Rock Castle has his age, he has. And what’s his age? Why, it’s the evolution of his bloody name, that’s what it is? Just the evolution of a name - Apprentice out of Lithograph by Cobbler, Emperor’s Hand by Apprentice out of Hand Maiden by Lord of the Land, Draftsman by Emperor’s Hand out of Shallow Draft by Amulet, Castle Churl by Draftsman out of Likely Castle by Cold Masonry, Rock Castle by Castle Churl out of Words on Rock by Plebeian - and what’s this name if not the very evolution of his life?
The Making Of The Horn Spoon by Gary Snyder
from Myths & Texts (Hunting section)
Totem Press, 1960
RAZORCAKE REVIEWED JESSIE’S ZINE ABOUT THE PLACE WE LIVE
"Jessie Duke is a naturally talented writer whose style matches her content - classically sentimental, clear, and melancholic prose concerning a group of people who have taken to the land in Kansas. Maturation, family, death, all on a farm. I think it’s romans a clef, because there are accompanying pictures. If Cindy Crabb only read Alice Munro for a long time it might result in this. Ruminative and satisfying.” -Razorcake
Find The Hard Fifty Farm by Jessie Duke here.
Such a good zine series! Way to go J.D.!
Bart Schaneman TransSiberian Entering Russia
Quiet Lightning Reading @ The El Rio 6/3
hey bay area, i got into the Quiet Lightning show so i’ll be reading tomorrow night (tuesday june 3) at the El Rio in the mission. come on down. mission st / cesar chavez. show starts at 8. first 100 people get a copy of Sparkle & Blink with all the night’s work in it.
i’ll have copies of Torch Ballads to sell if you’re looking for one
sydney-michellington said: I know you must be a busy, busy person so I won't be upset if you don't answer this - but I had to try: 1. What authors have inspired you to write? 2. How important are your character's names? 3. What do you consider your biggest accomplishment? 4. When did you realize you wanted to be a writer? 5. Do you have any advice for aspiring authors? 6. If you weren’t a writer, what profession would you like to have? 7. What literary character is most like you? (cont'd)
1. The best young writers I know, either personally or in spaces like this, are: Adam Gnade, Elisabeth Donnelly, Amanda Oliver, Aaron Gilbreath, Court Merrigan, Rich Baiocco, Jessie Duquette, Joshua Heineman, Lindsey Baker, Lucy Morris, Nick Miller, Stephanie Georgopulos, Nicolle Elizabeth, Kara Vanderbijl, and more that I forget right now.
2. Extremely important. One of the hardest things to get right.
3. That I’m still writing every day.
4. I was sitting in a class in college next to a girl I couldn’t convince to like me. We were both reading the school newspaper and talking about it. I wanted her to be reading me. So I applied at the paper, got the job and became a writer.
5. Read. Travel. Write about the places you know.
7. The characters that Adam Gnade writes who are based on me.
Shout out from the compadre Bart in Nebraska. Maybe I should start writing on this tumblr more. Also, Court Merrigan is one of the best names of a writer I’ve never heard of and now follow.
Doom scenarios, even though they might be true, are not politically or psychologically effective. The first step, I think, and that’s why it’s in my poetry, is to make us love the world rather than to make us fear for the end of the world. Make us love the world, which means the nonhuman as well as the human, and then begin to take better care of it.
It’s never good to be woken up by the police knocking on your door, but that’s what happened. First off, we live in an apartment so it’s kind of rare to have anyone knock on your door unless you’ve let them into the building. I’m brushing my teeth when I hear knuckles wrap the door and my first thought is that it’s the landlord, which isn’t good because I’m not on the lease and he told my girlfriend he’d raise her rent if she had someone living with her. I hide my toothbrush and pick up a can of cat food, which we decided would be our go-to alibi to evade the landlord and explain why I’m here: feeding the cat.
Surprise, surprise, 2 cops and me holding a can of tuna. And they knew my name. Did the landlord call them? Did some miserably discontent tenant realize I’ve been receiving mail here for 2 years and complain? I bet it was that new French couple!
The cops were here because a concerned neighbor called them after seeing my trunk open and some maps and cds scattered in the alley near my car. They traced my VIN# through the DMV to get my name and address and came to see what’s up.
You own the black nissan parked in the alley?
Did you leave your trunk open last night?
Well, you’ve been robbed then.
Why don’t you come outside and check it out with us.
They seemed a little put out that I was so unalarmed, but the truth is - I told them- this just happened a few months ago, and then again a few weeks ago so I’m kind of over it. I keep my sleeping bag in my trunk for emergencies with a blanket, some pillows and a roll of duct tape and that was stolen, which sucked, but it’s the type of thing people living in the street would use at least, I rationalize Catholically.
The cops watched me look through my sparse belongings and asked if there was anything they could do. I peeled a long strand of brown hair off the back seat and said:
this isn’t mine. Do you think it’s the person’s who did this?
Hard to say. We all seemed to agree. I told them I’ve seen Law & Order and is there a hair database? Cops on Law & Order seem to get suspects that way.
No, they said, halfheartedly. I was only halfheartedly holding out for the database to exist anyway.
There’s so much car theft around this neighborhood. Mostly people living on the street. You should get a car alarm.
i had one, but it was wired incorrectly and would drain my battery so I had to disable it.
Well, you should get another one.
It was true. it was the best advice. I needed the money for it. I thought of all the other things I needed money for and it was overwhelming so I just continued to rummage through my car trying to notice what was different. When I looked up again, the cops were gone.
When the cops were gone I nearly stuck my hand through a used syringe on the floor of the backseat. Heroin? Diabetic Insulin? Who knows. Stranger blood drying on my backseat (not the first time, funny enough. I drove this kid to the hospital down in Rosarito, Mexico once after he sliced his hand open trying to punch through the spinning blade of an industrial fan outside a bar); Also this scepter-like instrument they must’ve used to wedge into the car, then forgot about when they were high. I mean, seriously, look how ominous this satanic ice pick is:
Strange morning, to say the least. I hope the sleeping bag gets put to good use, Fucker
Near Buried Window
Near Buried Forest
Near Buried Rapunzel
Near Buried Fence
there isn’t any language in the buried, only the near buried