“20 Feb. 2018” by Richard F. Yates

There is a weird frame of mind that can occur in which time, from a moment to moment perspective, seems to take an eternity to pass, but when one steps back and views the entirety, it seems as though the world has whizzed by beneath one’s feet. I flipped through my notebook, looking at drawings and old notes (from two or three days ago) and bowling scores (I did so poorly last week, I’m ashamed to say what my scores were), and the bizarre ideas that slipped out of my head and to my hand and then onto the page—and I thought…


When did I draw that? (Two days ago…) What did I mean by this fragment of a sentence written on the back of a receipt last week? It must have seemed important enough to write it down at the time…

Goose fires?

It’s as if, or nearly as if, I’ve disengaged a portion of my consciousness, set the meat suit to work (put it in motion) and then dived deep into my own head (or out of it) and only come up for breath to write a few notes—but they aren’t capable of describing exactly where I’ve been.

Have you noticed an uptick in abstract doodles lately? A picture is worth a thousand words, and an abstract doodle can avoid even MORE!

According to a note I wrote myself on January 16th, the day I drove to work without my wallet: “Mariah says I’m out of sorts today. Might be true. Hopefully, nobody needs to borrow any sorts from me. (I rarely use them, myself…)” Out of sorts.

Perhaps the issue is that “REALITY” (out of which sorts are traditionally crafted), has gone rotten lately. I’ve found myself watching human news and caring about human politics. These two THINGS alone could explain a major portion of my delirium, but not all.


This is Tuesday. (I write it to ground myself, momentarily, in the present tense.) Although it’s seemed for the last few weeks that spring is nearly upon us (the trees and flowers believed so), we may get snow before the day is through.

Randy Long is writing a new Bigfoot adventure. Scott Sparks is suddenly in the meme business. Frankie Hanson is making soft, furry monsters. I’m still drawing and writing (strange fragments, for certain—but maybe they’ll mean something someday) and I’m still reading. And writing about reading. Mariah and Ellie are sleeping those last few minutes of sleep that they’ll get before the daylight draws them back towards work.

The morning comes.

—Richard F. Yates
(Primitive Thoughtician and Commander in Cheap of The P.E.W.)


About richardfyates

Compulsive creator of the bizarre and absurd. (Artist, writer, poet, provocateur...)
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