Browsing All Posts published on »February, 2009«

Taking a fucking sharp knife to it

February 27, 2009

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"Whitman in particular really opened up a new world to me when I started reading him my freshman year in high school. He showed me that there was beauty everywhere, and gave me the slightest twinge of optimism when everything in my head said that life sucked. A friend’s mom recently read Futureproof and commented that she couldn’t see how the protagonist could like Walt Whitman and then live the kind of life he was living. And I can understand how that could be confusing. But the underlying hope this character possesses is without doubt pure Whitman." Susan Tomaselli interviews N. Frank Daniels.

Stripped

February 27, 2009

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In the shower that morning Jack had noticed what looked like a seam running down the length of his forearm. It began just below the bend of his elbow and continued all the way to the back of his wrist. He had worked his fingers over its rough edge to assure himself that it was real and not just an illusion of the shifting light and shadow in his small shower stall. After the shower he had dried his skin with a threadbare towel and chosen a shirt with long sleeves. His arm didn't start to itch until shortly after noon. By Nathan Tyree.

Three poems

February 25, 2009

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Music doesn't escape me. I hear a distant train's whistle and then it's gone. I think of the preacher from church sermonizing, while I thought of the girl who I used to love. Her eyes big and brown, her arms thin as a rail. By Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

The Ventriloquists

February 25, 2009

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"I was sick, and getting sicker." "The point was to produce it as if in a dream, to doctor it, and to retreat from it at the same time. It worked until it began to ache, and then it ceased to have that sort of purpose. I was trying to remember what I had told them about it." "Saying it, but not meaning it." "Stunde Null." It would make me think I was doing better, although I was not. I was calling it a career. "Career? I have no career." "Not yet serious enough." By Adam Siegel.

A Beatnik Stew: Kerouac & Burroughs

February 13, 2009

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The flat, Vernacular (a term coined by Cyril Connolly) prose of Hippos is not markedly different from that in Junky or Queer, written in the years following, as Burroughs made his way from NYC to N.O. to the Rio Grande valley of Texas, on to Mexico City and finally the jungles of Ecuador in search of the telepathic drug Yage. Those two autobiographical narratives are far more intimate than Hippos, achieved through Burroughs' insertion of himself as the first person narrator Bill Lee. Burroughs is the junky, faggot hustler of Junky and Queer. At the same time these later books show a far darker vision than Hippos. Jonathan Woods reviews And the Hippos Were Boiled in Their Tanks.

Three Poems

February 13, 2009

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There’s a change in the weather today. You seem not to have noticed. As you draw the curtains the telephone rings; voices cry like children fed the same line over and over again. There was a change in the things trampled on the street today but like an engineer you believe in a certain shaped solution. Through the window, from the chair I strapped myself into, even there I could not help but notice the line of cars iced over, dragging one by one into the other. By Alan Jude Moore.

That Age

February 13, 2009

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I am not really surprised that we are kissing. It is the same, more or less, as other kisses with other boys. His mouth is hot and urgent on mine, and wet where mine is dry. His tongue pushes clumsily behind my teeth and fills the space there, seeking my own and half choking me with its insistence. He is on top of me, heavy and long. He is undulating, like a snake, trying to dislocate its jaws and swallow a mouse whole. I struggle, it is difficult to breathe, he is pressing on my ribcage. By Sally Cook.