The Dying Bloom

My small novel, The Dying Bloom, is now published, the latest addition to the Pangur Ban Party roster, along with heavyweights like Crispin Best (Go Ninja Go Ninja Go), Chris East (All in Together Now), David Peak (The Dead Space of April), Sam Pink (Bernhard Goetz), J.A. Tyler (When We Take Off Our Heads), Ryan Manning (Softcore Lolitas), Ben Brooks (This Body is My Body [And I Want to Use It]), and many others. I’m big digging the design, and I thank DJ for doing such a great job.

I think from now on, DJ should be a scale one uses to measure greatness. Like, Preservatives by Audri Sousa and A Field of Colors by Charles Lennox and The Zoo, A Going by J.A. Tyler are all 5 DJs, the highest number of DJs possible (DJ, himself, though, being the one and only DJ, is already 5). Also, DJ sent me the Pangur Ban Party print chapbook, and I just finished reading it. The whole thing is dope. My favorite piece in there I think is DJ’s poem “I See Myself”:

"they say that
you see yourself
in other people.

this is
especially true
at your own intervention
or at someone else’s funeral."

That and Adam Showalter's "The Amish Are Safe" is great, as is Crispin Best’s “Portrait of Captain America as a Young Man.” To wit:

“Captain Planet smells terrible. There is lots of washing up to do. Captain Planet has an idea. He puts the dirty dishes on the floor in the shower. Captain Planet feels very proud of his idea as he has a shower.”

Reminds me of a line by Chilean anti-poet Nicanor Parra: “The true problem of philosophy is who does the dishes.”

Give The Dying Bloom a read, and also check out my other small novel, Ox Crossing Drawbridge. Thank you for your time.

Milk Like a Melted Ghost

I have a new story up in Abjective today called "Milk Like a Melted Ghost." Darby Larson rocks, and I thank him immensely for accepting this. It's an excerpt from a longer story of the same title, some lines of which include:

It’s impossible for an organism considering its own consciousness, its own existence, to remain objective.

And:

She wondered if she could ignore this. Having something to ignore made her feel less lonely.

And:

Nothing seemed familiar because it wasn’t. Nothing was ever the same. Change was supposed to be one of those beautiful things in life. Everyone said that, everyone said that same thing the same way and no one ever dared alter that story. What tightened Clarabelle’s screws was, she figured by now she’d be used to adjusting.

And:

Clarabelle bent down, looking at the eyelashes floating in the melted ghost of milk, thought they said something, like words do.

New Story in 3:AM

I have a new story called "Black Holes" up in 3:AM. (Thank you Susan...) It's such a good feeling finding homes for young, homeless stories rejected by the administrations of so many orphanages, after so much crying and me petting the stories and saying, "There, there," only to make myself feel better. But now, another one of those little stories can sleep soundly in a nice, warm bed near a big window with a view of the backyard playground, the slide and the swing set, and just beyond that the school where the little story will meet other little stories, make friends, laugh and play...

"10 Specimens" by Mark Cunningham

"10 Specimens" by Mark Cunningham is the latest Gold Wake e-chap. Jared and I dug it immediately, just as much as Audri Sousa's "Speak Easy Symmetry." This chap is very unique, humorous, poignant, and all kinds of other adjectives that mean things when said in succession, all stretching toward the same point off in the distance: These pieces are great. Please check it out.

Wallpaper Cosmos

My walls are littered with rejection slips from the past ten years or so, and I'll sometimes just lay in bed staring blankly at them, as if they're a vast and empty space and I'm squinting because I lost my glasses and my telescope is broken...

These were all rejections from print magazines, before most of them had online submissions managers. That's how long ago a lot of this was. Imagine what my email account looks like...

And now for the very minuscule galaxy of acceptances...

Jazzopetry

I Googled myself and found this. It's a CD compiled from several readings held here in Buffalo years ago, collectively called Jazzopetry. I'd forgotten all about this. These were open readings held at various venues and organized by Clif Jackson, who moved away from Buffalo in 2005. Whoever wanted to could get up and read, and had a dope band accompanying them consisting of turntables, drums, saxophone, trumpet, bass, etc., all improvising the whole time, both reader and musicians just vibing off each other...

I used to go to these events back then. My friend Tom and I would get up and read, or my friend Nate and I would buss' a few rhymes. (Yup, I rap. I'm a musician/songwriter/singer, too. When I figure out how, I want to post some of my music.) Very drunk. It was the only way I could not feel embarrassed while simultaneously, and ironically, embarrassing myself. But it was really fun, and Clif Jackson was a great guy. I have no idea where he moved to. I didn't know he even made an compilation of some of those readings, let alone that I'd be included. Good times...