Thursday, February 7, 2008

My Colleague Doesn't Appreciate My Jurassic Soundscape Press

Today I found out my co-worker doesn't appreciate it when I play this in my office, without headphones:


"At night, I like it when my boyfriend makes jurassic soundscape impressions to make me fall asleep/laugh. This CD has changed my life/sleeping habits."--Girlfriend

“…so I attempt via the unknown to give grammar a purpose.”—NEG

What does that mean?

Well, Cannibal 3 is out & feral. The good kind of feral:

Cannibal: Issue Three
120 pages, hand-sewn in 7 signatures, w/ a screen-printed cover
Nate Pritts, Samuel Amadon, Stephanie Anderson, Joseph Bradshaw, Lily Brown, Adam Clay, Julia Cohen, Matthew Cooperman, Phil Cordelli, Jordan Davis, Patrick Dunagan, Jeff Encke, Landis Everson, Elisa Gabbert, David Goldstein, Laura Goode, Noah Eli Gordon, Jane Gregory, Carolyn Guinzio, Mike Hauser, Anne Heide, Melanie Hubbard, Andrew Hughes, Philip Jenks & Simone Muench, Justin Marks, Chris Martin, Erin Martin, Ben Mazer, Jeff Morgan, Keith Newton, Christopher Rizzo, Elizabeth Robinson, Kate Schapira, Mike Sikkema, Jessica Smith, Mathias Svalina, Chris Tonelli, Tim Van Dyke, & Jared White.

You can buy it here:

I’m going to hit you with a killer line of poetry from each contributor (minus my own, that would be weird) in order of the table of contents:

Keith Newton:

I cam around looking for you in the Rue Morgue.
The deaths in the Rue Morgue made me aware
of other deaths, the women of other women.

Ben Mazer:
I like to peer out downward through my hood
and make pronouncements in that muffled voice-

Elizabeth Robinson:
The landscape
must be marked as
such light
and such,
the nebulae
I discovered:
a grove on a plot,
a rash on a waist,
an elegant subjugation
of the eye-hole.

Carolyn Guinzio:
We grounded our eyes on other eyes

Adam Clay:
I could take you to the place where I got my hair cut each
month for five years.

Joseph Bradshaw:
Prairie salt, smothering salt, and ocean’s fauna
dragging dry as beached seaweed, bleached Idaho.

Jane Gregory:
When I am touched by nothing
the form inside a glove is the name of a hand.

Stephanie Andrews:
I would be sweetmeat / lead / mercury /

Samuel Amadon:
like being still doesn’t worry
us, this is what we have
chosen, to value this
looks like we have chosen before.

Chris Martin:
I am programming daffodils
in the guise of leisure.

Lily Brown:
The hill bent me.
Sheets nudge and crease and burn,

Sheets aren’t places. Sheets aren’t
family or places.

Melanie Hubbard:
They see the tiny vicious man
we are never careful to know-

Laura Goode:
Linchpin of the waterwheel

Jeffrey Morgan:
There will be a sleepy man growing a gun out of his forehead.
I dreamt everyone was a cocoon full of birds.
He will be a ghost in a fedora, and you will
Choose his sideways face, his marital tooth.

Jeff Encke:
Stop patrolling and go for the sound

Nate Pritts:
I will be a long time in the air

Simone Muench & Philip Jenks:
Panoptic skull crown

Phil Cordelli:
Everything slumping is held up
Against nextdoor

Mike Sikkema:
and a pig forest

Mike Hauser:

basicly grasshoppers are jerks

Erin Lyndal Martin:
the locket I own but do not wear swings with the tremolo.

Noah Eli Gordon:
It is as though in removing its
mask the landscape shows on its face an expression one
recognizes but is unable to immediately place.

Patrick Dunagan:

To be crucial & loved

Anne Heide:
I hang above the granite
wool in one hand
wool of the other

Jessica Smith:

swedish fish, headphone foam

Tim Van Dyke:
Lay my body down with its club so that I can smash my
many faces of glory.

Matthew Cooperman:

a heightened shadow; a sitting practice

Andrew Hughes:
Tiny pastel yelps

Chris Rizzo:
Objects speak, peak table the human and no

Jared White:
And there’s something so peculiar
Like watching Orson Welles
Be Orson Welles
Be disappointed

Kate Schapira:
a normal plaque
heated in fire, reversed

Jordan Davis:
The turtle lying on its back
By the radiator
Is a kite

Elisa Gabbert:
I love you
but my arms are full

David Goldstein:
Near Earth we become neutral
and do things we may like to do.

Justin Marks:
When I was a child I pictured god as Abraham Lincoln
swinging down from the sky on avery long rope to scoop
up my little dead friend.

Chris Tonelli:
Gravitron / tries so hard not to think, but inside he is spinning faster
than ever: the greatest ride

He’s ever given. Above the browned, trampled grounds, the lights on
Tilt-A-Whirl bloom. Gravitron exhales--riders get off
Inhales—riders get on.

Mathias Svalina:
My name is blindfold,
the war of the beheaded.

Landis Everson:
The sun is a far rabbit.
It brings me to now
where I see the cities and the green stalks of corn
where rabbits hide where rabbits can’t hide
because they are yesterday,
they are today
r adiance and invention.
First love.


Maximum Etc said...

has anyone else pointed out yet that this past weekend marked the 1 year anniversary (or nearly so) of Julia Cohen's Everything's A Press Press-style of blogging?

I celebrated privately, with lemon-ginger chicken and self-flagellation (but not the fun kind--it was Jesus stuff).

Julia Cohen said...

I hear Britney Spears has a room in her mansion dedicated to self-flagellation parapharnelia (sp?) of the non-Jesus variety. Let me hook you two up. Press Press-style has connections in low places. Also, a room full of lemon-ginger chicken. Weirdly enough, that's my favorite sort of room?