HOUSEFIRE

TWO INTERVIEWS WITH YT SUMNER

THE YT SUMNER IS POSSIBLY MY FAVORITE LIVING WRITER INTERVIEW

HOUSEFIRE
I’m not such a big fan of poetry. I like Matthew Dickman, and Zachary Scomburg (except Zach and I are too similar sometimes. Also, and this is just a fun fact, Zach lives like ten blocks from me, and so does Dickman, and Carrie Seitzinger lives even closer and she’s a rad poet, and Colleen Rowley lives close and she’s my favorite poet ever… This is a pretty sexy neighborhood when you really think about it, but also competitive), and I sort of like Mike Young (who gives a shit where he lives), and that’s about it. How do you feel about poets? Poetry? I mean, I like Brautigan, and Bukowski, but those cunts are dead. Anyway, after you answer those half-questions, please take your three favorite poems and re-write them as flash fiction. Keep the original titles. Make them bitchin’.

YT SUMNER
I also admire dead cunts. Poetry intimidates me. I don’t understand why words written
down the page
make me
feel
like this.

BLUEBIRD
by Yt Sumner

It’s not even blue but it hangs around my neck like a drag. It gives me a heat rash that people think is acne on my chest and every time someone stops and thinks ‘hey nice rack’, they see this rash that this goddamn pendant you gave me gives me and forgets about what nice tits I have. Instead they wonder if I have pimples on my arse too. That’s the gift you gave me.

ON THE CREMATION OF CHOGYAM TRUNGPA VIDYADHARA
by Yt Sumner

Imagine sitting beside him at the funeral of a friend. Not a close friend. Someone you both got high with occasionally, bumped into at concerts. Close your eyes and imagine the music that is playing and grimace slightly because it’s not suitable. This pop diva wailing. Wonder if it was a song they chose or a well-meaning family member. You can smell the aftershave of the older man in front of you with his bowed head. You can hear the sniffling of a teenager a few rows down, the mucus gargling loudly as she swallows it back down her throat. The sun beats on your neck and you can feel it leaving an imprint on your nape. Burning a red line into the day just above your collar. You try and imagine what he is noticing right now. Whether he can hear the absence of the birds as loudly as you. The quiet shushing of small children as the minister speaks. Now open your eyes and look at him. Did he notice the parting of your thighs, the blood rushing in your throat as you swallowed heavily under the weight of being alive? Did he notice you wanted to fuck him? Did he notice you wanted to dance?

YOUR DOG DIES
by Yt Sumner

She is small and wrinkled with the beginnings of a hunch on her back. It makes her seem smaller when the man at her door lays the dead poodle at her feet. It ran out in front of me. He says and wipes its blood on his good pants. I didn’t even see it. He wishes the dog had at least been black so it wouldn’t look so bad. But it was white and had fur like lambs wool. He listened to his kid crying in their car behind him as the lamb lay between him and the woman still bleeding even though it was dead. He waited for her to say something profound.


HOUSEFIRE
You’re in your twenties, yeah? Rad, me too. What was the best year so far? What made it so great? Did you have a lot of sex that year? That can help make good things better, that’s for sure. Why don’t you write a story about some of the sex you had that year - good or bad it doesn’t matter. Describe the sex by talking about other activities/things/places as much as possible. Give your story a title to end all titles.

YT SUMNER
I’m thirty-one actually. Everyone thinks I’m mid twentyish. Maybe it’s my glowing skin. It’s more likely that I’m just stunted. The best year of my twenties was the rock n roll death toll number 27. I didn’t choke on my own vomit. That was pretty sweet. There was lots of sex.

THE COIN-OPERATED SEX DOLL YOU GAVE ME HAD NO EXTENDED WARRANTY
by Yt Sumner

She was wonderful at first. That fresh smell out of the package smell filled the apartment for weeks. There was shyness at first because no one wanted to seem grabby and go first. We sat close on the couch and watched TV, our thighs silvery in the light from the screen, nearly touching but not that close. The first time was awkward. Afterwards I sat her on the 96 Tram and took her to Luna Park. People stared at the bruises on my wrists and arms and she wasn’t bothered in the least. We kissed in the tunnel of horrors and that guy that leaps out at the end growled in a sexy way instead of a scary one. She convinced me to go on the roller coaster even though it’s 100 years old and I always swore I wouldn’t. I took her to the National Gallery after that and we went into the quiet dark side room - that time wasn’t awkward at all. The guard kicked us out but not until we’d finished. I kept my heels on and always carried a puncture repair kit but it was no use. I wish you’d told me that she had a threshold. That one day she would deflate.  I opened her up at the end to see if I could at least get my money back but it didn’t work like that. I should have read the fine print.


HOUSEFIRE
Let’s say your house is haunted by your former personas. You know, how you were as a child, a teenager, et cetera. Or better yet, you are haunted. You can move if you want, but they will follow. They are jealous of the current you, because they too want to exist. What happens? Tell me all about it.

YT SUMNER
Okay, well first, Bunny wants to hug him. Curl up behind his back and sleep with her cheek against his skin. She flashes a dimple to get this. She slips her small hand into his when no one else is looking and whispers she loves him.

Kitty likes to tease him. To flex her claws and make puddings in his skin. She fantasizes about him sweeping him off her feet. Then she licks her lips and sneers at the smell of his Dunlop volleys.

Foxy is hungry for him all the time. She wants to gorge herself. She’s starving. She licks the sweat from his collarbone and begs for more. She has to stop herself from biting. He tried to keep up but the sound of her stomach always growling makes her snappy.

Wolfy wishes they would all shut the fuck up. All they do is think of him. It makes it hard to get anything done with their whimpering and panting. She should end it now. Finish him. But they wail and tell her that they need him. She sniffs and rolls her eyes. One last time then. And they promise they’ll be quiet afterwards. They’ll even let her sleep.


HOUSEFIRE
Do you read HOUSEFIRE very often? Why don’t you pick a title that someone else has used and write your own story. Also, do you read the little flash pieces I write instead of bios for all of our writers? Well, whoever’s title you take, write your own flash bio for that person, and do a better job than I did. Show me up, Yt Sumner. Give me a run for my money.

YT SUMNER
I’m pretty sure you know I read you all the time Mr. Housefire. I can be obsessive like that. The alternate reality bios are so amazing they make me jealous I didn’t think of them. I hate feeling jealous so I’m just going to pretend I did.

THE CONSTANT SILHOUETTE
(first by Pauls Toutonghi, now by Yt Sumner)

My shadow stretches along the road and I’m sure she’s smirking. The sun burns my neck and she becomes deeper as we reach the crossroads. I turn towards the fork I know best. She lengthens and slides the other way. Towards the unknown. She’s definitely smirking. I stop. This won’t do. To have her going one way and me the other. I look down her road and she lengthens urging my flesh forward. I raise an arm and watch her skinny fingers caress the road. I really know better than to follow my shadow but when she stretches I step quickly after her. She might be smirky but if I lost her where would I be then? Just alone in the sun without a shadow.

PAULS TOUTONGHI is the chocolate flavour in the Neapolitan ice cream that everyone eats first. He even tastes good when you accidentally scoop some strawberry up with him and you hate strawberry ice cream so you start eating him with everything. At a restaurant you place a scoop of him on top of your linguine marinara and your date is repulsed until she tries a bit, then her eyes start shining, and she licks her lips and you hold hands while Pauls melts down your face and now you know the taste of happiness.


HOUSEFIRE
I am a lustful person. If you believe in sins, that’s one of the deadly ones. Are you all that lustful? The most lustful person I know is xTx. She’s like, a pervy kindred spirit. Sometimes I want to walk up to strangers and be all like, “Hey, are you down to fuck?” but I don’t because I don’t want to be disrespectful (not to mention that I would be slightly intimidated by someone who said yes). Anyway why don’t you write a story about a woman who wears nothing but animal fur. Call it anything you want. Make it violent, or sexy, or both.

YT SUMNER
Lust is a deadly sin. Seven of us got together and wrote about them once but mine was Pride because I’m down with Lust. xTx is a perve goddess. I’m giving up some of my drinking money to buy her book this week that’s how much I like her words.

THE  KIND OF LOVE MOMMA SAID WOULD END THIS WAY
by Yt Sumner

So we swing through the jungle, torment harmless vines, we roar, we snarl, we even howl. You the man - a real life Tarzan. And me, Jane, who couldn’t give a damn until we land in a murky puddle of our own design and the dirt gets in my fur, sticks to my skin. Now the quicksand’s rising baby and there’s nothing else left as the stickiness sucks at my knees, begs me to let go, give it up. It gets greedy and licks and slurps at my thighs. It wants to fuck and you look a little jealous as I give it up, as I squirm and sink a little deeper down. You tell me struggling only makes it worse as you sink yourself. I wonder how you don’t know it’s the only way I could ever be as the cold slides over my breasts, as my new lover claims me. And I sigh. Now we’re in it up to our necks.


HOUSEFIRE
Do you like the band LIARS? The singer is from Australia, and he is like my favorite frontman since David Byrne (frontwomen not included, because Karen O was way better back in the day than this dude ever could be (they used to date!) and Beth Ditto and Alison Mosshart both fucking rule). Anyway, watch this fucking video and write an amazing fucking story. Yeah.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhGl-lQFZSs

YT SUMNER
Yeah, the Liars are sweet. I haven’t seen this clip before and am glad I didn’t come home wasted one night and see it for the first time on Rage (Australian music clip show that plays in the early hours of the weekends & is programmed by other musos) on my own.

PCP ON OUR ROAD TRIP BACK HOME FROM YOUR PARENTS HOUSE
by Yt Sumner

She wakes up with a start and knows without looking over that his face is melting. She doesn’t even know how she got in the car again, she just knows that it keeps going. She looks over and doesn’t recognize him and begins to laugh. He’s taken it all. No time to stop, to even slow down as they pass the few people they remember from the dead town they grew up in. She scratches dry skin under her wig with as they pass the Prom Queen who lifts her gown to her waist and shows them she is shaved. The Prom King is licking his lips and crooning a love song to the night sky nearby. His snakeskin boots have the dusty sand this part of the dessert gets everywhere. Under your nails, into your skin. Every time she blew her goddamn nose her boogers were orange. The Mother and Father argue a little way up the road and she presses backwards into the passenger seat as he presses the accelerator to meet them. They’re naked and flickering. Trying to tell them something but they’ve swapped mouths. Their voices are indistinct. She thinks about getting out of the car. Of asking where the baby is. But then she remembers there’s no time, not even to ask where their baby is.


HOUSEFIRE
If you could live in a book, which one would it be? Who would you embody? What would you do differently? Tell me all about it, sugar.

YT SUMNER
Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland. She’s also the cartoon character I most identify with. Right about now I’m thinking I would chill, climb up on the toadstool with the Caterpillar and chill some more. Have a toke of the hookah, eat from the left, eat from the right. Giggle a bit. Ponder the idea of whether a fictional character exists if no one reads about them. Play ‘If You Had To’ with the Caterpillar. Maybe make out a little. Tell him all about Dinah until he calls me a crazy cat lady. Call him a grub back. Have a tickle fight. Laugh until I blow a snot bubble then get sad because I don’t know how to play an instrument. Eat from the left and decide this is something I have to do before I die. Make the caterpillar swear he will help me. He suggests the bass guitar. I eat from the right and tell him I knew he was going to say that.


HOUSEFIRE
I tell a lot of people that you are my favorite, but I also tell a lot of people that Frances Dinger is my favorite. You can’t both hold the top spot, so, technically, you are enemies. I’m going to give you a title and I want you to write a story, but I am going to give Frances the same title and ask her to write her own story. This story-off will not be the deciding factor in the race to “Riley Parker’s Favorite Living Writer”, but it will play a part. Consider it ROUND ONE.

The title is: DEAD ANIMALS + POLAROID FILM + SMOKE.

YT SUMNER
Frances Dinger is awesome. If I have to be second best behind her then I feel a blush creeping up my throat. But I’m an oldest child with this competitive side, see. And although I love her I will crush her if it means taking the gold.

DEAD ANIMALS + POLAROID FILM + SMOKE.
by Yt Sumner

Her house is filled with animals that have been gutted and stuffed and given glass eyes. Every shelf in her house is crowded with their frozen snarls and yawns. The man from the local political party stares around while asking questions from his clipboard. He says he’s sorry to interrupt her at dinnertime while looking at the mongoose attacking the cobra. She says she wasn’t eating dinner and lights a cigarette. Her lips are stained with a bluish tinge and she draws deep blowing smoke directly in his face. He clears his throat and asks what the most important issue is for her in the oncoming election. She sips on her glass of red wine and shrugs, she tells him she doesn’t vote, that it’s all the same to her. He steps back as she blows more smoke and jumps as he stands on the paw of a fox staring into some unseen distance. He says it’s illegal for her not to vote. That she risks a fine of $55 if she doesn’t. She laughs deeply and the sound reverberates around the room, his skin prickles and his dick hardens slightly at the guttural echo of it. He says he’s should go, that he should let her get back to her dinner but he doesn’t move. She smiles and he sees her teeth are stained too. Wait one second she says, leaning behind the couch, and when she rises he’s blinded for a second by the flash of the camera. He stares at her while she shows her red teeth and waves the Polaroid in the air. He puts down his clipboard beside the small sleeping fawn and waits for his face to develop.

FRANCES DINGER
Riley, I’m not going to play games to try and win your affection. You can go fuck yourself.

AND THE WINNER IS FRANCES. NO, JUST KIDDING. FUCK YOU FRANCES. YT, THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL.


xxxxxxx


THE THREE ANSWER INTERVIEW

Give me three answers to all of these questions. And none of that posting the same answer three times to make a point. That’s bullshit.

HOUSEFIRE
What’s your favorite food?

YT SUMNER
1. You
2. Me
3. Us

HOUSEFIRE
What movie changed your life?

YT SUMNER
1. The Evil Dead – Age 5
2. Pink Flamingos – Age 15
3. The Piano Teacher – Age 31

HOUSEFIRE
What city do you belong in?

YT SUMNER
1. Melbourne
2. New York
3. Whichever one you’re in.

HOUSEFIRE
If you had a daughter, what would you name her? Like, her full name? You can give her any last name you want.

YT SUMNER
1. Sunday Sumner (after my cat)
2. Seven Sumner (after that Seinfeld episode (told you I was in my thirties))
3. Stampy Sumner (after me)

HOUSEFIRE
If you could get away with murder, who would you kill in cold fucking blood?

YT SUMNER
1. All those protesters outside abortion clinics tormenting women.
2. People with bad hygiene on peak hour public transport.
3. Probably once I had the taste, by now it would be anyone that looked at me funny, especially if I had my period and they asked if I was just being an emotional bitch because I had my period.

HOUSEFIRE
Dude, who’s your favorite HOUSEFIRE contributor?

YT SUMNER
1. Shannon Peil
2. Riley Michael Parker
3. Frances Dinger

HOUSEFIRE
Dude, Who’s your least favorite HOUSEFIRE contributor? Don’t be a wuss.

YT SUMNER
I’m overriding this question because I am a wuss and have more favourites and am just going to put them here.

HOUSEFIRE
Weak.

YT SUMNER
1. Chelsea Laine Wells
2. Ryan W. Bradley
3. Matty Byloos

HOUSEFIRE
Dude, what book should I read next?

YT SUMNER
1. The Bus Driver Who Wanted To Be God. By Etgar Keret
2. Middlesex. By  Jeffrey Eugenides
3. The Safety of Objects.  By A.M Homes

HOUSEFIRE
Dude, would I look good on a vespa?

YT SUMNER
1. Yes. Totally hot.
2. Although I think dudes look a little girly on them.
3. Unless they’re in Italy. Then totally hot again.

HOUSEFIRE
Dude?

YT SUMNER
1. Granny Smith Apples
2. Vanilla Ice cream
3. Bartlett or Anjou Pears


xxxxxxx


Yt Sumner is writing a book for HOUSEFIRE. We will publish it in the summer, or fall at the very latest. You can read it, in its entirety, here on the blog some time in June (because we love you). It’s called THE SAME WOMAN, THREE TIMES. Keep an eye out.


xxxxxxx


Also… Yt Sumner, this is your warning. Matty Byloos and I have decided that we are going to come to Austrailia and abduct you, then bring you back to America, into the woods, and into a log cabin. There we will read to you from our un-published works, the same ones day after day, asking for constructive criticism but never taking it, only pretending that we did, hoping you will come around and accept our writing as it is. In time you will grow to love us, and then we will begin the sex. Have you heard of sperm competition? Matty and I want to compete, not because we’re perverts, but because it is the nature of our friendship, and if one womb was built to hold our hideous, mangled excuse for a child, our literary progeny, it would be yours. The sex would be like a wheelbarrow full of knives thrown down six flights of stairs. The sex would be like a forest being burned down by the animals that dwell within, because fuck it, they’re bored and have nothing else to do. The sex would be like two male parts and one female part. OH! THE SEX! The baby would be terrifying. The baby would speak three languages right out of the womb, and have a full beard, and be smoking a pipe. He wouldn’t slide out of your vagina as much as he would somersault, and he would be dressed like a sitcom father, and he would tell you when to expect death, down to the hour of the day. Also, he would have a twin sister, and she would be part wolf, part revolver. She would have eyes that could see through walls, and a mouth full of teeth. In the end, she would be the one to kill us all (and her brother, as I said, would be able to tell us just when to expect this). But still, the three of us, me you and Matty, would just keep on fucking like nothing else mattered.

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