Saturday, June 30, 2007

I Have Emoticons Not Emotions Press

True story, sorry.

Um, my brother clearly doesn't find his internship as mentally taxing as he thought he would, so, because he is so "family oriented" he found the time to make a lovely montage of really unattractive photos of me, paired with photos of young Truman Capote. So, I basically had to take it, since I have no computer skillz to get even. But then an angel of an IT guy descended into my life and helped me reap my revenge. Hey, Adam, "suck it":

"Hey Mom, Is Your Son Adam or Shrek??":

Um, in the poetry world, Justin Marks had a killer reading on Friday and to top the night off, I got to hang with Ethan Paquin, whose name I might totally be bastardizing by accident. Also, go to the Zinc reading on Sunday, 7pm. See you there, sucker.

Friday, June 29, 2007

Similes Are Boring, Replace All Your Likes With Love Press

No time no time, I'm hitting up two readings tonight if all goes well.

Upon request of Ana B-B, the google image search idiom of the day is "Come hell or high water" And you know how I like to please the ladies, so:

I like the first one best. But that's just because I completely buy into the romantic, masculine loner cowboy motif of the American West.

Although you should check out this book, Queer Cowboy, about gay cowboys in American literature and culture of the 1800s so that you realize how wrong wrong wrongly I cling to this motif. Go read:

Brokeback Mountain exploded the myth of the American cowboy as a tough, gruff, and grizzled loner. Queer Cowboys exposes, through books by legendary Western writers such as Mark Twain, James Fenimore Cooper, and Owen Wister, how same-sex intimacy and homoerotic admiration were key aspects of Westerns well before Brokeback's 1960's West, and well before the word "homosexual" was even invented. Chris Packard introduces readers to the males-only clubs of journalists, cowboys, miners, Indians, and vaqueros who defined themselves by excluding women and the cloying ills of domesticity and recovers a forgotten culture of exclusively masculine, sometimes erotic, and often intimate camaraderie in the fiction, photographs, and theatrical performances of the 1800's Wild West.

Author Bio
Chris Packard teaches literature and writing at New York University and New School University. His essays have appeared in Arizona Quarterly, Common-Place, and Concerns; his fiction and poetry have appeared in literary quarterlies, exhibitions, and the popular press.

Praise for Queer Cowboys
"A searching and original study. Chris Packard has managed to tease out evidence of same-sex attraction in places where one would not have expected to find it."--Larry McMurtry, co-writer of the award-winning screenplay for Brokeback Mountain and author of Lonesome Dove

"Thanks, Chris Packard, for searching out eros between men in the texts that created the iconic image of the Western American hero. So 'Come back to the Raft Ag'in, Huck Honey!' and see what this scholar has found."--Jonathan Ned Katz, author, Love Stories: Sex between Men before Homosexuality

Table of contents
Introduction * Decoding the Encrypted Erotics of Nineteenth-Century Westerns * Intersections of Race and Homosexuality in the Wilderness * Scandal in the Boom Towns: Print Cultures and Sexual Prohibitions * Cowboy Poses: The Queer Eye in Early Photographs * Singing from the Saddle: The "Wild" West Goes Vaudeville * Conclusion

buy the paperback at

Thursday, June 28, 2007

If You Can Fit In Your Beachbag It Might Be a Bit Too Big Press

3 little things I'm going to share:

I've had the line "flies, breadcrumbs, and apricot pulp" stuck in my head. I need to make a poem to fit it in. Tuck it into bed. Hum it lullabies.

Airconditioners scare me. I think it's the combination of a) they do fall out of windows and squish people (seriously, it happens in nyc) and b) the air that jets out of it is what I think a robot's breath must be like. But I do know that they make people not stick to each other, so I may buy one this weekend.

When I was in first grade in New England, our class went outside to this hill and picked lots of dandelions and then went back to the classroom and fried them up in a pan with olive oil and breadcrumbs- and now when I make salads, I always want to put dandelions in them. But you can't just pick dandelions in nyc because ten to one a dog has peed on them or they are sooty etc.

I do not call my grandma enough.

It's been a long day, I'm going to have a dirty martini soon. No joke.

"Dead as a Doornail" by Google Image

"Dead as a Doornail" by Google Image

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Covet Thy Neighbor's Book If It's Published By My Press, Press

Last night, Barcade, my epiphany:
Ms. Pac Man is a much tenser game then I remembered. Those ghosts sure come at you fast.


So, here is my review of Evan Almighty:

One word: Norbit.


Two readings this friday in nyc:
1) MiPOesias presents


Friday, June 29, 2007 @ 7:00 PM

ETHAN PAQUIN is author of My Thieves (Salt, 2007), The Violence
(Ahsahta Press, 2005), Accumulus (Salt, 2003) and The Makeshift ( UK :
Stride, 2002). He lives and teaches in Buffalo , NY , and returns to
seacoast New Hampshire every summer.

Stacy Szymaszek is the author of Emptied of All Ships (Litmus Press,
2005) as well as several chapbooks. After working at Woodland Pattern
Book Center in Milwaukee , WI for many years she moved to New York to
be the Program Coordinator at the Poetry Project at St. Mark's Church.
This year she is also the Monday Night Reading curator. She edited
Gam: A Survey of Great Lakes Writing which lived for 4 issues, and now
works as co-editor or contributing editor on various projects
including Instance Press and Fascicle. Her current work in process is
called "hyper glossia," parts of which can be found on the internet,
in a Belladonna* chap book and forthcoming from Hot Whiskey Press.

ALVERZ RICARDEZ is the publisher of Kill Poet Press & Journal. His
poetry has been published in several journals including Chronogram,
Softblow, Pemmican, Language & Culture & AVQ. Alveraz lives in Los
Angeles and is currently working on his second volume of poetry.

766 Grand Street Brooklyn , NY 11211
(L train to Grand Street Stop, walk 1 block west)

2) Essays & Fictions, a new online journal of literature and criticism,
has gone live at

The launch reading at La Plaza Cultural Community Garden in the East
Village, 9th St and Ave C - Friday June 29 6 p.m., with a rain date of
Sunday July 1, 6 p.m. ... featuring E&F readers David Pollock,
Danielle Winterton, Amberly Timperio and Adam Golaski. There will be
non-E&F readers as well; we call them "friends of Essays & Fictions"
... they are Greg Sanders, Jeff Paris, and Justin Marks.

Well, well. What's a girl to do? I will be going to the event I heard about first, to be fair.

Guess what I am getting? A subscription to The New Yorker (because mine lapsed) and a subscription to the Economist (because I need to re-learn how to read articles that are more complicated than The Post, use words longer than 3 letters, and are not all about jailbird Paris Hilton). Yes, it's happening folks.

My google image project is taking a mini detour. Instead of google image searching concepts/religions/etc I'm going to google image search idioms.

"Having Your Cake And Eating It Too" by Google Image:

Any suggestions for idioms you'd like to see?

Oh, by the way, my friend/co-worker JM just said: "I did something dirty. I coined a new abbreviation I use when updating my Excel sheets. 'Flupped' is now short for 'followed up.'" Feel free to start using 'flupped.' I think I may pass, it's a little too close to the word 'flipper' for me.

Just to let you know, at any given point during the work day, I have over 5 excel spreadsheets open. Yes, I'm a "multi-tasker," which has 5 of the same letters as "multi-millionaire"... Yeah, I'm going to get back to work now.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Take A Sanka Break and Other Bad Advice Press

I fell asleep with the TV on last night by accident and woke up to see 5 members of the UK's Big Brother also sleeping in a giant bed. I don't really get that show. It is just like 24/7 surveillance of really boring or irritating people. Last night I saw the UK version of The Apprentice called Tycoon. But all the different people on it have to sell the product they invented and it's very entertaining to watch people fail in various, unique ways. One woman, for instance, is trying to market a vodka orange drink for 20-something chicks called Fruka. Obviously she is having trouble with name-branding.

My hotel is right near the Imperial War Museum, which has quite beautiful gardens, so I get to wander around the gardens before settling in for the evening. I'm right next to this as well:

Tomorrow I'm off to the Tate Modern and the British Portrait Gallery. And to eat Indian food.

Pilot #2 is up and running. Check out a few of the collab poems from the series MS & wrote together called, "When We Broke the Microscope." Doesn't the name entice you to go read them? I thought so, but if that's not enough, also definitely check out Brandon Shimoda's poem and the poems by Julie Doxsee. They are way wolfsome:

Pilot #2 features poems from Julie Doxsee, Noah Falck, John Gallaher, Heather Green, Anne Heide, Nathan Hoks, Noelle Kocot, Sueyeun Juliette Lee, Clay Matthews, Jennifer Tolo Pierce, Nate Pritts, Brandon Shimoda, and Justin Taylor; collaborative work from Mathias Svalina & Julia Cohen, Matt Hart, and the Typing Explosion; translations of Paul Dermee by Kim Lohse; an interview with Sierra K. Nelson; as well as a number of chapbook reviews.

So, our dear writer/editor Justin Taylor has a gig for The Apocalypse Reader tomorrow (Thurs) JUNE 21ST AT THE STRAND, 7 PM. Cool people are reading, you should go:
This Apocalypse Event will feature: Rick Moody, Brian Evenson, Gary Lutz, Deb Olin Unferth, and Justin Taylor.

I would like to hear Rick Moody read. Other related hoopla you should check out, that doesn't even involve moving your body to a reading:
Apocalypse Reader Interview Round-up-

Huffington Post, interviewed by Jennifer Banash of Impetus Press-

Bookslut Blog, interviewed by Jessa Crispin-

The Villager, an NYC free weekly (online and print), by Rachel Fershleiser-

Check out the book:

Alright, that's all the hype I got for you today. Back to the UK.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Your Breadcrumbs Are My Stuffing Press

Some sweet-ass business is going on in the US while I'm in the UK this week. And by business I mean pleasure:

Wednesday, June 20, 7:00 pm – Parish Hall
Hello Goodbye Party
The Poetry project says:
Come one and all to an elegant gathering to fete Anselm Berrigan’s departure from administration and to usher in the Age of Stacy Szymaszek.

the tiny #3 is now alive and kicking. Gina Myers & Gabriella Torres will let you know that:

the tiny #3 features work by Andrea Baker, Ellen Baxt, Edmund Berrigan, Mark Bibbins, Daniel Borzutzky, Kristy Bowen, Joseph Bradshaw, John Coletti, Rachel Conrad, Crystal Curry, Michelle Detorie, Julia Drescher, Will Edmiston, Bonnie Emerick, Betsy Fagin, Paul Fattaruso, Peter Gizzi, Scott Glassman, Sarah Goldstein, Garth Graeper & Jason Sheridan, Eryn Green, Kristen Hanlon, Mike Hauser, Anthony Hawley, Anne Heide, Brenda Iijima, Greg Koehler, Rodney Koeneke, Michael Koshkin, Tim Lantz & Mark Yakich, Lauren Levin, Jill Magi, C.J. Martin, Joseph Massey, Kristi Maxwell, Ange Mlinko, Michael Montlack, Marci Nelligan, Nick Piombino, Billy Ramsell, F. Daniel Rzicznek, Brandon Shimoda, Logan Ryan Smith, Maggie Smith, Chad Sweeney, Derek White, Dustin Williamson, and Devon Wootten, with cover art by Andrew Mister.

the tiny is available for purchase for $12.00 by clicking on the PayPal link below, or by sending a check made out to Gina Myers or Gabriella Torres to the tiny, 95 Verona St. #4, Brooklyn, NY 11231.

the tiny website is currently being updated to include purchasing information for the current issue as well as submission guidelines for our next reading period which will begin in August. Please check back in the next week or two at

I recommend buying it. I will. And if I have to spend $12.00 then you do to. There are at leat five poets in this issue that will blow your mind.

In England "no parking" signs are called "no wheel camping," which creates the visual image of a drunk farmer slumped over a tractor wheel with a flask in his overalls pocket. Right? Cute.

"Xenophobic" by UK Google Image

"Xenophobic II" by UK Google Image

Friday, June 15, 2007

Animales Etirables Press

I had my first intervention yesterday evening. The lovely AB approached me with a box of lentils, an onion, bullion, and bay leaves all wrapped up and ready to be sliced, diced, and simmered. The intervention was a "I'm worried that you eat such weird, processed food." My food largely depends on the deli across the street, but now I can make a lentil soup. Hardy. Organic. Things are lookin' up. Thanks AB.


I hung out with my brother late last night since he just moved to Greenpoint. It's the first time we've lived in the same area since I went to college so it's pretty sweet that I'll get to see him a lot this summer. He's a charming, funny dude, but sorry ladies, he's taken.

"Adam on Halloween"

I'm leaving for London tomorrow on Business/Pleasure for a week. If I do not experience a fiery death on one of these:

I will make it here by Saturday evening:

In '03, my roommate in England, for a while, was this stripper named Sara. She had a boyfriend, Bubba, who she left behind in North Carolina, and who was a bouncer at the club where she worked. To make extra money, she posed in tight, leather clothing on I just checked and that html address no longer exists as leather fetish site, probably a good thing. Sarah subsisted solely on the incredibly wide variety of English candy bars. I'm not joking. She had the most insane sugar highs and lows. When she was down, I would sometimes coax her out of bed with the promise of a candy bar. When I moved out, I had my own room for a while that had a bathroom pod inside the bedroom, and the toilet was inside the shower. I felt like a cabin boy. But anyways, I'll be bringing candy bars back for everyone, you can eat one for Sara. Get pumped. For the boys I'll bring back:

And for the girls:

See you soon.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Tiny Thumbs/War Press

I like it when people put aside their differences and come together to build a giant banana:

The reading for LIT 12 last night was very fun. No one liked my idea, though, of calling "issues" of poetry journals "levels." I stand by it. It would mean, for example, that LIT just reached level 12. So, if you are in level 12, you made it to the highest level. For those who feel bad because they were only in level one, you can at least say "I played it old skool when there was only one level" so everyone wins. Like Atari. See?

I'm going to boast:
I've been keeping my six plants alive at work. They are even starting to flower. Well, it's really more like five since one is a cactus and I don't think that counts. I used to not water them enough. And they would start to wilt, like a small child after a long soccer game, but now I'm taking preventative measures and they are doing quite well. When I play music too loudly at work, I tell my co-workers "It's for the flowers, man." Actually I don't. But I do have a mix where the last two songs are Salt N Peppa's "None Of Your Business" and De La Soul's "The Magic Number" and people start unconciously bobbing their heads. Nice. By the way, Missy rules.

Ok, this is a short one. Maybe later I'll give you somethin' to blog home about.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

If You Mop My Floor I'll Let You Give Me A BackRub? Press

Poetry Blog Takes Non-Poetry Detour Due To Stressful Day:

The fact that Rachel Ray is now on all the Dunkin Donuts commercials makes me like Dunkin Donuts less. And I like their coffee. The fact that I do not pay for cable means that I should not have to listen to Rachel Ray say "Delish." And "Fantabulous."

I wrote the above and then randomly looked on Gawker to find that it just posted an ad for an assistant editor for Rachel Ray's magazine:

Assistant to the Managing Editor Posted Jun 12
Every Day With Rachael Ray, New York, NY
Responsible for assisting with the daily operations and production of a four-color bi-monthly consumer magazine.

But you can only have this job if:
1) you want to quite the better job you already have and
2) you shine with these character traits (this is from her ad posting):

Professional Skills:
• Extremely capable at leadership of self and others.
• Ability to handle matters of a highly confidential nature with absolute discretion.
• Impeccable analytical, organizational, interpersonal and problem-solving skills.
• Strong oral and written communications skills.
• Willing to take initiative and get involved wherever necessary.

Not only could you work for Rachel, but you could work for a subsidiary of Readers Digest...Also, I want to know what kind of "matters of a highly confidential nature" circulate in a cooking magazine. Lots of "secret ingredients" I bet.

Kind of a rough day. In sum: My shoes will be wet for a very long time.

[I wrote lots of incredibly Dark & Witty things right here but deleted these delectable comments when thinking about my professional career.]

When you're in a bad mood is your aura black? My aura is smoking Cuban cigars and exhaling on cute babies today.

Today is one of those days where I should probably breath slowly and drink a milkshake through a bendy straw.

Tomorrow I'll be back on track, glowing with accolades for all those who pass by me. I'll handpick roses for you. Pass out little Dixie cups of diced pineapple. Send you anagrams of your name that perfectly encapsulate your dashing personality. Promise. I'll also stop updating you on my emotional state.

Maybe I can start tomorrow today:

I'm going to remind you of the LIT launch Wednesday at 6pm. Sweet.
And give you a Google Image Search Word Of The Day?:

"Giant Potato I" by Google Image

"Giant Potato II" by Google Image

"Giant Potato III" by Google Image

So good. I'm feeling better, thanks "Giant Potato I."

Your Paws Are Stickier Than Mine Press

So the MV & EE show was a slight disappointment although I found out I like the band Woods. Because I am stingy, I didn't by their album, which I kind of regret now. (I just tried to put a silent "n" at the end of "album" like "autumn," but my spellcheck told me "no.") My mom always had good advice about stuff like this. She said that if what you want will be hard to find again, and you know that when you walk away, you'll still think about wanting to have it, suck it up and buy it and enjoy yourself. I think this goes for buying albums at shows and weird objects/art when traveling.

Entenmann's cookies & cake. To be honest, not even for a brief moment did I consider baking for this picnic. This is actually sad because I love baking and I'm pretty good at it. I have my own chocolate chip cookie recipe stored in my head, which is killer, as well as a banana & chocolate bread that will melt your heart. And I can take on any baked good in the cook book with relative confidence. Eight egg cake? Bring it. But my apartment is not conducive to baking and I don't have the basic supplies anymore. Someday when I buy my apartment a loveseat and artwork for it's poor, barren walls, I'll feel like baking.

I'm going to England on Saturday for business. This is nuts. I'm going to have to make a list of "Witty Banter" topics that I can bring up with people in our Uk office. It will actually be lovely to see how the Uk office works and then I'll have a few days free to wander around London. Do you have particular museums you'd recommend to me?

People who breed mini ponies are weird. Why not just get a dog? I think it's demeaning, in the same way that some dogs exist to be carried around by people in tote bags. Anyways, there are mini pony farms in New England.

You basic mini pony:

Mini Pony next to a dog, so you can see that this family should have gotten two dogs and a horse instead of a mini pony. Or two dogs and no horse. This pony looks confused.

If you're going to breed a horse so that it comes out as a mini-pony, isn't it like a slap in the face to then make it jump through hoops or over hurdles?:

I'm off to the picnic.

Monday, June 11, 2007

The Balloon is Where the Party's At Press

I think I may need to hunt down more early poetry by Tomaz Salamun:


I have a horse. My horse has four legs.

I have a record player. On my record player I sleep.

I have a brother. My brother is a sculptor.

I have a coat. I have a coat to keep me warm.

I have a plant. I have a plant to have green in my room.

I have Maruska. I have Maruska because I love her.

I have matches. With matches I light cigarettes.

I have a body. With my body I do the most beautiful things that I do.

I have destruction. Destruction causes me many troubles.

I have night. Night comes to me through the window of my room.

I have fun racing cars. I race cars because car racing is fun.

I have money. With money I buy bread.

I have six really good poems. I hope I will write more of them.

I am twenty-seven years old. All these years have passed like lightning.

I am relatively courageous. WIth this courage I fight human stupidity.

I have a birthday March seventh. I hope March seventh will be a nice day.

I have a friend whose daughter's name is Breditza. In the evening when they put

her to bed she says Salamun and falls asleep.

When I read this poem for the first time it made my day.

Yusef Komunyakka is reading for the Poetry Society of America this evening.

And tomorrow, Tuesday at 7pm: Amy Ouzoonian, Gabriella Santoro, Jennifer Blowdryer, Sarah Herrington, Tara Betts and special guests
Rapture Café and Books
200 Avenue A (near 13th Street)

I'm still going to the MV & EE show tonight. Tomorrow I'm having a picnic in Central Park. I'm supposed to "find people by the balloon." This makes it sound like I will never find anyone I'm looking for in Central Park. Especially because the person bringing the balloon for us to find isn't quite sure where to go. I'm bringing dessert and a blanket. I hope someone brings a baseball. Frisbee is stupid.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Worth The Wait Press

The cover of Saltgrass, for those of you who have not seen it, is below. If you bought a copy and it hasn't arrived yet, don't fret, it shall reach you shortly:

Love it.

Also, you should submit (!!!). Check the website for guidelines and to read sample poems. The next print issue comes out in October:

Monday, MV & EE is playing. I may be getting sick again but I really want to go. Here's the low-down, skinny:

Monday, June 11th @ DON PEDRO'S

:: Religious Knives
:::: MV / EE Medicine Show
:::::: Woods
:::::::: Nymph

90 Manhattan Ave @ McKibbin St | East Williamsburg, Brooklyn
L-Montrose, G-Broadway, JM-Lorimer | ALL AGES | $tba | 8PM

I'm going to skip the first band, maybe get there at 9pm. Sounds good.

I spent the whole day at Coney Island on Friday. The weather was great and so was the sand and the beer (not to be mixed together). It got hazy towards the evening so the ferris wheel circled and dipped people into the heavy clouds.

"It got a bit foggy by nightfall"

"We ate Babysnakes' cake and then gave the rest to a homeless man who wanted cake. true story."

"JM is just blowin' the beer foam."

I saw "Pierrepoint- The Hangman" this weekend. I'm not entirely sure if I would recommend the movie, but I think that Timothy Spall was great as well as Juliet Stevenson. It's basically a character study of the last and most famous hangman of England. Netflix it when it comes out on DVD. I would stand by that recommendation.

Among the notable people he hanged:

13 German war criminals - Irma Grese, the youngest concentration camp guard to be executed for crimes at Belsen and Auschwitz (aged 22), Elisabeth Volkenrath (Belsen & Auschwitz), and Juana Bormann (Auschwitz), plus ten men including Josef Kramer, the Commandant of Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. All were executed at Hameln on 13 December 1945 at half-hour intervals, the women being hanged individually, the men in pairs.

John Amery, son of wartime Secretary of State for India, Leopold Amery, and the first person to plead guilty to treason in an English court since Summerset Fox in May 1654. He was described by Albert as "the bravest man I ever hanged", he greeted his executioner with the words "Oh! Pierrepoint." The executioner, however, took the proffered hand only to put the pinioning strap on, and replied nothing. Hanged at Wandsworth Prison, London, 19 December 1945. [6]

"Lord Haw-Haw", William Joyce, controversially convicted as a traitor and executed at Wandsworth, 3 January 1946.

John George Haigh, the "Acid-bath murderer" executed at Wandsworth on 10 August 1949.

Derek Bentley, controversially executed at Wandsworth on 28 January 1953 for his part in the death of Police Constable Miles, despite his having already been under arrest at the time of the fatal shot. The execution was carried out despite pleas for clemency by large numbers of people including 200 Members of Parliament, the widow of Miles, and the recommendation of the jury in the trial. After a long campaign, Bentley received a posthumous pardon in July 1993. An article written by Pierrepoint for The Guardian newspaper, but withheld until the pardon was made, dispelled the myth that Bentley had cried on his way to the scaffold. Right until the last, he believed he would be reprieved. In 1998, the Court of Appeal ruled that Bentley's conviction was "unsafe" and quashed it.

Timothy John Evans, hanged at Pentonville Prison on 9 March 1950 for the murder of his daughter (he was also suspected of having murdered his wife). It was subsequently discovered that Evans' neighbour John Reginald Christie, a self-confessed necrophiliac, was a multiple murderer, who was also executed by Pierrepoint on 15 July 1953 at Pentonville. Timothy Evans received a posthumous pardon in 1966 for the murder of his daughter.

Michael Manning on 20 April 1954 the last person to be executed in the Republic of Ireland.

Ruth Ellis, the last woman to be hanged in Britain, on 13 July 1955 for shooting her lover. Contrary to myth, Pierrepoint had no regrets about her execution — in fact it was one of the few times he spoke publicly about one of his charges, and he made it abundantly clear he felt she deserved no less.

James Inglis, the fastest hanging on record - only seven seconds from being led out of his cell until the trapdoor opened to send him on his fatal drop.

***I think it's quite interesting that the Nazi women were hung individually and the men in pairs. Make of that what you will.

Friday, June 8, 2007

I Write Sonnets in My Sleep Press

This is the goodbye cake I made my friend, KA, who is leaving my company. I think I found my calling as a cake decorator. I'll miss my lil' Babysnakes, whenever I called her desk line, she would answer the phone by going, "SSSSSSSSSSsss." True story.

Another true story: When KA was younger, she was what we would call "a loner." It didn't help matters that she was an only child. KA realized that she was supposed to play with other children on the playground, but she didn't want to. So, being the ingenius child that she was, she figured out that she didn't have to play with others if she wore a sling. This sling enabled her to tell people that she was hurt and couldn't go on the jungle gym or play Red Rover, etc. And KA was left to her own devices, building mud sand castles and whistling to herself with her faux-sling. This is one of the many reasons why I will miss KA.

Today is a beach day. I'm going to the beach to drink some Russian beer, read me some Jose Marti, and hang out with friends on the airplane blanket I stole and am now sacrificing to "Beach Day." This is a blog-lite entry, Sorry.

Don't worry, though, you're Babysnakes, too.

***Note: I have permission to tell this story, so feel free to relay your child hood deviances to me in secrecy, which is where they will remain.

News from the Newspaper:

Michigan Man Goes on Wild Ride:

GRAND RAPIDS, Mich. - A 21-year-old man got the ride of a lifetime when his electric wheelchair became lodged in the grille of a semitrailer and was pushed down a highway for several miles at about 50 mph.

Ben Carpenter was unharmed but was taken to a hospital as a precaution. He had been secured to his wheelchair by a seat belt. Carpenter, who has muscular dystrophy, told a television station that he thought he might not make it through the ride.

"I was probably thinking that this is going to keep going and not stop anywhere, 50 or 60 miles somewhere," he told WOOD-TV of Grand Rapids.

Ben Carpenter's father, Donald, told The Associated Press that his son had started to cross at an intersection Wednesday afternoon in Paw Paw, about 140 miles west of Detroit. The light changed to green while his son was in front of a semi, which started moving.

The wheelchair's handles became lodged in the grille, the father said, and the wild ride started.

Motorists called 911 on their cell phones, and a pair of undercover police officers who happened to be nearby saw what was happening. They pulled the truck over and told the disbelieving driver, Donald Carpenter said.

The chair was undamaged except for losing most of the rubber on its wheels, he said.

"It's a very bad story that ended very well," he said. "We're just thrilled that he's still around."

Thursday, June 7, 2007

Manatees Are Just Fat Mermaids Press

Is this family portrait:

A) creepy
B) sad
C) funny
D) all of the above

****Please note this is NOT my family...but it could be yours..

I'm excited that I figured out how to make my font at work permanently Garamond. Down with courier new! Down with Arial!

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

My Roommate Makes Me Say Uncle A Lot Press

We're seeing this:
Trailer for "Live Free or Die Hard":

Being not fully better from my cold & me being home a lot as a result, & me living with DL now means that these are common phrases in our household:

1)"Uncle, uncle."

2) "I'm going to separate your muscle from your bone now."

3) "I'm going to pin you down and give you a mohawk. Watch me."

4) "If I crumple your body on the floor, will it attract mice?"

5) "You're just a magic pony" (I've never understood this one.)

6) "Why do you keep saying uncle? I'm not your uncle."

Common occurrences that coincide with above common phrases:

1) Julia in a headlock.

2) Julia in a headlock.

3) Julia in a headlock.

4) Julia in a headlock.

5) Julia in a headlock.

6) DL in a headlock!!!

Will you find this baby and give it to me?:

Ok, something poetry related:


Wednesday, June 13th from 6-10 PM
Wollman Hall @ The New School
66 West 12th Street, NYC, 10011

Featuring readings by...


Live DJ! Food and drinks! Copies of LIT! Literary excitement!

Reader bios:

Stephanie Anderson's work has appeared or is forthcoming in American Letters & Commentary, Boston Review, Denver Quarterly, DIAGRAM, LIT, Painted Bride Quarterly , and Typo, and her chapbook, In the Particular Particular, won the 2006 DIAGRAM/New Michigan Press Chapbook Contest. She lives in Manhattan and teaches in Harlem and East New York.

Ed Park is a founding editor of The Believer. His short fiction has appeared in Columbia, Crowd, and the anthology Trampoline, edited by Kelly Link. His first novel, Personal Days, will be published next year by Random House.

Rebecca Wolff is the editor and publisher of Fence and Fence Books. Her own books are Manderley and Figment; she is at work on a novel, The Beginners.

Ishmael Beah is the author of A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier, published by Sarah Crichton Books, an imprint of Farrar, Straus & Giroux. He now lives in Brooklyn.

Sampson Starkweather was born in Pittsboro, North Carolina. He works as an editor of science textbooks. His poems are published or forthcoming in jubilat, Poetry Daily, Absent, New York Quarterly, Sink Review, Gargoyle, Redivider, Ashville Poetry Review, Lumina; and were nominated for a 2006 Pushcart Prize. He lives in the woods alone.

LIT 12 is now available!

Featuring poetry and prose by...

Stephanie Anderson * Ralph Angel * John Ashbery * Sarah Bartlett * Edward Bartók-Baratta * Ishmael Beah * Francis Benteaux * Dan Boehl * Jessica Breheny * Shira Dentz * Julie Doxsee * Elisa Gabbert * John Gallaher * Daniel George * Dobby Gibson * Noah Eli Gordon * Kurt Haenicke * James Haug * Matthew Henriksen * Donald Illich * Joy Katz * Erica Kaufman * Mark Lawlor * Alex Lemon * Federico García Lorca * Joseph Massey * Clay Matthews * Kristi Maxwell * Kristin McGonigle * Joyelle McSweeney * Sharon Mesmer * Stephen Paul Miller * Gina Myers * Amanda Nadelberg * Carol Novack * Ed Park * Andrew Michael Roberts * Minal K. Singh * Sampson Starkweather * Mathias Svalina * Jen Tynes * Susan Wheeler * Joshua Marie Wilkinson * Dustin Williamson * Allyssa Wolf * Rebecca Wolff

Art by...

Emily Farranto * Pamela Lawton

Featuring an interview with JOHN ASHBERY by Marit MacArthur and critical writing by...

Kacper Bartczak * William Burgos * Roger Gilbert * Daniel Kane * David Kermani * John Koethe * Micaela Morrissette * Dara Wier

For more info, visit the LIT blog at!

There are a lot of people in this issue whose work I'm pumped to read. We all better go to this launch and snag copies of Lit 12. I've never heard Sam Starkweather read before, so it's also a novelty act.

We Do The Crossword in Pen Press

Things are abrewing, but kind of in the distance that is next week:
Wednesday, June 13, 8:00 pm
Edmund Berrigan & David Cameron

Edmund Berrigan is the author of Disarming Matter, Your Cheatin' Heart, and Glad Stone Children, coming this spring. Under the guise of I Feel Tractor, he has released a CD, Once I had an Earthquake (Goodbye Better, 2006). He also co-edited The Collected Poems of Ted Berrigan. David Cameron began studying French in order to understand cartoons on Canadian television. A lover of variants and misunderstanding, he is the author of Flowers Of Bad, a False Translation of Charles Baudelaire's Les Fleurs Du Mal, jointly produced by Unbelievable Alligator and Ugly Duckling Presse and L.P., a series of variations on the Lord's Prayer soon to be made available by Unbelievable Alligator as a free e-book.

I've told you before and I'll tell you again, go buy Flowers of Bad from Ugly Duckling Presse.

Gary Lutz reads tonight near my home. But it costs ten bucks. Hm. I may work late in the office and then come home and clean my room. My room is very stubborn and doesn't clean itself. Not cool, room.

I leave for London soon. I'm afraid of flying, I always assume the plane will crash. The fact that your seat turns into a floaty device is 0% reassuring when you know you'll be a pancake by the time you hit the water. Anyways, let me know what fun things I should do in London. I'm going to as many museums as I can stand. I'm partial to the National Portrait Gallery and the British Museum. I promise to avoid tourist busses.

When I lived in the UK in 2002, this is where I lived. I'm not kidding, doesn't it look like a honey comb?

Tuesday, June 5, 2007

Buckets Were Made to Be Filled Press

I worked a lot today and can't check much off my list. I'm afraid of becoming one of those people who only like to do things that can be easily checked off a list. Like a very efficient housewife. Laundry, check! Grocery shopping, check! Or someone who works in Accounts Payable.

To cheer me up, I watched a video of my favorite 3-toed animal, baby sloth:

Today was a good mail/email day though. I signed my contract with Spinning Jenny, which arrived this morning. And also got good word from Conjunctions and RealPoetik. I'm a happy camper. Oh, I got an extra copy of Michael Foucault: The Hermeneutics of the Subject. Let me know if you want a copy, I'd be happy to send it your way, it looks like this:

Just hit me with an email if you want it. We could have the most pretentious two-person book group ever. Naaa.

Don't Joke About Canoe Shaped Spiders Press

I watched Barbarella last night. I'm surprised I never saw it in college or something. DL made the bold move of getting a library card at the Brooklyn Public Library so now we get movies for free (VHS, baby). Imagine, not paying a monthly fee or per movie. No catch. You can also get books, spice it up a little.

Barbarella does the nasty with this land-bound angel and then he can fly again.

"White Castle Chicken Rings" (NOT wings, rings):

DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT IS HAPPENING? White Castle is making ring-shaped chicken meals. They look like swollen onion rings. But filled with chicken.

Some marketing executive should get fired. It's like when McDonald's had their "Warm chicken, cold salad" billboard campaign. GROSS.

Are people buying this new addition to be menu? White Castle keeps advertising it on TV and since we don't have a remote, I see more chicken rings than I want to before I can change the channel.

I was reading a back issue of BOMB today and came upon the article (by Francisco Goldman) about the Guatemalan performance artist Regina Jose Galindo. The article is from the Winter 2005-06 issue, which I recommend you buy because there are a number of great interviews in this one and some spanish short stories and poetry that have never been translated into english before.

I'm pasting part of the article on her below:
A slight young woman in a black dress walks barefoot through the streets of Guatemala City, carrying a white basin filled with human blood. She sets the basin down, steps into it and then out, leaving a trail of bloody footprints from the Constitutional Court building to the old National Palace. The corrupt Constitutional Court had recently allowed the former military dictator, General Ríos Montt, to run for president despite the Constitution's barring of past presidents who gained power by military coup. A Guatemalan who didn't know that it was a performance titled Who can erase the traces?–or even who had never heard of performance art–would have had no trouble understanding the symbolism: the ghostly footprints representing the hundreds of thousands of civilians murdered, overwhelmingly by the Army, during the long years of war and after; the persistence of memory in the face of official policies of enforced forgetting and impunity. I've read (and have contributed) plenty of words, a surfeit of words, about violence and injustice in Guatemala. That trail of bloody footprints was the most powerful statement I'd encountered in ages.

I'd never paid much attention to performance art, but I do always keep an eye out for anything having to do with Guatemala. Regina José Galindo came to my attention when I read that she'd won the Golden Lion award for the best young artist at the 2005 Venice Biennale. She was awarded the prize for Who can erase the traces? as well as two other video presentations and one performance. In the latter she crawled inside a pale gray cube and whipped herself 256 times, one for each woman murdered in Guatemala so far that year.

Internet research revealed a prolific artist (Galindo writes poetry too) of astonishing imagination and conviction, who uses her body to create powerful visual metaphors and symbols that are never just obscure. In a group show on the theme of what it means to be a Guatemalan, she repeatedly injected herself with valium. In another performance, she put herself inside a garbage bag and was deposited at the municipal dump; crawled into the ring to fight with a professional wrestler; made a five-day journey from Guatemala to Lima, Peru, and back–blindfolded. That is a tiny selection. I'm awed by the economy of her work, by her courage, by the spectacle of her self-devouring and obsessive seeking. Galindo expresses the Guatemalan experience with searing intimacy, its pain and horror and daily humiliation, but also its resiliency and peculiar vividness. As her Venice Prize recognizes, she also speaks universally; outside Guatemala, she must often seem like an artist from a Kafka story, on a riveting and terrible quest whose meaning seems both inexpressible and unbearably true.

Francisco Goldman I imagine that we should begin with a few words about what is happening today in Guatemala. Hurricane Stan, the flooding, the terrible loss of lives, the general calamity that is going to sink people even deeper into lives of inescapable poverty. What did Guatemala do to deserve so much suffering?
Regina José Galindo To me this question feels too deep, too heartrending. As you say, my country has suffered an eternity of calamities of all shapes and sizes: a mortal conquest, the maltreatment of indigenous villages and the negation of their rights throughout our entire history, the Gringo intervention, an infernal 36-year war, evil governments, spine-chilling levels of corruption, a murderous army, histories of violence that are a daily nightmare of inequality, hunger, misery–and now this, which unlike the aforementioned things is a natural disaster. How is such karma even possible?
But you ask what Guatemala did to deserve all this. Perhaps the proper questions would be: What haven't we done? Why have we been so afraid, and tolerated so much fear? Why have we not woken up and taken action? When are we going to stop being so submissive?
I feel impotent, unable to change things, but this rage has sustained me, and I've watched it grow since I first became aware of what was happening. It's like an engine–a conflict inside me that never yields, never stops turning, ever.

FG If someone had asked me if I thought a performance about Guatemala's violence, past or present, could be something as moving and surprising, as direct and effective and simply poetic, as your Quién puede olvidar las huellas? (Who can erase the traces?), I guess I would have said no. (And I say that despite the fact that I can only "see" it via the Internet–maybe that's not such a bad definition of how conceptual art works, when it works: you see an image, a trace, a link or a "footprint" on a screen, read a bit of text, and then imagine the rest!) The other two works that you presented in Venice were of equal impact and eloquence. And they seem related to the spirit of your poetry, though your performance artworks are grand public gestures, and your poetry is intensely personal. Where did Who Can Erase the Traces come from? What were your hopes for it? Who thinks of doing something like that, and why?
RJG It emerged from rage and fear. When it was announced that Efraín Ríos Montt had managed to win acceptance as a presidential candidate, I was in my room, and I suffered an attack of panic and depression. I cried out, I kicked and stomped my feet, I cursed the system that rules us. How was it possible that a character as dark as this would have such power with which to bend everything to his will? I decided then and there that I would take to the streets with my shout and amplify it. I had to do it.

FG What was the experience of performing it like? When you were walking barefoot through the streets carrying that basin of blood, stopping, dipping your feet in it, leaving your prints, going on and doing it again, what were you thinking about? Were you aware of people watching you? Is that personal experience, the interior space–even the memory of having lived it–part of the work? Did you learn anything unexpected from the public's reaction? And what did you do that night? After doing something like that, can you just sit down to dinner with your family, then go to sleep?
RJG Every performance requires a different energy, and in each of them I have experienced distinct sensations and thoughts. The process of this performance was a bit cold, clinical. I went out to buy the human blood in the morning, and then I began the walk. It probably lasted about 45 minutes: that walk on pavement that did not burn.
I suppose my mind fell completely silent during that time. I was focused on the image of dipping my feet and leaving my footprints at every step along the way. But when I got to the Palacio Nacional and saw the line of police officers guarding it, I ignited. I walked more firmly, I reached the main doors, I saw the eyes looking back at me, and I left two final footprints side by side. I left the basin holding the blood there too. Nobody followed me, nobody said anything. I quickly walked across the street, washed my feet off in the park fountain, got something to eat, and then went back to my job that afternoon.

FG In the Guatemalan context, it is a profoundly political work. Did it have a political impact? And how is it different to present it, even on video, in Venice?
RJG To present it on video is simply to show a document. In this case, whoever sees this document can come to know the history behind it.
As for the performance itself, it was all over in a moment, and I felt as I always do, that it hadn't done any good. But a group of artists began the necessary work: spreading word of the performance and the message. A curator friend of mine, Rosina Cazali, sent out images of the performance alongside a text declaring Ríos Montt's candidacy unacceptable. I say that these efforts were necessary, because Guatemala is a country without memory. The people, with little access to education, are easy to mislead with promises and the little gifts that politicians hand out during election campaigns. The official party, to which Ríos Montt belonged and belongs, made a huge effort and had all the power to reach the Guatemalan minorities, who had difficulty connecting the actual Ríos Montt (the presidential candidate) to the past dictator-president who was guilty of the greatest crimes against their own people, their own blood. Every effort was necessary, any help at all, it was all needed to shout out the truth, by whatever means. After they were published online, the images of the performance were then published in newspapers that reached various groups.

FG Guatemalans, for all their collective psychosis, sometimes live in a state of negation; they've certainly become used to hearing denunciations of the human rights violations, the violence and massacres, etc., that occurred during the years of war. That doesn't lessen the valor of your work on the subject–but Regina, in Guatemala, a work like Himenoplastia (Hymenoplasty) must have been unprecedented. It must have hit like a bomb. Obviously it's an act of rage that many–the majority even, myself included–can't help but contemplate with a sense of incomprehension, perhaps even paralysis. It moves me almost to tears to think about what could have brought you to such an extreme. Please, talk a little bit about that work.
RJG One day in April I was reading the newspaper, and I saw an article about reconstructing the hymen. Then I saw a classified ad purporting to restore virginity. I went to the advertised place, which was a bit seedy, and interviewed the doctor. At that time I was working on an idea for a group show organized by Belia de Vico, which was titled Cinismo (Cynicism). I went back to the place with Belia, we spoke with the doctor, I showed him my work, and we broached the idea of filming the process. He agreed to do it for a certain amount of money.
I went to the clinic several times to observe the women who were patients there. I spoke with the doctor several times too, and he told me the stories of many of his patients. The majority of the patients want to regain their intactness for their wedding. They do it to gain a certain social status. In other cases, children and adolescent victims of sex trafficking are operated on so that they will fetch a better price. It is preferable to buy a virgin girl not only because of her virginity but also because it is considered better protection against STDs.
On the day of the operation, I went with Belia and Anibal Lopez, an artist and good friend. The operation was quick. Half an hour. Painful. Chaotic.
We left, feeling happy that it was over. We talked about what to have for breakfast. I wanted pancakes. In Belia's car, I began to feel a warm liquid between my legs, flowing more and more with every passing second. We drove back to her house and I put on a sort of diaper, but nothing could stop the flow. Then we went to my gynecologist's clinic–my doctor there had been seeing me for years, and had asked to examine me after the operation–and from there to the hospital. Everything happened so fast. They dressed me in a gown, laid me on a bed, stuck an anesthetic in my arm, and as I was fading into sleep I could hear the nurses talking among themselves, feeling sorry for me as they had for the many other girls who had been admitted to the hospital bleeding from a botched medical procedure, be it an abortion or a hymenoplasty.
The video was edited within a few days, and a week later it was exhibited as part of Belia's show. So many things must have been said about it. I didn't pay any attention to any of it, not at any time. It was already done, and I knew that I'd had to do it.

FG Who was this work done for?
RJG I suppose that–like everything I do–this was done for me.

FG What expectations did you have for this project?
RJG I never have any expectations after completing something. What I do have is a certain amount of nervousness and anxiety before every performance. But after that I have no expectations. It's done.

FG Do you still write poetry? Obviously, with the preoccupation with the feminine–and masculine–body that you express in your poetry, it's easy to see the link with some of your performances. I am especially impressed with the powerful simplicity of your poetry. And some of it is surprisingly funny. Did you write poetry before you began practicing visual art?
RJG Writing was the first thing I did; I've written since I was a girl. I kept little diaries filled with lamentations, complaints and rants. I began keeping a diary when I turned nine, which is when I had my first period. The first page of it is a tormented narration of my bleeding body.
Though I still do it from time to time, writing is for me a land filled with great fear. For a time, poetry was of supreme importance to me, and I valued it quite a bit, in the same way that I now do my work using the body. I participated in poetry workshops, and I gave readings anywhere I could, anywhere I was invited to.
I still write, embarrassingly enough. Knowing full well what my limitations are as a writer, I do have some new poems or vignettes that are so very, very bad that they even make me sad. I have started up a blog where I can vomit out a steady stream of purely cathartic words. I know that barely anybody has read it; nobody ever visits the website. I'm just doing it as an exercise.
Is it funny? I hadn't thought of it like that.
Piel (skin), 2001 performance. I shaved my body completely and walked naked through the streets of Venice.

FG Well, maybe that's just me. There is something sharp, something picante in your poems–maybe it's the shock of truth, or the bluntness, that makes me laugh. Well, at least in a poem like Si fuera José (If I Were José): If I were José / –only José– / I wouldn't have this atrophied penis / my tits would vanish / I'd be full of hair. // I wouldn't fuck them at will /nor would I always look at their asses. // If I were Jose / I'd be just as vulgar / and I wouldn't fall in love with Regina.)
There's definitely a spirit of satiric playfulness in your performance Angelina. When you did Angelina, you worked as a maid, or at least you went around dressed in a maid's uniform. It is difficult for someone from the U.S. to understand what it means to be a domestic servant in Guatemala.
RJG I dressed as a domestic servant and went about my normal life. The experience was extremely interesting right from the start, but as the days went by it became quite difficult indeed. Guatemala is a racist, exclusive, completely divided culture. Being a servant has many disadvantages. You're a woman, and a poor woman at that, generally with little education and dubious origins. You aren't worth a thing, and so they look down on you, and you go around with your shoulders always slumped, and they speak to you always with that disparaging tone in their voice. They barely deign to notice you, they won't let you into many places, and when they do let you enter, they stare at you disdainfully. At the end of the month, my self-esteem was in the dirt.

FG What is your own background? Are you from the city? Where did you study? In your family–your parents for example, or your grandparents–was there ever much interest in art or literature?
RJG I'm from the capital, from the populous Zona 3, born and raised near the notorious barrios of La Ruedita and El Gallito. When I was a teenager my parents and I moved to a better zone, Zona 13, but when I had the means I moved back to Zona 3.
I studied in middle-class schools; in the early years they were all-girl schools. We barely ever received any instruction in art or literature. To make matters worse, I got a degree in administrative assistance. I enrolled at the university several times, and I withdrew just as many.
My mother was always a super passionate reader. I remember her sitting in a chair for hours, completely engrossed in what she was reading, always talking about Vargas Vila, García Márquez, and novels like Tambor de Hojalata (The Tin Drum). She was fragile to the core, and very submissive to my father's attitudes, which is something that has stayed with me my entire life.
My father was a lawyer, very strict, and with a despotic and violent temper when I was young. During my teenage years, his behavior began to change. He was a wise man, always searching, and always in spiritual and emotional conflict.
I have an older brother who studied philosophy, with whom I talk quite frequently. He currently lives in New York. I also have a warm and brilliant uncle–my mother's brother–who also lives in New York and who sends me books and takes me to the opera when I visit him.

FG I read somewhere that you enjoy reading fiction. It seems that you aren't–or at the time you weren't–a fan of Guatemalan poets or novelists. How have your literary tastes changed over the years?
RJG I like many Guatemalans, from the unquestioned greats like Monterroso and Cardoza and Aragón; Roberto Obregón, Isabel de los Angeles Ruano, all the incredible women writers like Ana María Rodas, Alaide Foppa, Luz Mendez de la Vega. Also writers of my own generation like Payeras, Jessica Masaya, Maurice Echeverría, Alan Mills and Juan Carlos Lemus.
My literary tastes, I must admit, are rather limited. I start with what I have on hand, and I end up with what touches me the most. At the moment, I'm reading works by Jodorowski, Carlos Castañeda and Galeano, and the Argentine writer who always accompanies me wherever I go: Alejandra Pizarnik.

FG I've been struck lately by how many people say that they especially love Alejandra Pizarnik.
RJG I find myself in her, in every ironic and obscure word. Her pain includes her entire being.

FG Your poetry is written in first person and takes on a confessional tone. How would you compare the process of the poetic act with that of the performative act?
RJG The similarities lie along two lines. On the formal side I find it to be an obsessive search for cleanliness and for synthesis, as much in writing as in doing a performance. Conceptually, I find thematic similarities, like my dissatisfaction with the world and the system in which I happen to live. There is a cathartic effect in both my exercises, but it has different results for me, as do my experiences of life. When I write a text, I make an effort to not involve more than my brain and my emotions: my cry is not powerful enough to leave me exhausted. In the act of writing, energy is diluted into a passive being. Whereas in the moment of realizing a performance, something in which I am completely involved, it's not only the intellectual process of developing the proposal but also principally the energy that I gather to carry out the performance. In performance art, everything is real action: the energy explodes, reaches unexpected boundaries. The experience involves my entire being and sometimes even the beings of the people present.

***you can finish the article on line at:


Monday, June 4, 2007

Is Your Neck Wider Than Your Head? Press

I was disappointed by my Google image search today. My search for "people who look like horses" was very unfulfilling. Off the top of my head, I can think of at least 10 people I know who are horse-like in the face, so I guess I expected more on-line. Well, Google image only had one for me, David Grohl:

"People Who Look Like Horses" by Google Image:

Tonight, Monday, I may go see AA Bondy. KA is a big fan, and I like to be swept up in friends' enthusiasm. Especially if they are motivated enough to find me and put me on the subway heading in the right direction. It's at 8pm, $8.00 at Union Hall, I think. Let me know if you want to join up. You can hear a couple songs:

Sunday, June 3, 2007

Wayward Baby Press

The reading last night for The Apocalypse Reader was great. Watch out for Jeff Goldberg, he is a funny man who writes about Zombies. Apparently I do not read enough humorous Zombie fiction. Why do I feel the need to capitalize the word Zombie?

Watching "Little Children" at 9am on a Sunday was a weird way to start the day. It was like "Happiness" but without the funny. I don't really want to write that much about it, but I would like to talk about it, so have a conversation with me sometime soon. Jackie Earle Haley, as a not yet recovered pedophile, gives an amazing performance. He hasn't been in anything remotely good since the original Bad News Bears (1976), to my knowledge.

Movie still from Little Children:

Movie still from Knocked up:

I'm seeing Knocked Up this week. Can you wait until Tuesday or are you getting ansy?

To tide you over, you should read:

By Joshua Kryah.
buy it from
Seriously. I'll give you a little sample, sorry but my spacing is not going to represent the actual spacing of the poem:

Called Back, Called Back

Acquite me, make me
purblind, unbloomed, a thing that,

when roused,

remains dormant, unused, none
among many. As the bulb that persists within its sullen,

despondent mood, alive, but no more, no better
than some kind of senseless meat.

I turn away but wherever I turn I encounter
the sam soft refrain--

I did not call you, lie back down.
I did not call, lie back, lie down.

There is death and then
there is sleep, or I no longer know who's calling or
what I've heard or what I'll say. As, when roused once more

by your voice-light, its endless drag and weight,
I move

as a tuber on the verge of swelling, the called-forth,
fruited body, caught between monad and many,

between almost and ready.

"I move as a tuber on the verge of swelling." That's fantastic. If anyone wants to review this book, I'll send you a review copy. Just e-mail me.

Saturday, June 2, 2007

Tricked Out Press

I like kites:

Making a beautiful kite is like making a beautiful artists book. But it flies!

I also like hot air balloons:

This is not like an artists book. It's more like flying in a jack o lantern.