Hola, and hope you keep your smile on the slog of these miles. Welcome to the first official field report of Desperado Dispatches.
It’s a decadent Dusty Glow, ain’t it… on the Trail of the Neon Grind. Down that hard and rowdy Ramble. The only real way to learn is to live, and to live leads to strange crevices, odd reasons, and taller tales.
It's a Righteous Route. The hard way. There ain’t no in-between on that trail—you might bushwhack three days and still go out of your mind.
Yup, the same way neon blazes at night. It’s a cut through extremes, and the roughshod soul has got to walk raffishly, because trails of this type of toil weigh hard on the wastrel spine. Bravery falls to despair, peace can roll in like thunderheads of gigantic terror. Days glow like eternal grace in the sunshine, and in the darkest hours—three days of hunger, something on your tail, another damn pass to climb—well, the mind can fill death with the empty space of doubt.
Or you go insane. And bash on computer keys like a maniacal pianist, playing the tunes of haunted Memories, and sometimes, the sweet rhythm of regal and relished revelry clips the cadence. Before I wake, in the Target beer aisle: heavy damage of empties, mid-slug of another can, and it’s a tough position to explain to an irate and terrified manager, assisted by two local smokies—hair-trigger fingers and cuffs in hand.
So, I tether myself, like a man cursed with a werewolf bite, to a chair. I hope these tales of fiction, these quick rips of poetics, and other rambles get closer to reasons, philosophy, relief, or just make some sense of mayhem & madness down the Livin-Grind.
The noise. These desperate dispatches—I hope they prove satisfactory, fruitful, perhaps a helpful guide along your own journey of big dreams or terminal psychosis. They may even help you survive the hard ram of the rut. I hope you find my clips and chronicles worth a regular visit. Hell, there’s a subscribe button if you’re so inclined to follow a man who turns liquor into blood, and blood into the gleaming bravery of hot lines.
Then you’ll get routine updates and emails: straight outta the veins, pumping on the run, under the gun, scorched to the soul, turning pain into smiles that beam bold.
Desperado Dispatches: raw short prose, and narrative clips from the Close-Out. No fluff, no endless self-promotion—might be a few promos, though, but it’s hot, chill shit—just stories crafted for the late-night hours, served up piquant and pretty. Another round on me, and you can’t get this brand anywhere else.
What to expect in your inbox:
Unfiltered Fiction & Prose: Flash pieces, short stories, and poems slung off neon bar-edges, off the wind, down hollow highways, and out of the mettle in the daily-grind guts.
Early Access: First looks at new collections, chapbooks, physical releases, chill odds, and tangible ends.
Direct Access: No algorithms or feed suppression—just direct communication.
The first official piece drops shortly. In the meantime, you can check out the archive pieces and updates over at clipsfromtheclose-out.com.
One quick favor to keep us out of the spam filter:
Hit Reply to this email and send back a quick "Got it," a skull 💀 emoji, or your favorite late-night cocktail. It tells your email provider that these dispatches belong in your primary inbox, not the junk pile.
It’s good to have your style along for these strides.
Stay Chill,
Nicholas Viglietti
www.clipsfromtheclose-out.com | @nico_chillietti
