Ana Carrete’s “Baby Babe”
I want to trumpet the arrival of Ana Carrete‘s debut book of poetry and drawings, Baby Babe, published by Civil Coping Mechanisms next month.
What to expect? Ana’s poetry plays with words. Her poems play with themselves. That sexual double-entendre is appropriate and typical of her work. The word “come” is always euphemistic in Ana’s poetry. Sex is on the brain, and the brain is a clever, punning, playing one, with a wry sense of humor. The twenty-five-year-old girl-woman who writes these poems is rarely without her sense of humor, even when it’s grim.
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October 16th, 2012 / 10:06 pm
October 16th, 2012 / 10:06 pm
blurbing every story in the new New York Tyrant
I wrote a blurb for every story in the new issue of New York Tyrant.
Luke Goebel guest-edited this issue and dedicated it to his brother, who passed away last year. The quality of the writing in here is killer. Sometimes when a journal has so many big names it’s all b-sides. But everybody brought it. Also, most of these pieces contend in some way with the dual burdens of the physical body and family, so the issue as a whole feels like a unified fantasy of escape from a packed boiler room.
Also there is a release party this Friday at KGB Bar in NYC. There will be an open bar from 8-10 PM and no readings.
OK…the blurbs:
“Amber, Freckled” by Cooper Renner
Renner’s terse prose dissolve the notion of the fixed self in a surreal, genderless kitchen. Kill your family.
“Clyde Roy” by Brandon Hobson
Whose body is this? That is the question Clyde Roy and so many of us face. Readers who want out of themselves will identify with this story. Kill your family.
untitled drawing by Atticus Lish
On looseleaf paper, Lish portrays a baby who gives his mother more sexual pleasure than her husband. Kill your husband.
Expanding Emily Dickinson’s Wardrobe
This past weekend I sort of wandered around Brooklyn. As I jaunted past a 
two-story Burger King, humming my favorite Lesley Gore tune of the moment, I ran smack dab into the ghost of Emily Dickinson.
“Hi,” I said to Emily’s ghost, calmly. I had no reason to be flummoxed since this sort of thing occurs frequently.
“Never mind the chitchat,” replied Emily (rudely, if you ask me). “Let’s get down to brass tacks. A cute and charming 21st-century poet has translated every single one of my verse compositions, attracting new fans and admirers. I certainly don’t want these fans and admirers to only see me in my one outfit – my white cotton dress. I want the world to think that I am a fashion-conscious girl who possess a plethora of clothes. Can you assist me in expanding my wardrobe?”
I Am Prepared to Read Many More Novels About People Fucking
I haven’t read Sheila Heti or Ben Lerner’s recent novels, the impetuses for Blake Butler’s recent, anti-realism-themed Vice article, but I’d like to respond to Blake’s finely-written itemized essay, because I, personally, continue to desire novels written by humans, which relate, slipperily or not, to human reality—subjective, strange and ephemeral as it is–novels which deal with such humdrums as sex, boredom, relationships, Gchat, longing, and, beneath all, death. I want a morbid realism.
I agree with Blake that a reality show like The Hills and social media such as Facebook create stories by virtue of humans doing simply anything. The documenting, sharing, and promoting of mundane everyday human life is more prevalent and relentless than ever before. In this environment, literature (and movies) about humans (most controversially, about privileged, white, hetero humans) that presents everyday drank-beers-at-my-friend’s-apartment life, wallows in self-pitying romantic angst, and doggy paddles po-faced through mighty rivers of deeply profound ennui can potentially seem annoying, or boring, or shittastical.
Have you read xTx?
So, I’m late to her work.
I kept meaning to give it a try, to check it out, to purchase her book Normally Special from Roxane’s cool-looking micro press Tiny Hardcore, to pay attention to her blog, to order her chapbook He Is Talking To The Fat Lady, but I got behind and I dropped the ball.
And then Dennis Cooper mentioned reading (and loving) her forthcoming Nephew imprint Billie the Bull, which caught my eye. So I decided to listen to the new Death Grips album while motoring around cyberspace checking out her work.
In the process I came across this e-book called Nobody Trusts A Black Magician. Holy heaven. It’s mesmerizing, sinister, passionate, potent, over-the-top, excessive, relentless, indecent, reckless, and utterly amazing. You can also listen to her read it, which adds a level of awesome. I paused Death Grips to listen to this, from the titular piece:
I want to fuck you. May we fuck? We should fuck today. Tomorrow we could fuck. I could fuck you yesterday. I could fuck your beard. We could make cupcake fucking. I could fuck you like ham. I want to fuck you like burned pancakes with my panties in our mouths. Let’s fuck like we met on the internet. I just want to fuck and fuck.
I mean, seriously.
If you haven’t entered into her work yet, take this chance to experience it. Perhaps like me you will become an admirer.
Dressing Up Jane Eyre
Jane Eyre is one of the best books ever composed by a girl or boy. Charlotte’s 
eponymous heroine encapsulates many of the traits that I admire the most. Jane is sassy. She’s not afraid to give a little lip. When her cruel aunt tells her that she’s not fit to associate with her own cousins Jane retorts, “They are not fit to associate with me!” Jane is also cleverly violent. She deforms a deceptive boy (Rochester) and kills her competition (Bertha) without lifting a pinky finger. Mary Tudor never had to lay a hand on the Protestants that she burned and neither did Jane. Jane is a queen. A queen requires a fabulous wardrobe. Here are outfits that will sustain Jane through each of the five stages of her royal trajectory.
Chris Toll (b. 1830, d. 1886)
Chris Toll, author of several books including The Pilgrim’s Process, Love Everyone, Be Light, The Disinformation Phase and the soon-to-be released Life On Earth, died on Thursday of natural causes. It was unexpected and unbelievable and too soon.
Chris was a poet and collage-maker. He lived in Baltimore, where he was an integral part of the literature scene. I invited people to send me their memories, which I’ve compiled here. Hopefully people will feel free to add more in the comments. READ MORE >
Birkensnake #5 is now available
Birkensnake #5 cover by Chemlawn (2012).
Ever since its first appearance in 2008, Birkensnake has been one of my favorite fiction journals. It always includes quality work, and is always made available online in addition to its very pretty print editions (a model that I wish more print journals would adopt).
Issue #5 is now online here. And the print edition, which is now completely free (yes!), is available here. (All of the back issues are also available for free now, too—though note that donations are welcome.)
Meanwhile, Birkensnake #6—which will be edited by seven different pairs of editors, and released in seven different editions—is currently accepting submissions.
Finally, here’s a Black Clock interview with Brian Conn and Joanna Ruocco, Birkensnake‘s founders and editors.
White Boy Drag: Jackie & Lily Talk, Episode 1
Not White Boy Drag, just a white boy
This is a conversation. It is 1:06am MST. We are both HTML Giant contributors. We are also both Asian. This is happening IRL.
Lily Hoang: So, imagine there’s someone sitting at a café, smoking a cigarette, drinking a fucking Americano, reading David Foster Wallace. What do you think?
Jackie Wang: Who is this wienerschnitzel? Lemme guess. A white boy with lots of feelings.
LH: Haha, no, it’s me: I’m in white boy drag!
JW: White boy drag?! That’s an interesting term. What exactly does that mean? You’re not going to kill yourself and make everyone else feel bad about it, are you? Cause that would be taking the performance a little too far!
LH: Well, it’s hard being a white boy, I gotta admit. Like you don’t know how hard it is. The guilt. The burden of genius. All the privileges. It’s hard to balance, keep the head sane, ya know?
JW: You know what I hate about white boys? They’re always complaining about how they can’t get laid, but it seems obvious to me – like – why they can’t get laid. Should someone tell them? Should I be the one to tell them?
they found a new photograph of Emily Dickinson
From the Guardian:
A photograph believed to be an extremely rare image of Emily Dickinson has surfaced in her home town of Amherst, Massachusetts, showing a young woman in old-fashioned clothes, a tiny smile on her lips and a hand extended solicitously towards her friend.
The rest of the article is fascinating, especially the details of how they verified the facial features of the new photograph against the old photograph. The official medical report, linked in the article, is incredible. To quote it:
Other similar facial features are evident between the women in the daguerreotypes. The right earlobe is higher on both women. The inferonasal corneal light reflex suggests corneal curvature similarity, allowing us to speculate about similar astigmatism in the two women. Both women have a central hair cowlick. Finally, both women have a more prominent left nasolabial fold.
She needed glasses.