AWESOME MACHINE PRESS
Adam Robinson is continuing to do good things. He recently started Awesome Machine Press, an imprint of Publishing Genius, which published Say Poem. Adam has really interesting plans.
Books are printed in one run of 125. 25 copies are for discussion (want one? Keep reading). 50 go to the author to sell and 50 are for sale from the press.
After the book sells out it will be available online and for the Kindle and probably the Nook later.
The entire point is fun. Fun writing, fun book making, fun reading, fun talking.
All the other stuff, like work, or caring about stuff, that is not a part of it.
Awesome Machine has fun fast and doesn’t accept submissions, though sometimes submissions through Publishing Genius will make it over to Awesome Machine, probably.
If you have any questions, or would like a discussion copy, contact adam at publishinggenius dot com. The first 25 people in the USA to request these copies will receive them as long as they have at least a blog or whatever to say something about the book or whatever at. (Sorry to people not in the USA. If you want one and want to Paypal about $6 USD for shipping, then all systems go.)
People who pre-order AMP books get free shipping. Then it will cost $1 extra to help defray shipping costs. . . .
You can read more details here. As if that wasn’t great enough, AMP’s next book is Orange Juice by Timothy Willis Sanders who is a great writer and an excellent person. Go, buy the book, tell your friends about it. Make them buy the book too.
Meta Book Covers
I. Surrogate Book as Book
One is given not just a hypothetical cover of the book, but an entire surrogate book as a manifested object residing in space. This may point to modern painting’s preoccupation with the represented vs. the actual, or it may be some self-reflexive fetishism of books themselves, as if to congratulate the reader for picking one — that one — up.
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Lily Hoang—
The ever-edifying Joyelle McSweeney talks about genre:
So we all think we don’t want genre, we want to be anti-genre or perhaps hybrid, but since these are genres too, let us think about what it means to really go genreless. To go genreless in our contemporary publishing environment is to make a work without a ‘document map’, without a diagram, without a blueprint. Without a sales category. A work such as this has no overview or topography. It can’t be nicely summarized. It cannot be publicized, because it lacks ‘publicity’. In place of publicity it has secrecy, distortion, obscurity, waste. It is a waste product.
Jimmy Chen—
Typographical Mustaches (detail) by Tor Weeks
What a wonderful use of brackets! Full size/original post here. Buy it here.
On (Not?) Taking For Granted
Turn a key. Empty an ice cube tray. Open a bottle. Hit a forehand. These are actions I took, as the saying goes, for granted. But for the past month I haven’t been able to do those things because of a very painful injury of my right (dominant) wrist. Neither my twice-weekly physical therapist nor my orthopedist can tell me when it might heal; until the pain goes away, the treatment is immobilization, ice, anti-inflammatories, splint, and 14-hour battery patches that pulse medicine into my tendons. No tennis, no piano, no gardening. Driving, cleaning self and home, typing and hand-writing are necessary but very uncomfortable and clumsy.
It could be worse. Is worse, for so many. This is, presumably, temporary, and everything else about my body and my life is fine.
I was all geared up for an active, healthy, productive summer. I moved from a 5th-story loft to a house, close to the ground, apt to fly out of the door at any moment to participate in some active, healthy, productive activity. And write. I would write so much!
Here’s some poetic injustice: all those active, healthy, productive activities are now impossible or painful, whereas most kinds of indulgence and debauchery are totally doable. I can’t chop up vegetables, but I can fry up chicken or order pizza. I can sit at a bar and drink alcohol. I can have most kinds of consensual sex. I can get a pedicure. I can watch tv and order shiny objects from websites.
Just before my injury, I was newly liberated from a fraught romantic entanglement and ready to move into the new place. Free! Independent! I gamely packed and lifted boxes by myself since my romantic entangler was not around to help as planned. And that’s how I injured my wrist. Lifting boxes. Exercise in self-sufficiency: fail.
Hard work and self-reliance not only didn’t pay off but also became nigh impossible. Taking all those activities for granted didn’t cause my injury and giving thanks wouldn’t have prevented it. I take plenty for granted now, and I’ll take everything for granted again. Those things WERE granted to me, until they weren’t.
We’re told not to take things for granted. This is misguided. Plenty is just granted to us, good or bad. If anything, we should take more for granted. Not everything operates under our locus of control. Sometimes we do the right things and get hurt. Sometimes we can’t do anything to make ourselves better. We just have to wait, do nothing productive, indulge ourselves for awhile. Recognizing that we are not autonomous–that is liberating.
Grace Jones on Writing
“God I’m scary. I’m scaring myself.”
“Models are there to look like mannequins, not like real people. Art and illusion are supposed to be fantasy.”
“When I started modelling, I’d raise my arms and it was all muscle and all the other models had nothing. Really, everybody thought I was a man. I don’t have to do much to have muscles. It’s just genetic.”
“I also think that men need to be penetrated.”
“Now when I enter a carriage, it almost empties. But there’s always one brave enough to stay.”
“I’VE LOOKED THE DEVIL IN THE FACE, AND GOD, AND SOMEHOW I’VE FOUND A BALANCE. BUT BEING EXTREME IS AT THE SAME TIME A BALANCE – ONE EXTREME BALANCES THE OTHER”
“As a model one is forced to spend a lot of time in front of the mirror and I just started to freak out, like I was going on the other side of the mirror. So I moved every mirror out of my house when I stopped modeling.”
“A legend is someone who has died.”
On Lady Gaga being a copycat: “I really don’t think of her at all. I go about my business.”
“I get bored. I provoke things to happen without even realizing it. I just follow my instincts. I don’t think about it, really.”
“Without daaaancing, it’s a business meeting.”
“Use, don’t abuse.”
On gibberish: “It’s not a made-up language. It relates to everyone… Only the people who are in it.”
“If you take it just for partying, that’s when it goes pear-shaped.”
Alec Niedenthal—
So, yeah, maybe it’s nothing new (wrong), and maybe there’s too much coverage to warrant another post (wrong), but I’m not apologizing for shit. Jesus. Over at The Atlantic‘s blog, Hua Hsu gives a quick, precise, and I think very insightful response to Tao Lin’s recent Gawker article. Insightful to the extent that Hsu articulates and interrogates what I find most compelling about Tao’s work. Hsu writes:
Why is Lin so polarizing? The comments that follow the Gawker “piece” are generally annoyed or sarcastically dismissive, which is expected given how long and gossip/link-free it is. But is Lin’s writing, as the detractors say, truly narcissistic or selfish? What does it mean to be narcissistic enough to be branded a narcissist, when we are all in the business of cultivating online followers and friends, issuing steady streams of news releases about our wavering moods? There’s something refreshing to me about Lin’s writing, the way it manages to be wholly about him, but deny our craving for interiority or motive.
Those are poignant, thoughtful and surprisingly novel questions about a writer who, by objectifying himself, becomes a cultural object in turn–and I think that’s a move whose significance we have yet to suss out. The question is obviously whether it’s worth our time, but I guess that’s up to you or whoever’s reading.
The Internet Is For Anger
And really, it makes perfect sense. The pseudo-anonymity of virtual interactions and the anarchic vibe the Internet has going makes it easy to be angry online. Venting about any number of subjects, finely tuning our snark in a witticism dicksizing competition is the perfect panacea for the impotence of quotidian life. I don’t mind anger. It often amuses me, the way people froth at the fingertips to rail against the end of, well, everything. Today, the Internet is angry about Justin Bieber, the 16 year old with the bowl head haircut. I like to think of myself as pop culture savvy but I don’t know much about the Bieber. I know he’s young and cute. I know he sings though I’ve not heard one of his songs. I know tween girls lose their minds over him because he’s just so dreamy. He’s their Ralph Macchio. I swooned over Ralph. I had a Tiger Beat poster of the original (and one true) karate kid on my wall.
The Language of Summer: A Photo Journey
1. 
I’ve just been road-tripping and hiking for a week around parts of the South I somehow missed as a kid growing up…in the freaking South. I was struck by the shards of interesting (inter-sting) language I came across. There was the odd sign that read “Paches” instead of “Peaches,” and the randomly hyphenated “To-day” along winding country roads, but also the above wonderfully descriptive poster from Yee-Haw Industries in Knoxville, TN (and also online here). They have great stuff, and their shop is 90% letterpress studio with only a storefront sliver of retail space.
2. The Knoxville Museum of Art had a fabulous exhibition called Vision, Language, and Influence: Photographs of the South by Baldwin Lee, Walker Evans, and Eudora Welty. Great stuff. Some photos from the now-closed exhibition are here. I didn’t know Welty was also a photographer, but I discovered in her photos a wonderful sense of composition, a writerly eye, if you will, creating character and mood and narrative in one shot. The dean of the library I work in uses the phrase One Stop Shopping. I like that for the feeling of completeness I get from her photos.
Here’s one that I loved:
3. Have you ever been to Gatlinburg, TN? What a redneck Disney World. Some t-shirts from a storefront in Gatlinburg: