delivery was delayed from its delay (I don’t know why I keep ordering from them?! Yes I do. I like their Brittles.) & I spoke to a fine fellow named Ted, who said I could call him Bruce. I could just see Bruce wearing a good suit, even though I didn’t see him. He spoke like a good-suit-wearing man would speak. He spoke clean-shaven too.
“There’s no time like the present to think of the end of your future,” he said. I nodded. I put away the bag of Goldfish I had been forced to snack on while waiting for my delivery, & I nodded. “There is no time like the present to think about the end of your future, Mr. Dogwater,” Bruce repeated, & I could smell his classically masculine cologne. Old Spice, but newer.
“Mr. Dogwater, if you think back on the past, isn’t the thought of the end of the future imminent?”
Imminent he said. That was a word I hadn’t heard in awhile. Nothing’s been imminent in a long time
Bruce said imminent with such conviction. I could just hear him leaning toward me, offering me a scotch (a good kind), neat & imploring me “Act now, Mr. Dogwater,” he whispered. Urgently.
Well of course, I thought, “If something is imminent you must act now, Dogman!” I said that to myself. I hadn’t called myself Dogman in years. I felt my slumped shoulders squaring. “If something is imminent, act!” my Dogman-self yelled at me.
v
The imminent imminence was what got me to get out my credit card. I could hear Bruce smiling, his manly dimpled cheeks signaling approval. “Mr. Dogwater,” he praised, “only the bravest of us risk to be prepared for the inevitable!” I noticed he had included me in the “us” of men like himself.
I bought the full package. Right on the phone. All nails in the coffin. I even have my own envelopes with forever stamps to send my own notices out. This will make it easy for my children, too. I wish them no ill. I recommended The Shadow of Nothingness to my ex wife as well. I wish her no ill.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Caroline D.
We, the Dogwater family, are not happy about the issue of the stolen Hummel figurines from my father’s funeral service. His sudden passing was hard but the theft made it even harder. The man on the phone, I think his name was Ted Bruce, didn't give me any information other than the police had come back & said they had no idea who took the figurines. This was too much for me, going through this difficult journey of the sudden loss of my father, & it came at such a bad time, when things weren't in order, when things were said that hadn't been made right, when things were not right, things are not right, things are not right, this was not right. What you did was not nothing. Where are the figurines, Ted? Where are the figurines?
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Davie D.
What you did was not nothing, Ted!
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Charlotte D.
What you did was not nothing!
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Niesha P.
TeD: What you did wasn’t nothing!
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Carol L.
What yo did was not nothing, Ted!
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Lorna R.
for dinner, wine salad, wow, super weepy, faded, feeling infected w/ grief, an animal bred for meat, tethered, reminded me about my lover, where is finance where is fiancee, before service, at food place, good service, but me wasted w/ high leg kick & spin knocked over the sip jar & the service knocked me over emotionally & I deserve it I’m a fine dancer w/ high leg kick & spin in my fantasy & see how I am cool assed w/ set of limbs I swear I was there, you could have seen me, above the vase through the flowers to back of the room at funeral, fosdadfdsa, this is just a temporary party but with precise dimensions, get ready for the imminent domain of the afterlife
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Retirement Home
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Niesha P.
Not fit for the living!
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
George B.
Saw a brochure & could not get over how little you get for no money! It’s a truly shady place.
If you love yourself & your parents go to Sunny Valley.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Caroline D.
My father worked for a teflon company (ChemObscure). After retirement & some personal difficulties with my mother, he was living by himself, & my brother & I were getting worried. He recently had given away a lot of his possession at a yard sale. Actually he should have called it a yard give-away. We wanted to plan ahead & so we broached the subject of senior housing (that can accommodate independent as well as assisted living). To do us a favor, I guess, he agreed to take a virtual tour of the SoN Retirement Home. But he ripped out his earphones mid-tour & started yelling. He went ballistic! He yelled that he’d rather end his life than move to SoN! He pounded his chest & yelled, “I. Am. The. DOGman!” One day after that he ordered himself a hunting knife & a sleeping bag & said he wanted to go up into the mountains & be bare with bears. It never came to that. He passed away before his gear arrived.
Make of that what you will, but I think it’s pretty clear.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Reed W.
At first my parents & I were pissed that we couldn’t get Gramma into Sunny Valley. (They have a waitlist that’ll keep them at capacity until 2043, fyi) We also checked Dewy Meadow, Crescent Pines, & Gentle Beaches. All totally filled. It’s like everybody my parents’ age suddenly has old parents!!
So, finally we found Shadow of Nothingness & we took Gramma there. Well, she LOVED IT. And, people, SoN has a bad rep for NO reason! All y’all who gave it a bad review, you’re spoiled fucks & I bet you’ve never even looked at their offerings. We took the whole tour, not a virtual but a real tour, fyi.
Shadow of Nothingness has endless bingo, silent karaoke, cardfree poker, & incomplete chess. They have a wheelchair-friendly hallway that loops around the entire building & ends where it begins. The halls & rooms have no mirrors, instead they have beautiful skinny shadow installations & nimble movement illusions. The cafeteria has a free liquid Jello dispenser & an always open baloney snack buffet! And, best ever, the contact initiatives: They have a virtual community interaction program that invites holograms of younger people to spend time with the seniors. There’s also the opportunity to spend an afternoon with a therapy dog fur. (That’s when they bring you the soft fur of a synthetic dog & you can pet it all you want for up to four hours.) And, in addition, they also offer a TV room that’s got really intricate versions of static on all channels. I said to Gramma that this must remind her of TV in 1952! “It’s the kind of static that makes you feel young, isn’t it Gramma” I said & she didn’t contradict me.
Gramma LOVED ALL OF IT.
Y’all should do some investigating before you give the Shadow of Nothingness no stars. Y’all are precious, elitist morons.
5 stars all the way to heaven.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Soleless Shoes
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
M.L._private
O have come to love these shoes. O wear them on grass & sand, on all terrain—carpeted & not. O can finally feel the ground O am doomed to be bound to!
Oh, O so love soleless shoes!
(not recommended for places with nails, chemical sludge, excrement, glass shards, or asphalt on hot days...)
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Reed W.
The ones that are made like UGGS keep the top of my feet superwarm. Loooove to wear these on the couch with my feet up on the coffee table.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Orlando B.
NO SHOES HAVE SOULS THIS IS BULSLHIT
—Truth, faith, loyalty, & belief
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Dennis Y.
The above commenter is an idiot. 👆
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Orlando B.
YOUR AN IDIOT. NO SHOES HAVE SOULS ONLY PEOPLE HAVE SOULS GOD IS REAL
READ #1076 NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Dennis Y.
*You’re
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Orlando B.
MY WHAT? WORD OF GOD SAYS SO ' THE WORDS OF THE WISE ONES ARE LIKE OXGOADS, & JUST LIKE NAILS DRIVEN IN, ARE THOSE INDULGING IN COLLECTIONS, OF SENTENCES, THAT HAVE BEEN GIVEN FROM , ONE SHEPHERD"! Ecc 12:11 (The CROSS in the CIRCLE). *MAN CAME TO BE "A LIVING SOUL", Gen 2:7. 1:30, 9:4**( WHY WERE ARE TO VIEW BLOOD AS "SACRED" & TO "ABSTAIN FROM"!)
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Jeb C.
Maybe the word of God is something enigmatic & ubiquitous like "Potato."
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Doris C.
“Tomato”
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Casino Cassinoh
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Jamar S.
I don't even know where to begin. When you enter the casino, the noise is overwhelming. It is just incredibly loud. It's not just because of the machines & the crowd noise, but it's also because it's right next to the highway. I mean, that sounds convenient, but it feels like it's actually ON the highway the car & truck sounds are so loud, an incessant pbthththth of motors. Next, as the whole place is a windowless tent, they sanitize the air with some kind of weird cheese-smelling chemical. Seriously. Cheese. Next time you eat a bunch of Cheetos, smell your hands after, it smells just like that!
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Jacob R.
+++ Call 999-888-0000 & listen to a recording of a local comic telling local jokes about his gambling life. +++
I’m an ex gambler every morning. Every afternoon I am a gambler again. & every night either a loser or a winner. More often a loser. Lately. Lately. But it’s about to turn. Tonight the moon is in cancer. I’ll win the jackpot. & then I’ll quit. I’ll quit for good. I remember my father, a veteran of WW2, who always advised me to laugh it off. The losses. The pain. So I do. I laugh it off. With a few good, real-life gambling jokes. & now I am ready to share my jokes with you via my 999 joke hotline!
(My good friend, RIP, who had an astonishing collection of Dead recordings, helped me make this joke hotline. So, if you hear Dead recordings instead of jokes press the # key twice. )
+++ Call 999-888-0000 & listen to a recording of a local comic telling local jokes about his gambling life. +++
This is a top notch collection of personal & custom-constructed PURE gambling jokes. Please, don’t think that you can get quality gambling jokes online. Most of the gambling jokes online are not PURE & not funny. They intersect with blonde jokes, with “man walks into a bar” jokes, & even with horse jokes! That is wrong!
+++ Call 999-888-0000 & listen to a recording of a local comic telling local jokes about his gambling life. +++
Who put the ace in the hole? Call to find out!
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Reed W.
I FOUND A DEAD BODY HERE.
OMG!
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Dana H.
Someone drags a one-armed bandit & a generator to a slightly wider patch of paved highway shoulder, pops a tent over it & calls it a casino? I guess that’s all it takes these days. The cardboard sign saying “Cassinoh” in fading black Sharpie is the only thing that distinguishes this place from the Human/Animal Sanctuary.
I used to come to this spot to bury my dead. Four former cats of mine rest here in peace. Now it’s come to this? You can’t even bury your furry companions without crossing through a cassinoh?
I’ve always found the sound of whooshing cars meditative. It reminded me of life’s swift passing. That’s why I buried my cats here. But the sound of a jackpot rattling through a one-armed bandit’s body is NOT conducive to mourning a companion!
I’m not inherently against cassinohs, but there is a time & place for everything. & it’s not here & not now.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Tyler C.
I drove back to this highway-adjacent casino hoping to find a washroom to clean a stain off my pants (long story, happened in the car).
I only found a tent with an old man pulling at the single slot machine’s arm & a seven-year old strutting about wearing reflective shades counting dollar bills.
A child is running this place!
When I tried to talk to the kid about it, he said “this is a free country” & that he can pursue his happiness any f’ing way he wants to. Then he pointed at my crotch, called me a “perma-stain” & told me to “fuck off.” I said, “What’s that kid? I’ll only fuck off if you have a colt in your tubesocks. Hahaha!” & he pulled up the right leg of his business casual khakis for children . . . & I fucked off.
As I ran to my car, the old man at the slot machine tucked a flyer for his joke hotline (???) into my belt.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Cemetery
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Davie D.
“Here is where you mourn the dead.” This place needs a sign that says that. Or “Here is where the dead are buried.” I had to learn that lesson the hard way. Had to watch people get old. People get sick. I got older. I’m older now, but the old timers in the bar kept on telling me that when you get old enough, life becomes a series of brief trips to this place. That it never ends until you do.
My father worked in teflon. He was always late for work. But he died early. I never really knew my father.
Now, I’m a new father.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Jack V.
After we failed at finding strawberries, we smoked & we drank, & we drove off in search of the nearest grave. We decided that by “nearest” we meant “most obvious” & went to my mother’s resting place. We looked for the “Ring Around the Rosie” Hummel Figurine that I had gotten free at a yard sale & that I had left there. Gone. We decided to dig for it. But no luck. We couldn’t even find a shovel.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Dennis Y.
I can’t even remember when I last went to the cemetery. I think it was after the bar kicked me out into the night, or maybe it was when I kicked the bar out into the night, either way I remember walking out the front door & seeing no one else on the sidewalk, just this eerie silence that comes with being an empty shell. I found myself at the cemetery & I remember thinking to myself, “What is this supposed to mean?” Nothing. I told myself that I have no intention of coming back here anytime soon if I can help it, but then I smoke & I smoke & I smoke & I don’t care if it’s God’s will that I inhale, this great & bitter tobacco of sin. I just roll it up & smoke it.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Time Machine
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Kofi S.
If you asked me to name the top three times my life was changed by the passing of time, I would have to say “time machine,” “time machine,” “time machine.”
I went to have a drink with my half-sister. A drink turned into many drinks & we spent the whole night out. My half sister said, “Why do we have to have this ‘everything’ instead of ‘nothing’? Like death, divorce, a beer or two?” “They’re all inevitable,” I said. She thought I was trying to make a point, maybe about how there is something, some stuff that exists, because of some kind of predetermined story or plan, some grand narrative. I think she wanted to talk about the death of her son, but I was misty with Breezers & just trying to make a death/taxes joke, & I kind of missed the point.
I wound up sleeping at her apartment & when I woke up in the morning, it was the day before again. I asked her & she said “I used the time machine.” Although it was the day before, I still had a raging hangover, so I didn’t really understand what she was talking about. What’s strange is that the hangover never really went away. I still feel it.
The following day, I called her to ask her about what happened, & she said that she never said “time machine.” & if she did, that she never intended to refer to what happened in that way. That she never intended for her child to be alive again. That it was unnatural. That she called the funeral home to make sure they didn’t make a mistake. That she called the cemetary too.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Instant Noodle Cup
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Mas L.
Wherever we, Tap & I, are, Instant Noodle Cup (INC) is perfect for a stormy night. Tap & I, we, with our sweatpants on, relaxed on the floral-print sofa of our temporary domicile, feet up on the coffee table, are watching the latest season of HR Undercover. I can't get enough of the inappropriate work outfits. Does this make me complicit in violent capitalism?
Is it time for another post-INC UNespresso?
SI!
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Church
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Eddie G.
I came here with aching hunger & lust. Filled with vodka, I kept hitting on people. Lots & lots of them. Until everyone just ignored me & I listened to the sermon. Being ignored is a bit like Heaven, isn’t it? I guess being a priest is like being in medicine, but everyone is under the same type of care & everyone listens to the same doctor.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Laundry Detergent
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Lorna R.
I had been using this product for years then I broke out with a rash that traveled all over my body. Saw a regular doctor who prescribed ointment. That didn't work. Went to a dermatologist, took multiple medications, & used various creams for several weeks. I had never had an allergic reaction to anything before. I had a couple bottles & tried to return them to the CVS, but they wouldn’t take them back. The clerk muttered something about how we all have to deal with the inevitability of it & just walked away. The inevitability of detergent?
I used to write poetry. Now I feel deprived of physical sensation. I lack emotion or feeling. I’m indifferent to most things, incapable of action, straight up enervated, prostrate & worn down, exhausted, but on the plus side, totally free from dirt. Totally unsoiled. Totally like a sheet that would cover a dead body / something no longer useful.
& the scent? It’s hard to describe. It’s like the absence of smell. You know those sensory deprivation chambers? The ones where you can’t hear anything or see anything? No one ever mentions the lack of smell in those things. That’s what the smell is like. It’s a non smell.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Human/Animal Sanctuary
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Eddie G.
This place is the absolute pinnacle of everything that is wrong with travel. I did not see anything, I did not have fun, & I left disappointed. I came here to have a good time, & instead the only thing I saw was ourselves, reflected in a broken mirror.
When I arrived at the sanctuary, I found that the business had closed. I assumed that the owner had moved on to a new venture or that someone had quit. However, when I walked through the door, I could see no one had been in the building for quite some time. Instead, I saw a small, bare facility with an incredibly dirty looking angry dog on the couch. The couch’s cushions were ripped into grimaces & there were many empty whiskey bottles & cigarette butts on the floor.
When I turned to leave, I was startled by the dog when it LOOKED ME RIGHT IN THE EYE & SAID . . . IT SAID . . . “Nowhere is safe.”
Shadow of Nothingness/ Five-Layer Nesting Orbs
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Reed W.
DO NOT get this from a third party seller!!
Nothing is inside the big orb.
Nothing is outside the small orb.
Faulty!!
★ ★ ☆ ☆ ☆
Kofi S.
Too small for everything
Good for nothing
A waste of time
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Dennis Y.
The orbs rotate around the sun. I use this phrase to remember them: My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nachos.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Davie D.
This product does not perform any tasks beyond self replication.
★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆
Jacob R.
These orbs are excellent containers for cassinoh chips & paperclips.
Would be better as cubes, though.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Eddie G.
I can’t get enough of these orbs. I keep the big orb (to be honest I never opened it) on the dashboard of my car & it rolls back & forth as I swerve through traffic. It’s totally mesmerizing & relaxing. After a long day in the OR, the movement of the shimmering orb & a half glass of vodka is enough to take me to my happy place.
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Arena
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Lorna R.
I have this recurring dream where I’m here & I’m a pro player & there’s the squeak of the floor & the distant ocean of crowd noise that floats to me in the locker room as I lace my sneaks & I bounce the ball a few times as if to be like “yes this is a ball that bounces” & yes it seems like a perfectly good ball to use but we will not use this ball at all & I am getting paid for this yes buying cars & houses for people I know family & friends yes & suddenly the game is tied & it’s close to the end & I pull back for the fadeaway three pointer & the buzzer sounds & my shorts fall down.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
M.L._clerk
This arena is currently in the planning stages. SoN township has begun fundraising, & has been successful enough to give the Architects, Umbra Nihili LLP, the go-ahead to proceed with schematic design. The arena will be a tribute to SoN’s town spirit, SoN’s tenacity & its peculiar melancholy, which is also visible in its mascot, the Shadow Puppet. As a representative of the local bureaucracy, I want to shift away from the narratives that inflate community dis-satisfaction & point to the upsides of this irresponsibly vital development. NO-ONE will lose their shorts in the Shadow of Nothingness! Instead our citizens will gain JOBS. With a plethora of short-term construction jobs, this will get many families living from paycheck to paycheck longer! Mouths will be full. & after the arena is built, there will be many, MANY, long term low-income service jobs: Shadow Puppet salespersons, coffee baristas, hot dog vendors, corn dog vendors, chili dog vendors, etc. These jobs will drastically cut down on people’s free time without increasing their income to burdensome levels. The jobs will also offer tangible benefits like friends & family discounts of 15% on merch. The entire project would also drastically revive a neighborhood which currently does not yet exist.
For all the people who are complaining about the loss of the corn maze, which is not a crop-circle as some would have it, I want to say that Imminent Domain forced that locale on us. Imminent Domain is an effective way of letting our town, the great Shadow of Nothingness, grow rapidly from the edges inward. We have seen what happens when SoN development remains un-orchestrated. Our Northside as well as both Westsides suffer from wild SoN sprawl.
I would also invite everyone to think about the long term pleasures this Arena will bring to the township, the many gleeful & poignant evenings. From basketball to musical acts, from ice hockey to oncology conferences, the possibilities for ticketed events are endless.
And lastly, our fellow citizens who work in gastronomy, the hotel & vacation rental business would benefit greatly as well, since we expect the Arena to cause a rise in visitorship, i.e. tourism (!), which is an industry that floats all our bottomless boats! So, think about the many-fold benefits, before you organize protests, involve Banksy, or give rise to any feelings other than resignation.
And for those who say we already have a stadium, why do we need an Arena? Please go to Oxford to consult their dictionary on the meaning of those words. These are very un-similar words. & if you knew the alphabet, this would be obvious to you.
Resentfully,
M.L., Township Clerk & Treasurer
The Shadow of Nothingness/ Parade
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Eddie G.
The parade broke our hearts. It broke our backs. We couldn’t stop stepping in broken glass. But we kept coming back. To get more broken glass. To get our fix of broken perceptions.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Tap S.
The parade is long gone. But the memory lives on in the air. We still have to breathe this air. Sometimes, at night, there’s a lack of it. I perceive a lack of air & that’s not nothing.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Jeb C.
The weather was so humid we barely could breathe. Afterwards we found a cheap hotel with no lights & no coffee, & ended up sleeping on the floor. The noise was terrifying. There were cockroaches crawling all over our beds. We tried covering our ears, covering our heads, covering the walls. The sheets made it impossible for us to see the bed or the ceiling, but the noise was still there.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Doris C.
Humidity is a tight embrace. Humidity is the formidable squeeze of celestial passion. Humidity is essential to any festivity. A parade without humidity is like a kazoo without a lower register.
The parade was a perfect bath of sweat & underachievement. Chabs-worthy in every way.
The hotel my formerly estranged husband & I visited after the event has been visited before. I will not repeat myself. Only this: The sheets he mentions were made of ticker-tape. What a feat. I appreciated their adorable opacity & their haunting crinkle effect.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Niesha P.
One of the best parades in the world! You guys always outdo yourself! Every march, festival, parade, etc., is a triumphal march through the park! & the artillery!
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Jamar S.
We tried to go, but it was too late. The sun had set, the street was lined with trash, & the air was thick with the scent of dog shit. Unfortunately, even though we didn’t get to see the parade, we still got stuck in the line leaving the Park & Pay.
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Eddie G.
The parade is well-known now, but back in the day it was one of those things that you just had to see to believe. There were the giant gargoyles, the giant wheelchairs, & the procession that would take you right up through the circular mall. There were the giant inflatable elephants, the giant inflatable clowns, & the giant inflatable rainbows. There was even a giant inflatable flaming sword that you could swing around in the air while chanting, "Tiger, tiger, where is the flaming sword?" & if you missed it, you could swing it back down again & again until it looked like the blade had disappeared into the endless green abyss of the ocean. & one day, while I was driving by a local bar, I thought, “There has to be a giant inflatable flaming sword that floats through the air in the parade.” So I pulled over, & I examined the storefront through the bottle of vodka that I usually kept in my glove compartment. There was a sign that read, "Happy HODR!" "Hod rebound?" I said to myself. "Hod is rebound! That's what it's all about, right?" So I went in & had a few vodka tonics, ordered a burger, & had a long conversation with a woman with stringy hair. She suggested that I should try a giant inflatable flaming sword. "Maybe a giant inflatable flaming sword would make the crowd disperse a little bit more," I said. So I paid my bill, & walked back to my car & when I got behind the wheel, I felt very energetic & I wanted to go fast. As I kept driving, I realized I was stuck in an endless tunnel of turn signals. I kept getting out, but the tunnel got longer & longer. Filled with flashing lights & laughter, the tunnel finally led me to this huge, brightly colored inflatable flaming sword. I figured it must be a good sign if the tunnel also had a giant inflatable flaming sword in it. So I jumped the gun & I jumped the sword, too. As I hopped on the sword, the laughter got much, much louder & I thought, This is it. This is it. This is the moment when the giant inflatable flaming sword will scatter the crowd like confetti in a snowstorm. So I jumped up, & then down I went, sword raised high, rushing with the giant inflatable flaming sword, the sword of devastation, the sword of vengeance, my sword of vengeance, toward the crowd of leering cowards. Hallelujah!
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Orlando B.
* WITH THE SWORD***************>>>>>>>>>OF ZION & THE GEMATRIA FLOWER, "CHRYSANTHEMUM", THE FLOWER THAT SHATTERS STONE! #414
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Caroline D.
Last night, naked in her bed, L. wrote into her flesh-colored journal, “there are the parts of me that never quite make it to the surface.” She remembered this entry now, a day later, as she stood naked in her kitchen, grinding a zucchini through her new vegetable spiralizer. She was no longer sure what the entry meant. Yes, she still sensed a vast untapped potential deep within her, somewhere. But she was convinced that a blossoming must be coming. Yes, a blossoming! She watched the zucchini spirals fall into her Ikea 365 bowl. She shook her head at herself. A Blossoming?! A ridiculous thought to have for a 47 year old, a woman objectively on the decline. & yet…
Naked, she continued to prepare zucchini spaghetti with cilantro pesto. She felt she was waiting for her doorbell to ring. It didn’t ring. She ate naked & alone from her Ikea 365 plate, drank setzer from her Ikea 365 glass. She fed & hydrated the vast hidden potential within her.
This is a quote from an adult novel. It’s called 51 Shadows of N. When I found it on a stoop on my way home from checking on my father’s grave, the book did not have a cover. Which is why I could not judge it before I opened it.
I had to open it & read some of it, & now I know:
I do not like this novel. It’s crappy.
I stopped reading right after this quote. Which is the beginning of this crappy novel. Already, I do not believe that L. will go on to have an illicit affair, be a spy, enjoy extreme sports, or run for political office. I do not think L. will find a giant inflatable flaming sword. Or that she’ll do anything worthy of an adult novel. & I don’t think she will find anything else within her. I think the only vast untapped potential within L. is her capacity to believe she has a vast untapped potential of something. She probably works for the township. I think it’s more likely that there is a potential vastness of nothingness within her & . . . I am tired.
My UNespresso maker has stopped working. Again.
Recently I read that British researchers found that people are at their most unhappy at age 47.2.
I am 46.8 currently, & I am afraid of my nadir.
I am eating drugstore sushi from a paper plate.
I should have gone to the parade. Clap & cheer some Chabs. My brother went, but...
I don’t know. I am tired.
I just saw an infomercial for an all terrain umbrella. Should I order it?
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Davie D.
I went to the parade. The Shadow of Nothingness Parade. Through Shadow of Nothingness boulevard. From one Westside to the other. They threw ticker tape made out of receipts - apparently they just collected the food receipts that were left at the SoN Stadium. In huge bags they lugged them to the parade. I heard this collecting started as a superstition. As a way of proving that point of sales transactions actually happen at the stadium. As a way of proving that people actually come to see the Chabs. As a way of proving that the Chabs exist & the game is real.
Of course no fans want to hold on to receipts, especially because they put concessions directly into your outstretched hand. So how would you even take a receipt? Plus - the receipts are always a foot long & toxic. Not that that will stop certain specific people from taking the receipts. My father, he took them, always, to save in a box next to his loo. “In case toilet paper runs out'' he said. “How?” we asked, “How is toilet paper gonna run out, Dad?” We even added, “And if it did run out, why wouldn't you just rip up a newspaper?”
He shouted, “Don’t get rational on me. Rationality does not solve a toilet paper shortage when there’s a buying panic! You’ll see! & why would I rip up newspapers, when I can get precut strips!”
I think it was his depression mindset. That’s what my sister said anyway.
Well, so, he had a truckload of old receipts that he could have wiped himself with, had he made it past his death & lived to see a buying panic. Instead he’s gone & he’s left the receipts to me. You can’t even really see what he purchased. A faint grayish imprint is all that’s left. The dot of an i perhaps?
Although there is no i in “Hot Dog” or in “beer.” Or in popcorn; or in candy or in soda. Huh. Concessions are an i-less business.
So before the parade, I had a lot of faded receipts for items purchased & consumed by someone who is no longer around.
I didn’t know what to do with them.
This is why I brought his receipts to the parade & at the height of the celebration I threw them upward, against the other receipts coming down as ticker tape. I threw them against the sun & they made little specs of shadows for a moment.
Then they fell to the ground meeting their own shadow, mixing with other receipts, & people walked all over them....
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Carol L.
v
Some call the Chabs winners. I think the most yo can say is that they possess a trophy now. The vale of this trophy is qestionable. Becase it is completely absent.
Also, what is a parade? Trly? Is it a protest withot prpose? Is it a cheering of a mltimillion dollar indstry that sedates yo with cheap beer & provides an avatar for or lopsided concept of masclinity?
What’s that name of that posterboy at the center of the Chabs? What’s he spposed to do for society at large? An aspirational showcase of physical ability for all of s hnched over a laptop 14 hors a day?
I do not see the appeal.
I never see the appeal.
But yo did. Yo still do.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Jane S.
Do you know who was at the parade???? O.B!
I am not kidding!
Or if it wasn’t O.B. then he has a doppelgänger.
And, you know what, I do not care.
[. . . Oh wow! I cannot believe I just said that.]
I am in love with the concept of O.B.
And, you know what, I do not think that this is a problem.
[. . . Oh wow! I bowl myself over with my sudden honesty.]
Come on, be real! Fake is the new real!
Appearances are everything we have.
T.R.U.T.H!
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Dennis Y.
The event gave me an opportunity to stand up straight
& look out a window I never look out of.
All these people in the streets
could be life-changing.
I lit a cigarette & thought, yes, this changes nothing
ness.