THE NIGHTLY CHILL
By Steve Arviso
How to Piss Off Writers in Three Words.
As the sunlit sanity of the waking world burns the night to ash,
embrace the unbound madness of your wildest dreams,
laugh into the endless abyss of your darkest fantasies,
and rage against the coming dawn.
The Nightly Chill is an irregular, yet wholly absurd intimate experience with an idiot. Mon-Fri. Ish. Written and published by writer, publisher, and, on occasion, part-time lover, Steve Arviso (@AmoralCrackpot). Ish.
- OBTRUSIVE ADVERTISEMENT
- THE BIT AT THE BEGINNING
- A LETTERS’ PAGE
- A CHEAP PLUG
- SOME TRIVIAL BIT OF SILLINESS
- YET ANOTHER OBTRUSIVE ADVERTISEMENT
- A SATISFACTORY, WELL-WRITTEN BIT THAT SOMEHOW STILL FAILS TO LIVE UP TO SOME ARBITRARY STANDARD CREATED AND IMPOSED BY NOBODY
- LAST-MINUTE ATTEMPT AT ENGAGEMENT
- BLATANT, YET ALSO REDUNDANT SELF-PROMOTION
- THE END BITS NOBODY CARES MUCH FOR
VIRAL LOAD PODCAST
The “Viral Load Podcast” is, I’ve been assured, a podcast in the same way that audio uploaded to some temporary or long-term repository for the sake of publication and distribution across various outlets, inlets, and piglets accessible vis-à-vis the internet might, in some fashion, be considered a “podcast.” In it, comedian Andrew Pupa and co-host Brett Bayles, who may or may not be a comedian–but who am I to place such labels on anyone?–explore the weirder, more unsettling corners of diseases that plague us.
THE BIT AT THE BEGINNING
Sometimes, late at night, I catch myself thinking of the porch light on my grandfather’s porch. I ended up spending most of my life in that house. There are a number of memories I cherish. There’s a lot that continue to haunt me, long after the damage was done. Of all of them, I always find myself coming back to that orange glow, this low-angle, late-night longing for I-don’t-know-what. There’s comfort there. There’s also anxiety–not beneath the comfort, but alongside it. Sometimes I wonder if when the time comes, I’ll find myself back there and the door will open.
BETWEEN THE CRACKS
(A LETTERS’ PAGE)
I am but the quaintiferouest gentlehuman this side of not-being-dead. It would pleasurbate me in a similar fashion to the direct stimulation of mine genitilic regions–up to and including climax, as well as the release of genetic material in a more or less messy, sloppy, and perhaps even disappointing fashion (on your part, but most certainly not mine)–if you were to acknowledge my existence and bestow upon me a wholly earned appraisal of my value as a mostly harmless, wholly humble sexual beast that instinctively engorges your own dribbly bits and pieces in a preferable fashion.
I have included a self-portrait of my phallacial appendage, as well as a self-addressed stamped envelope for you to reciprocate in kind.
JASON IS UP LATE
(A CHEAP PLUG)
Be sure to listen to “Jason is Up Late,” a new podcast from Los Angeles comedian Jason King., who is not well-known for turning in early for the evening, but, to the contrary, is rather notorious for staying up well-past any decently dressed hour.
“ON WRITER’S BLOCK”
(SOME TRIVIAL BIT OF SILLINESS)
It doesn’t exist.
(YET ANOTHER OBTRUSIVE ADVERTISEMENT)
“PARTICIPATION AWARDS & DATING APPS”
(A SATISFACTORY, WELL-WRITTEN BIT THAT SOMEHOW FAILS TO LIVE UP TO SOME ARBITRARY STANDARD CREATED AND IMPOSED BY NOBODY)
Originally published in The Nightly Chill zine on Instagram.
Fuck ‘stranger danger’
if only cuz I’m lonely,
hungry and horny,
and fucking in a bed
in the house
that we’ll rent on Airbnb,
running that background check
as we cuddle in our wet-spot,
cuz sharing is caring
and you got a man and some kids,
and my parents didn’t love me,
so they set me in front of the TV
whisperin’, don’t worry, he’s fine,
he’s ain’t lonely,
he’s workin’ that algorithm,
three likes, new subscriber,
I’ll buy shit off your Etsy store
if you’ll be on my podcast,
and we’ll rant and rave
to a world that don’t care
about how we D.A.R.E.’d to say “no”,
cuz winners don’t use drugs,
but our heroes are caught red-handed
lyin’, cheatin’, stealin’,
fussin’ and bitchin’
’bout how there ain’t no future
in bein’ the short-term investments
of the narrow-minded hippies
chasin’ dragons, soybean futures,
sufferin’ from small-dick envy
with no long-term plans
for the orphans they leave behind
when mom and dad drop dead
working swing-shift at their second job
to pay the rent on the room they share
in a house with two other families.
So, don’t call us fuckin’ daydreamers
with our heads up our asses,
we’re a generation of stargazers
drifting in a sea of your bullshit,
lookin’ for a north star,
some guiding light in the abyss
and a rug that ties it all together,
chasin’ dreams into oncoming traffic
like motherfuckin’ Frogger
’til the day we hang ourselves
with our own fuckin’ bootstraps.
LAST-MINUTE ATTEMPT AT ENGAGEMENT
Please, contact us however you can if you, or someone you know, engages in the following acts of debauchery:
- Animal Husbandry
- Audio plays
- Pulp and/or other genre fiction
- Shopping lists
- Absurd acts of defiance against a pleasantly cold, yet wholly uncaring universe
- Short films
The weirder, the better.
We are The Lost. And together, we’ll make sure the world sees and hears us.
FIGHT THE DAWN
(BLATANT, YET ALSO REDUNDANT SELF-PROMOTION)
FIGHT THE DAWN! with “Grand Ghoulish” (Fight the Dawn Vol 2.) an absurd twisted romance between a photographer, a housewife, and her husband–a surgeon who enjoys getting a little blood on his hands!
THE END BITS NOBODY CARES MUCH FOR
(READ: OBLIGATORY PLEA FOR MONEY)
Subscribe (FREE!) for that walk-of-shame feeling every morning after. And if you enjoy The Nightly Chill and would like to support such silliness, please consider supporting it via Patreon for as little as $1 a month.
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- Website (AmoralCrackpot.com/TheNightlyChill)
YOU ARE NOT ALONE
THE NIGHTLY CHILL