Tag Archives | camus

Camusic of the Spheres 

kermit smokingThe dreams had returned, again, and no amount of coffee and cigarettes could keep their influence at bay.

The ennui was crushing at times, and even talking with an outrageous French accent would not help.

He thought of his days in the theatre. Oh, the crazy antics they’d get up to behind the proscenium. His torrid affair with the La Belle Cochon. All of the strange creatures that inhabited his world back then seemed like a forgotten summer’s holiday: it was a feeling. The intimation of sunlight glinting off his green skin… pretty girls in crinoline … absinthe parties under the panoply of the Milky Way. And so many more wisps that could be regrets if he could only recall what they were.

He was hollow. A shell. A cipher and an entertainer. These things he could be certain of, but nothing else.

Except that he always smelled of bacon.

Alltop is hammy.

Tell Me About Your Mother

toddler in cageon side of buildingYou awake each morning screaming, your mouth dry and your eyes red from the tears that bath your Pillow of Ennui. You had the dream again. Of falling. Of dogs tearing at your carcass, broken on the dirty pavement of a city where you never lived. Your days blur together in an existential nightmare that would cause Camus to shit himself.

And each morning you look at the scrap of an old newspaper. All that remains is the headline, and you wonder: what was Doctor Salathial’s Toddler Control System?


The Fridgularity Buy my latest novel, which features a fridge with mommy issues. Available in all formats in all the usual places online :

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Alltop is the current patent holder. Photo via Tigęrr Risin-Ẃińgs. Originally published April, 2010.

The Stranger (The Outsider)

the strangerI read this originally in French class, sometime during my high school career. (Where I was a music nerd, and a hard-core nerd, long before that was remotely cool.)

Most of this famous existential work was read aloud in class, by a collection of students with a wide variety of accents and grasp of the French language. If I remember correctly, Lorne’s delivery was amusing, but that might have been because he was pretending he was Soupy the Clown. By far the most hilarious moment was when our teacher asked my friend Garth a question, and he replied: “Je ne sais pas comprendre.” (I don’t know HOW to understand.) The teacher doubled over with laughter.

Despite the fact that I was doing poorly in this class, I was secretly in love — or at least a more advanced lust — with my French teacher. (A fact I only now reveal for comic effect, but back then I would have been mortified if the world had known. Surely this is some kind of rite of passage, falling in “lovust” with your language instructor?)

The novel is about the farcical nature of French colonial justice, the absurdity of free will and the benefits of not washing.

pirate therapy


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Alltop thinks washing is absurd too.