Rich Baiocco

WRITING Published Elsewhereplace
BOOT N' RALLY zine Issue #1
DADDY ISSUES & DRONE NOISE essay :: 'What A Beautiful Face' Neutral Milk Hotel zine
The Dropbeatles :: Everyday Genius
Kentucky Backworld Conduits :: The Smoking Poet(scroll down)
Are You Decent :: Blog San Diego

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?
John Hawkes, The Lime Twig (wherein a plot is hatched to kidnap a champion racehorse and run him under a different name but everything goes wrong)

Paint it as you go…
Sold my firework stash to the waitress at the diner last night for $10 and some free mozzarella stix. Jack came over to visit us for breakfast with some beers and watch a few soccer games. Made some sweet corn tacos with a ton of roast garlic in a crock pot. Finally saw that Muscle Shoals documentary - damn good. Damn good Friday.  Night’s coming on…

Paint it as you go…

Sold my firework stash to the waitress at the diner last night for $10 and some free mozzarella stix. Jack came over to visit us for breakfast with some beers and watch a few soccer games. Made some sweet corn tacos with a ton of roast garlic in a crock pot. Finally saw that Muscle Shoals documentary - damn good.
Damn good Friday.  Night’s coming on…

(Source: artruby, via paperdarts)

RAZORCAKE REVIEWED JESSIE’S ZINE ABOUT THE PLACE WE LIVE

gnade:

"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.

image

Such a good zine series! Way to go J.D.!

(Source: jessie-duke)

Bart Schaneman

TransSiberian Entering Russia

bartschaneman:

My publisher is working out a deal to turn Trans-Siberian into an audio book. They asked me to do a sample reading. They’re thinking that since it’s so personal it might work better if I do it. Here’s a 2-minute clip.

Quiet Lightning Reading @ The El Rio 6/3

jv-greco:

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 

jvg

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)

bartschaneman:

1. The best young writers I know, either personally or in spaces like this, are: Adam Gnade, Elisabeth DonnellyAmanda Oliver, Aaron Gilbreath, Court Merrigan, Rich Baiocco, Jessie DuquetteJoshua 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.

6. Firefighter.

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.
Gary Snyder, The Paris Review interview (Art of Poetry no. 74)

(Source: jv-tumblr.com, via jv-greco)

bartschaneman:

Dispatch from Nebraska: May 19, 2014
I remember one of my childhood friends like this: We were 14. I had a school permit and a white convertible. We were always trying to get away from our farmer fathers to drive through town shooting paintballs or meeting girls. One afternoon after school we were at his house and his dad wouldn’t let him leave. He hadn’t done his chores, refused to do them, and he wanted to go see a girl he liked. So I hid him on the floorboards behind the front seats of my car and we drove into town.
That same friend died in a car accident during my first year in Korea. I never really heard what happened. Something about a rollover late at night on a dirt road in eastern Wyoming. And now that I’m back home he’s one of the people my friends and I occasionally bring up when we’re together. Everyone remembers him fondly. Well, at least the people I’m around. At these parties we stand in kitchens drinking Coors Light from bottles talking about how he was wild, happy, fun — the kind of person who never sold out or gave up or got burned out. And it’s a nice way to remember someone. It’s Memento Mori talk. The kind that makes it hard to put on a tie and go to work in the morning. It leads to plenty of idealistic thinking.
My mind vacillates and imagines a thousand possible lives I could be living. I have found something wrong with every place I’ve ever lived. I’ve romanticized every past life. Curse the creative mind. I know enough about alcoholics to know the geographical cure won’t save you. I tend to view my life in dualities. The lonely, time-forgotten Great Plains has been culturally depleted and fractured away from modern, urban America in such a way that to live here feels like putting yourself at a disadvantage from knowing the news of the rest of America. The tea leaves say: Stay here long enough and the cities will pull even farther away and leave you behind. Even the most urban of us in this town of 25,000 can’t escape our isolation. The outer peace, the slowness of this place, has been unnerving to me since I left Seoul, and the other cities I lived in before that. I’m still not comfortable with the quiet. I didn’t realize how lonely it would be coming back here. I’ve never needed help being introspective, likely due in large part to growing up this stark environment, and the city was distracting enough to keep me from diving too deep into my own head. All this silence and boredom breeds endless thinking.
That’s the tails side of the coin. The space, the low cost of living, the safety, the proximity to family — they all create a different peace of mind. I’m married now. Own a home. So the focus is more on building things then giving in to my impulse for adventure and living. On “This American Life” last week Ira Glass was hanging out with David Sedaris in Paris and Sedaris offhandedly threw out the comment that “being a foreigner is the lowest lifeform.” And even after years ago reading Bill’s short speech to Jake in “The Sun Also Rises” about how expatriates never wrote anything good after they left America, I still had to find out for myself what Sedaris also learned. And he’s right. It’s easy to idealize living in another country, until you try to stay for a few years. Then the truth and weight of never fitting into the culture becomes the reality you’re constantly reminded of. That’s a different kind of extreme loneliness. I’d rather live in a place that our culture doesn’t consider relevant than live in a country where I’m considered a second-class citizen.
Conor Oberst opens his new record with “Polished my shoes, I bought a brand new hat, moved to a town that time forgot / where I don’t have to shave or be approachable / No, I can do just what I want.” Half of that parallels my life. I write a column for the daily newspaper. My family has lived in this town for four generations. People know who I am. I can’t just do what I want without hearing about it.
Much has been written lately about the value of the novelist who lives in the Midwest. Even if technically I live a little west of the Midwest, I agree with a lot of it. That in order for America to have a rich literary culture it needs voices scattered across the country. But most of us would rather call ourselves writers and party with other writers who don’t write in Brooklyn than live on what Poe Ballantine calls the Howling Plains of Nowhere and do the real work. It would be so much easier to pretend to struggle to write working as a waiter in Williamsburg than to have a job in western Nebraska and fight as much as I can to carve out writing time on the side. But what would my material be then? Writing about these people and this place, then sending these stories to New York, is to be a foreign correspondent within the United States. And we need those a lot more than we need more tapeworms.
Though I haven’t been writing here much, my output’s been about the same as always. Moving countries and changing jobs, as tempting as it is, destroys your routine and then it has to be rebuilt. This takes months. But I’ve basically got everything in place, including a full office for the first time, and I’m getting work done. I recently rediscovered the joy of writing about a place after you’ve left it, so, in time, expect a novel set in Asia. (I know I’ve said this before. This is a different project.) I’m also working on essays, short stories and poems when an idea comes to me and won’t be ignored. Those you’ll see if I publish them in a journal or magazine or as a complete collection. And the submissions are going out.
This is storm season in Nebraska. Last night we had a tornado touch down 15 miles from my house. A dark, skinny viper. It struck once then went back into the sky.
Come visit me sometime. We’ll stand on my porch with strong drinks and look out over the big farm fields to the east and howl at the clouds.

bartschaneman:

Dispatch from Nebraska: May 19, 2014

I remember one of my childhood friends like this: We were 14. I had a school permit and a white convertible. We were always trying to get away from our farmer fathers to drive through town shooting paintballs or meeting girls. One afternoon after school we were at his house and his dad wouldn’t let him leave. He hadn’t done his chores, refused to do them, and he wanted to go see a girl he liked. So I hid him on the floorboards behind the front seats of my car and we drove into town.

That same friend died in a car accident during my first year in Korea. I never really heard what happened. Something about a rollover late at night on a dirt road in eastern Wyoming. And now that I’m back home he’s one of the people my friends and I occasionally bring up when we’re together. Everyone remembers him fondly. Well, at least the people I’m around. At these parties we stand in kitchens drinking Coors Light from bottles talking about how he was wild, happy, fun — the kind of person who never sold out or gave up or got burned out. And it’s a nice way to remember someone. It’s Memento Mori talk. The kind that makes it hard to put on a tie and go to work in the morning. It leads to plenty of idealistic thinking.

My mind vacillates and imagines a thousand possible lives I could be living. I have found something wrong with every place I’ve ever lived. I’ve romanticized every past life. Curse the creative mind. I know enough about alcoholics to know the geographical cure won’t save you. I tend to view my life in dualities. The lonely, time-forgotten Great Plains has been culturally depleted and fractured away from modern, urban America in such a way that to live here feels like putting yourself at a disadvantage from knowing the news of the rest of America. The tea leaves say: Stay here long enough and the cities will pull even farther away and leave you behind. Even the most urban of us in this town of 25,000 can’t escape our isolation. The outer peace, the slowness of this place, has been unnerving to me since I left Seoul, and the other cities I lived in before that. I’m still not comfortable with the quiet. I didn’t realize how lonely it would be coming back here. I’ve never needed help being introspective, likely due in large part to growing up this stark environment, and the city was distracting enough to keep me from diving too deep into my own head. All this silence and boredom breeds endless thinking.

That’s the tails side of the coin. The space, the low cost of living, the safety, the proximity to family — they all create a different peace of mind. I’m married now. Own a home. So the focus is more on building things then giving in to my impulse for adventure and living. On “This American Life” last week Ira Glass was hanging out with David Sedaris in Paris and Sedaris offhandedly threw out the comment that “being a foreigner is the lowest lifeform.” And even after years ago reading Bill’s short speech to Jake in “The Sun Also Rises” about how expatriates never wrote anything good after they left America, I still had to find out for myself what Sedaris also learned. And he’s right. It’s easy to idealize living in another country, until you try to stay for a few years. Then the truth and weight of never fitting into the culture becomes the reality you’re constantly reminded of. That’s a different kind of extreme loneliness. I’d rather live in a place that our culture doesn’t consider relevant than live in a country where I’m considered a second-class citizen.

Conor Oberst opens his new record with “Polished my shoes, I bought a brand new hat, moved to a town that time forgot / where I don’t have to shave or be approachable / No, I can do just what I want.” Half of that parallels my life. I write a column for the daily newspaper. My family has lived in this town for four generations. People know who I am. I can’t just do what I want without hearing about it.

Much has been written lately about the value of the novelist who lives in the Midwest. Even if technically I live a little west of the Midwest, I agree with a lot of it. That in order for America to have a rich literary culture it needs voices scattered across the country. But most of us would rather call ourselves writers and party with other writers who don’t write in Brooklyn than live on what Poe Ballantine calls the Howling Plains of Nowhere and do the real work. It would be so much easier to pretend to struggle to write working as a waiter in Williamsburg than to have a job in western Nebraska and fight as much as I can to carve out writing time on the side. But what would my material be then? Writing about these people and this place, then sending these stories to New York, is to be a foreign correspondent within the United States. And we need those a lot more than we need more tapeworms.

Though I haven’t been writing here much, my output’s been about the same as always. Moving countries and changing jobs, as tempting as it is, destroys your routine and then it has to be rebuilt. This takes months. But I’ve basically got everything in place, including a full office for the first time, and I’m getting work done. I recently rediscovered the joy of writing about a place after you’ve left it, so, in time, expect a novel set in Asia. (I know I’ve said this before. This is a different project.) I’m also working on essays, short stories and poems when an idea comes to me and won’t be ignored. Those you’ll see if I publish them in a journal or magazine or as a complete collection. And the submissions are going out.

This is storm season in Nebraska. Last night we had a tornado touch down 15 miles from my house. A dark, skinny viper. It struck once then went back into the sky.

Come visit me sometime. We’ll stand on my porch with strong drinks and look out over the big farm fields to the east and howl at the clouds.

Really, letters from Casper (my friend, the friendliest ghost) Wyoming with newspaper comics taped to the envelope are the only way to go. My favorite. 
And yes, new writing projects abound for this summer. Collaborations, I’ve never really tried that before…

Really, letters from Casper (my friend, the friendliest ghost) Wyoming with newspaper comics taped to the envelope are the only way to go. My favorite. 

And yes, new writing projects abound for this summer. Collaborations, I’ve never really tried that before…

Nissan Motel

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!
It wasn’t.
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? 
yes.
Did you leave your trunk open last night?
um, nope. 
Well, you’ve been robbed then.
damn.

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:

image

Strange morning, to say the least. I hope the sleeping bag gets put to good use, Fucker

NEAR BURIALS

jv-greco:

image
Near Buried Window

image
Near Buried Forest


imageNear Buried Rapunzel

image
Near Buried Fence

there isn’t any language in the buried, only the near buried

rustbeltjessie:

Reckless Chants #20: A Field Guide to Vanished Things (music: “Goodbye Desolate Railyard,” by A Silver Mt. Zion)

Yes! buying this tomorrow

jessie-duke:

Dear Friends,
I’m getting in touch to let you know that Pioneers Press is at a crossroads. The meritless lawsuit that Microcosm Publishing has brought against us is crippling our distro. Our lawyer is asking for more money to continue our defense, and our bills are going unpaid. We’ve struggled with how to present this information because we know it’s a turn-off to get pleas for help like this. But we also want you to know that we are at a critical point. We’ve been barely scraping by for a while, but this week we’ve reached an all-time low: the utilities have begun to be shut off and we are short on rent for the farm. As Pioneers Press sales have been the sole support for the animal rescues of the Hard Fifty Farm, it’s crucial that we not continue on this path. 

We’ve decided to deeply discount a bunch of our stock in hopes that we’ll be able to keep the lights on and pay down invoices. Depending on how that goes, we will reassess to see if it’s feasible for us to keep the distro side of Pioneers Press running while we try to fight the lawsuit. If we’re able to save our distro (with your help!) you can still expect changes in how we operate, as we challenge traditional distribution and publishing models in search of new and better ways to support independent writers and publishers. 

We still believe in indie publishing and even if Pioneers Press goes down, we have every intention to keep writing, keep publishing, and keep fighting. But man, it would sure be great if we could keep up the fight with Pioneers Press!

We’ve got some great stuff on our site right now, and we hope some of you will take advantage of this sale to start (or grow!) your own zine libraries or distros. Up the distros!

Thank you so much for your ongoing support, in all its varied forms! 

<3 Jessie Duke, Pioneers Press

http://pioneerspress.com/catalog/subject/save_our_ship_sale

Some of the most helpful and inspiring reads I’ve come across can be found in zines in the Pioneers Press distro catalogue. American small business with a dream and the guts to stake out their lives around it.  They never stop coming out with good things, so helping them by buying from them is a continual win/win    

jessie-duke:

Dear Friends,

I’m getting in touch to let you know that Pioneers Press is at a crossroads. The meritless lawsuit that Microcosm Publishing has brought against us is crippling our distro. Our lawyer is asking for more money to continue our defense, and our bills are going unpaid. We’ve struggled with how to present this information because we know it’s a turn-off to get pleas for help like this. But we also want you to know that we are at a critical point. We’ve been barely scraping by for a while, but this week we’ve reached an all-time low: the utilities have begun to be shut off and we are short on rent for the farm. As Pioneers Press sales have been the sole support for the animal rescues of the Hard Fifty Farm, it’s crucial that we not continue on this path. 
We’ve decided to deeply discount a bunch of our stock in hopes that we’ll be able to keep the lights on and pay down invoices. Depending on how that goes, we will reassess to see if it’s feasible for us to keep the distro side of Pioneers Press running while we try to fight the lawsuit. If we’re able to save our distro (with your help!) you can still expect changes in how we operate, as we challenge traditional distribution and publishing models in search of new and better ways to support independent writers and publishers. 
We still believe in indie publishing and even if Pioneers Press goes down, we have every intention to keep writing, keep publishing, and keep fighting. But man, it would sure be great if we could keep up the fight with Pioneers Press!
We’ve got some great stuff on our site right now, and we hope some of you will take advantage of this sale to start (or grow!) your own zine libraries or distros. Up the distros!
Thank you so much for your ongoing support, in all its varied forms! 
<3 Jessie Duke, Pioneers Press

Some of the most helpful and inspiring reads I’ve come across can be found in zines in the Pioneers Press distro catalogue. American small business with a dream and the guts to stake out their lives around it.  They never stop coming out with good things, so helping them by buying from them is a continual win/win