There Was Nothing Left But Gold (Excerpt)
I feel recognition and deep memories weltering like crop rows going fallow.
The discomfort of a beetle on its back, swinging its legs is not the kind of discomfort I am looking for. My discomfort is more like writing on the edge of what’s known, and what’s been said, and what’s ok to say.
Silent, Still, Singing, Still: Two Poets in Chorus
Look closely, and all things seem to have been touched by someone’s pain—all things optical, chemical, mechanical. Everything blossoms in destruction, everything is a deathly flower.
If the abandoned luxury hotel is now occupied by poor, disenfranchised bodies, it could be said that Sebastián’s (and in turn, Julián’s) writing is occupied by their narratives.
Isn’t a life sentence without parole like a wrong word in a sentence that is impossible to correct, condemned to exist outside of grammar and syntax?
Maybe both the nuns and the hoaxers are trying to connect, to form a community, through vastly different means. I know which I prefer, but perhaps what drives them isn’t really that different.
A Forest on Many Stems: Essays on the Poet’s Novel – ed. Laynie Browne
A collection that will be a valuable light for writers who want to explore the worlds and works of their literary ancestors, particularly those who refused to settle for a culture and a form that didn’t satisfy their needs and desires.
Takeaway: Black Death Edition – Tommy Hazard
“If you were to take eighty pages and divide them with comedic spleen, which is equaled only by brutality, and one grand finale of etheric transcendence to boot . . . you’d have Tommy Hazard’s story collection, TAKEAWAY.”
I understood that the whole point is to unmake this monumental quality…to ask yourself, for example, what kind of monument this event needs. Deserves.
Meter-Wide Button – Lillian Paige Walton
Walton joins the ranks of other contemporary writers toying with surrealism, turning it anew.