Thursday, November 29, 2007

How Much Do You Love PayPal? Press

I ask about Paypal, because I need you to love it, because I would very much LOVE for you to buy (and love you for buying) my new chapbook, Who Could Forget the Sensational First Evening of the Night.

It's out. $6 and it's yours. "For keeps."

(Uh, I wanted to say that I'm sincerely happy about the poems here because they're all fairly recent and I think representative of what I was working on over the previous year.)

I know that you're sick of your wife, your husband, your fling, your television, your taxman, and you're just dying to fall in love with something NEW. Thus, I offer you my chapbook:

Cover:

So go here, to H_NGM_N B__KS.
That link should take you there. And by "there" I mean both the H_NGM_N B__KS website and also the glorious possibilities of discovery that lie between the neatly stapled covers of my chappy.

Ok, now that I've plugged myself to death...

Man, if I don't see you at this event, on Monday, and I know you live in NYC, you are so lame:

The Bedside Guide to No Tell Motel – Second Floor
BOOK LAUNCH READING AND RELEASE PARTY

December 3rd, 2007
7-9 PM
KGB Bar
85 East 4th Street, NYC

Featuring: Hugh Behm-Steinberg, Ana Bozicevic-Bowling, Bruce Covey, Jill Alexander Essbaum, Kate Greenstreet, Shafer Hall, editor Reb Livingston, Justin Marks, Gina Meyers, Carly Sachs, Allyson Salazar, Evie Shockley, and Nicole Steinberg


Bedside Guide to No Tell Motel – Second Floor contributors:

Eric Abbott * Deborah Ager * Malaika King Albrecht * William Allegrezza * Molly Arden * Cynthia Arrieu-King * Robyn Art * Sandra Beasley * Aaron Belz * Erin M. Bertram * Mary Biddinger * Ana Bozicevic-Bowling * Timothy Bradford * Joseph Bradshaw * Jason Bredle * Jenny Browne * Jenna Cardinale * Bruce Covey * Phil Crippen * Susan Denning * Michelle Detorie * Laurel K. Dodge * Mark DuCharme * Peg Duthie * kari edwards * AnnMarie Eldon * Jill Alexander Essbaum * Julie R. Enszer * Noah Falck * Michael Farrell * Katie Fesuk * Adam Fieled * Alice Fogel * Elisa Gabbert * Eric Gelsinger * Scott Glassman * David B. Goldstein * Dean Gorman * Anne Gorrick * Lea Graham * Kate Greenstreet * Piotr Gwiazda * Shafer Hall * Josh Hanson * Nathan Hoks * Donald Illich * Salwa C. Jabado * Charles Jensen * Jim Kober * Ron Klassnik * Jennifer L. Knox * Dorothee Lang * Sueyeun Juliette Lee * David Lehman * Reb Livingston * Rebecca Loudon * Justin Marks * Clay Matthews * Kristi Maxwell * Gary L. McDowell * Erika Meitner * Didi Menendez * Michael Meyerhofer * Steve Mueske * Gina Myers * Cheryl Pallant * Shann Palmer * Alison Pelegrin * Simon Perchik * Derek Pollard * Andrea Potos * Cati Porter * Laurie Price * Jessy Randall * Kim Roberts * Anthony Robinson * Carly Sachs * John Sakkis * Allyson Salazar * Christine Scanlon * Margot Schilpp * Morgan Lucas Schuldt * Patty Seyburn * Peter Jay Shippy * Evie Shockley * Alex Smith * Hugh Steinberg * Nicole Steinberg * Alison Stine * Mathias Svalina * Erik Sweet * Eileen R. Tabios * Bronwen Tate * Molly Tenenbaum * Chris Tonelli * Letitia Trent * Jen Tynes * Michael Quattrone * Ashley VanDoorn * Fritz Ward * J. Marcus Weekley * Betsy Wheeler * Theodore Worozbyt * Kim Young

***
So many fantastic contributors. And the readers that night are great: Myers, Shockley, Covey, Marks, Hall, Bozicevic-Bowling, Greenstreet!

***

P.S. I apologize, but you will also probably get an email blast from me in the near future about the chappy. Sorry...

***

I love this painting of butchers:

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Ash of My Puppies Press

So a student in my workshop had a line that blew my dome off last night:

"though it was ash
of my puppies I sowed soft."

I'd grab his shoulders and shake him for joy, but he is a tiny man and looks like a petite, french cabin boy.

***
Promise of the day:

I'll sleep between your shoulders
like a jackknife.

***

I've been reading Anne Carson's Glass, Irony, and God (1992). I bought it many years ago when I was a wee little pup and between then and now, I confused it with one of Louise Gluck's earlier books, which was rather dry and retchid, so I hadn't gone back to it until now. "My bad."

It's separated into 6 parts: The Glass Essay, The Truth About God, TV Men, The Fall of Rome: A Traveller's Guide, Book of Isaiah, and The Gender of Sound.

I was taken by The Glass Essay, The Fall of Rome, and the Book of Isaiah
(not liking The Truth About God or TV Men). I've not yet made it to the final Gender essay (later today, though).

from The Fall of Rome:

What is the holiness of the citizen?
It is to open

***

What is the holiness of empire?
It is to know collapse.

Everything can collapse.
Houses, bodies
and enemies

collapse
when their rhythm becomes
deranged.

***

For, if you think about it,
all first hatred of strangers

contains this idea of death,

of your death which will one day walk up to you
in just such a fashion.

***

What is the holiness of conversation?

It is
to master death.

***

Well, a stranger is someone
who takes dread a little too seriously.

***

From The Book of Isaiah (second page):

Yet I have invented sin, thought Isaiah, running his hands over the knobs.

And then, because of a great attraction between them-

which Isaiah fought (for and against) for the rest of his life-

God shattered Isaiah's indifference.

God washed Isaiah's hair in fire.

God took the stay.

From beneath its meat wings the nation listened.

You, said Isaiah.

No answer.

I cannot hear you, Isaiah spoke again under the Branch.

Light bleached open the night camera.

God arrived.

God smashed Isaiah like glass through every socket of his nation.

Liar! said God.

Isaiah put his hands in his coat, he put his hand on his face.

Isaiah is a small man, said Isaiah, but no liar.

God paused.

Ans so that was their contract.

Brittle on both sides, no lying.

Isaiah's wife cam to the doorway, the doorpost had moved.

What's that sound? said Isaiah's wife.

The fear of the Lord, said Isaiah.

He grinned in the dark, she went back inside.

***

There is a kind of pressure in humans to take whatever is most beloved by them and smash it.

Religion calls this pressure piety and the smashed thing a sacrifice to God.

Prophets question these names.

What is an idol?

An idol is a useless sacrifice, said Isaiah.

But how do youknow which ones are useless? asked the nation in its genius.

Isaiah ponderd the various ways he could answer this.

Immense chunks of natural reality fell out of a blue sky and showers of light upon his mind.

Isaiah chose the way of metaphor.

Our life is a camera obscura, said Isaiah, do you know what that is?

Never heard it it, said the nation.

Imagine yourself in a darkened room, Isaiah instructed.

Okay, said the nation.

The doors are closed, there is a pinhole in the back wall.

A pinhole, the nation repeated.

Light shoots through the pinhole and strikes the oposite wall.

The nation was watching Isaiah, bored and fascinated at once.

You can hold up anything you like in fron of that pinhole, said Isaiah, and worship it on the opposite wall.

Why worship an image? asked the nation.

Exactly, said Isaiah.

A memory fell through him as clear heat falls on herbs.

***
I'd like to have a conversation about this book but I'm not really in the mood to blog about it. But don't you want to be reading this book, too? You can borrow my copy next week if you ask nicely. Or at all.

***

This weekend I might be writing the essays it seems I'm not getting done this week. But if you're you, not me, and don't have to write essays, you can choose between two things this Friday:

1)
The Burning Chair Readings
can’t believe it’s

Maureen Alsop & Jean Valentine

Friday, November 30th, 8PM
Jimmy’s No.43 Stage
43 East 7th Street
Between 2nd& 3rd
New York City

Maureen Alsop’s recent poems have appeared or are pending in various
publications including: Barrow Street, Typo, Margie, Columbia : A
Journal of Literature and Art and Texas Review. Her poetry has been
thrice nominated for the Pushcart Prize. She is the 2006 recipient of
Harpur Palate's Milton Kessler Memorial Prize for Poetry and The
Eleventh Muse 2006 poetry prize. Her first full collection of poetry
Apparition Wren is available through Main Street Rag.

Jean Valentine won the Yale Younger Poets Award for her first book,
Dream Barker, in 1965. Her most recent collection, Door in the Mountain:
New and Collected Poems 1965 - 2003, won the 2004 National Book Award
for Poetry. Author of eight additional books, Valentine has received a
Guggenheim Fellowship and awards from the NEA, The Bunting Institute,
The Rockefeller Foundation, The New York Council for the Arts, and The
New York Foundation for the Arts, as well as the Maurice English Prize,
the Teasdale Poetry Prize, and The Poetry Society of America's Shelley
Memorial Prize. She has taught at Columbia, Sarah Lawrence College, NYU,
and the 92nd St. Y, among other places.



or
2)
O Dewey Decimalists! Dear Bibliographic Enthusiasts!

This Friday Lynn Xu, Josh Edwards & Brian Waniewski will

Assign Call Numbers!
Discover Esoteric Subject Headings!
Defy the Anglo-American Cataloguing Rules!

Friday, November 30th, 7pm -- FREE!

Lynn Xu received her MFA from Brown University. She was selected by
Fanny Howe to receive the 2007 SLS Fellowship to St. Petersberg, by
Anne Carson for the 2006 Greg Grummer Prize, and by Lyn Heijinian for
the 2004 Eisner Prize. She was also a finalist for 2007 New California
Poetry Series. Her poems have appeared in The Canary, Phoebe, UDP's
6x6, Swerve, and elsewhere. Her chapbook, JUNE, was published by
Corollary Press. She likes water. Likes gold. These are not competing
species so she is very happy.

Joshua Edwards lives in Oaxaca, Mexico, where he is a Fulbright
fellow. He co-edits The Canary and Canarium, a new press. His work has
appeared recently in Practice, Vanitas, Northwest Review, and
elsewhere. He loves his girlfriend and her name's Lynn Xu.

Brian Waniewski was educated at the College of William and Mary, the
Technische Universitaet Berlin and The University of Iowa. He has
posed as a garden designer in Africa, a food consultant in Europe, a
futurist in New York and an academic in rural Virginia, where he built
by hand a timber-frame cabin in the woods. He has written poems for
many years and is currently at work on a novel, which chronicles the
religious conversion of a young egoist.


Only at Pete's Candy Store
709 Lorimer Street, Williamsburg, Brooklyn
(718) 302-3770

"L" to Lorimer, "G" to Metropolitan.

***

Oi, it's 9am, work begins.

Monday, November 26, 2007

Giant Chair Press

I returned home yesterday, there was a giant chair in my living room. I've been looking for a love seat for some time now, but this doesn't exactly fit the catagory. Also, it's the biggest chair I've ever seen. Ludwig found it and somehow got it into our apartment. When I came home, it was sort of floating in the middle of our living room. And by "middle" I mean, "it was our living room.":

Please note that Ludwig is 6'4'' so the fact that he looks tiny in this chair means something. "something."

Then we had The Great ReLocation:

1)

2)

3)


I've sort of gotten attached to the chair:


Although at first it reminded me of this:


Also, I'm contemplating what to do with my hair. It's getting long. Should I give it a little part? This would be the first time since I was 17!

See the little part?

***

Ok, there are more important things to talk about:
Asterisk 3 (from Fewer & Further Press) just exploded into the world
buy it at: http://fewfurpressasterisk.blogspot.com/ .

No seriously, buy it: Asterisk 3 contains poems by Michael Carr, Andrew Mister, and Christopher Rizzo. Asterisk 1 (Aaron Tieger, Shannon Tharp, and Joseph Massey) and Asterisk 2 (John Phillips) are still available. Alll three can be purchased for $9.

***

I have a meeting with Polito this Thursday so unfortunately I don't think I can attend, but you should if you are not meeting with Polito:

Friends,


On Thursday November 29th, 2007, Dennis Cooper will read in New York City for the first time in nearly three years. Last time, Cooper read from his Lambda-winning novel The Sluts at the National Arts Club. Cooper, who now lives in Paris, appears this time on behalf of The Apocalypse Reader, an anthology of new and selected short stories about the end of the world, which I edited. The Apocalypse Reader was published in June, by Thunder's Mouth Press. The LA Times called it "a vivid collection" and Paste magazine wrote that "there may be no collection that better demonstrates the range and possibility of the story form."

Cooper's story, "The Ash Gray Proclamation," was previously only available in the liner notes to a CD and is collected for the first time in The Apocalypse Reader. This event marks the last in the series of Apocalypse Readings I have hosted since the book's publication in June. The event will be held at NYU's Fales Library, where Cooper's archives are kept.

Marvin J. Taylor (no relation), director of the Fales Library, says of Cooper's work that "Dennis Cooper is one of the most important writers of our time. In our increasingly brain-dead society where mendacity has become the special province of a government that keeps pretending everything is alright, Cooper shows us that the world isn't OK. That language fails us. That love is embattled at every turn. Our only hope is that we can reach inside an find our humanity. Call it forth from its hiding places, and help us build structures where love can survive."

This reading is a rare opportunity to hear one of our great living writers read his work. Pertinent details are pasted below. I hope to see all of you there.

Best,

Justin Taylor
http://www.justindtaylor.net/

+

Thursday, November 29th, 2007
6:30 pm
Fales Library and Special Collections
New York University
70 Washington Square South, Third Floor
New York, NY 10012


***

The new Harp & Altar issue is up and at 'em. I think that this is a very underrated on-line journal. If you don't know about it, familiarize yourself. It's in your best interest. In the new issue we have:

Poetry:
David Goldstein
Ryan Murphy
Mathias Svalina

You're going to have to check the website to read who's on prose, reviews, etc, adn to actually read the work: Harp & Altar

***

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Welterweight Press

Here at Welterweight Press, your manuscript has to weigh under 147 pounds to professionally box other poet's poetry.

***
So, my Thanksgiving weekend. Let me set the tone. Please note that behind all madness lies perfect charm and formality. Also love:

Oranges and cranberries:


Table decor: Salt carrier and a Styrofoam and feather duck, also Japanese maple leaves:


Candles, 1/2 way through dinner:


***
I actually didn't take that many photos of family. My brain stored that.
But some of the players:

Me and My Dad. On of my favorite things to do is make faces at my dad because he makes them back at me. I find this ridiculously funny. No one ever makes the same faces back at me. But my dad does. This is the face I used to make when I was younger, and we had family dinner, and we sat across from each other, every night for 18 years. And this is the face he would make back at me. It never gets old:

Actually his face is more accurate than mine, normally The Face is a Scary Smile as opposed to a Scary Snarl.

My brother giving me the One-Eye:


He'd like us to think he's contemplating something important. He's not:

My bro gets "mad props" for deep frying a delicious turkey.

Ryan, my cousin Anna's boyfriend. He is sleeping at the table after eating too much turkey. People are talking around him while he snoozes on an elbow. Very endearing:


My cousin Zoe:

I told Zoe that I've been using the term "to pound" a lot lately. As in, I'm gunna pound that poem. Or, I hope you're pounding the Scrabble game right now. So, instead of just appropriating the term "pounding" she used the whole term "pound the poem." Which means that when Zoe was asking me to eat a lot of Turkey and rice, she said, "You better be pounding that poem." This made me very happy.

A Portrait of my uncle when he was a kid (unfortunately he couldn't make it to thanksgiving this year but I think my cousins wrapped him up some turkey & chocolate cake):


Of my mom, my lovely mom:


Plant that looks like a floating lillypad:


Me & Spook:


My (very hip) aunt Judi took my to a Church thrift store on Saturday:
Mask, glasses:


Part of a lamp:


This is actually in the Boys Room at my grandma's house. I have a history with this kettle. For some reason it always rests on the furnace. For some reason, it always has a bit of water in it. No one adds the water, it's just always there. And late at night, when the furnace heats up, the kettle starts to make this hollow whistling sounds. When I was a kid it used to scare me, even though I rationally knew it was just a hot kettle. But it was in my bedroom, calling me. I don't know why I never moved it onto the windowsill or rug when I was there, but I don;t think the kettle has been moved in 20 years:

Monday, November 19, 2007

Sever Rhode Island & Make It A Real Island Press

This weekend was quite fun. On Saturday we drove down to RI for my reading and to hang out a bit and enjoy the nice weather before it's gone 4everz. A big thanks to Kate Schapira for having me at her reading series and to all who came.

We made Emo album covers for our emo solo albums:

Justin Marks:


Me:


Meri (she looks uplifted because her record was just signed by a big record label and she is excited about all the fame and fortune that comes with selling out):


Chris Tonelli. He decided to change the word "peninsula" to "mansula" to better fit the high level of masculinity he brought to this cove. Or at least I think that's what he said. Or maybe he said he'd take out the second "n" in "peninsula":


And then he ate a ketchup sandwich:


Mathias, in a genius epiphany, decided to buy a plane ticket last minute and come along for the ride. He found a big leaf in the woods:


Elisa and John:


Elisa and John, steppin' it up:


We were afraid to buy this coffee:


My dog, Fudge. He is deaf and blind now, being 14 yrs old, but he's still alive. And he still needs love:


Guest bed:


"Meat Ends" I can't explain why this is funny, but it is:


Rural:


I really like this picture of E (even tho it's blurry):


Chris, being bold:


My hair-do:


More Emo Justin, the back of the album:


...and then we held hands and danced. No wait:

Friday, November 16, 2007

Nightmares about Pig Masks Press

I had the weirdest dream last night. In the dream, I was an OBGYN doctor. And one of my patients was this Chinese woman who was trying to get pregnant. But she really, really wanted her child to be born in the year of the Pig. So, she kept making her husband have sex with her while she wore a pig mask. Yes, this is totally creepy. And he was getting freaked out because although he was happy to have his child born in the year of the pig, and happy to sleep with his wife, he didnt really want to have sex while she wore a pig mask. Which doesn't make sense anyways. Anyways, in my dream, I'm at my office when the lady barges in, wearing her husband's collared shirt and no pants, with a pig mask hanging around her neck, yelling adamantly how I need to convince her husband that she should, in fact, wear a pig mask. Oh, I am a male doctor in this dream. Go figure. So she is ranting at me with a slight foreign accent, with a pig mask dangling from her neck, trying to tell me that she is my patient and that I owe this to her, so that I better be convining when her husband parks the car and comes into the office. I wolke up when the husband walked through the door.

Good thing I don't believe in dream-analysis. Moving right along.

Photos I meant to show you earlier this month:

Halloween, Aftermath:


Jon Pack, Bowling:


Justin & Meri, Being Cute:


Justin, Fogging Cup:


Rainbow, The End, When All The Republicans Have Taken The Gold:


Um, Ludwig got a new computer and I thought it would be funny to sneak onto it and give him some new wallpaper. This is it (terrifying, right?):

(I have no idea why this random fratboy is sucking on a pacifier)

The trajectory of most Friday Nights:
Step 1)


Step 2)


Step 3)

Actually, this is really just what happens when I go to the dollar store, buy 10 rubber elephants, and then am left alone for 5 minutes at the bar while people order more drinks. The Elephant was not actually supposed to fall in the cup. I pretty much ruined that beer.