Alright. Time for one of those semi-proper blog things in which I actually speak of my life, etc. etc. yadda yadda.
The big news is: MY FIRST BOOK IS DUE OUT SOON!!!! I'm the author "Coming Soon" way down at the bottom of the page here.. Yes, that's my real (banal) name, and more importantly THAT'S MY FUCKING BOOK!
Granted, it's only a chapbook. A thin thirty-two pages, but it's a start; pretty much the only way poets get started in a world in which no one gives two craps about poetry in the first place, let alone so-called 'experimental', 'post-avant' poetry.
I realize few of you probably read much poetry. But I'd be extremely moved to think that one or two copies of it might find their way out into the world, and there's few I'd rather see read it more than fellow SGers.
And hey, who doesn't want to read a book about an android who only discovers the fact that he is an android whilst being incarcerated in a psychiatric facility he calls the 'gore ward'? Eh?
As I said, it's not out yet, but I'll definitely be posting the link again once it's available.
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As for the rest of my life, well....that's probably best left for another blog.
Coming soon: the deets on my last teaser of a post: "Sex on a stairwell...In the building where I work..."
Titillating.
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Anyway, here's the cover!
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and, on another note entirely, a bit of text I wrote a couple months ago. It's, um, unusual.
April 1st, 2008, was the date of a momentous and thoroughly unique occasion in human history. Though various bureaucrats in the halls of Hell would later come to regret the choice of date, due to many confusions regarding the veracity of their interoffice memo (for to their mind, the whole world constituted their place of work), the coincidence has, in retrospect, only added to the drama of the occasion.
The missive was unique for many reasons, not least of which was the fact that it marked the first day on which every human being on the planet received at least one piece of mail, whether physical or electronic (excepting, of course, spam emails, another innovation of Hell). Every human being, of every age, received the cream colored envelope, from the tiniest bouncing baby boy to the most grizzled of street-living crack fiends (another innovation, as each address-less person still happened upon a letter addressed to him- or herself, either at the bottom of a rubbish bin or atop a miraculously unopened and abandoned forty of Old E) - every individual noted with an excess of surprise the carefully hand-lettered script inscribed in a rusty ink (in a spidery hand that somehow transformed even the utter banality of a P.O. Box number into a numerological key to unfathomable cosmic truths) and the thick, waxy seal embossed on the back (the curious contours of which evoked thoughts of hellfire and fleshless craniums in some and the heartbreakingly innocent visage of a boy of thirteen in others) - and we must note here that even those receiving emails, most of whom were office workers unlikely to be home at the appointed hour, had this same visceral experience - every individual noted the curiously dry, almost leathery, texture of the paper - and many, no doubt, felt that strange transport often inspired by the receipt of personal mail, that feeling that somewhere out there, someone gave a damn - and not one individual happened to toss said missive immediately into the nearest ashcan or recycling bin, for though it had all the hallmarks of those unpleasant bits of business one receives from persons unknown yet obviously sinister that usually inspires in human beings the utmost disregard, each felt it imponderably vital that this communiqu be opened and perused immediately.
The message, whether conveyed in English, Aramaic, Cantonese, Braille, Esperanto, Swahili, Quebecois, etc., read exactly as follows (excepting unavoidable affects of semiotics):
<i>Dear Human (presently being),
We write this day to regretfully announce that, effective this date, April 1st, 2008 C.E., Hell is no longer able to accept further admissions of human souls.
We apologize for any inconvenience.
Sincerely,
Lucifer Asmodeus Ba'al Zebub Aloiscius Samael Deis Trismegastus
P.S. Look, it's not as if we want to. Simply put, the dimensions of Hell, once thought to be as constantly expanding as you human beings have only just noticed your universe to be, have been pushed to the breaking point by your incessant, bunny-like breeding. Not to mention your patent refusal - and bravo, my pets, bravo - to kneel to that ridiculous autodidact up in the sky. The fact is that many of the most deserving of my citizens are having to do without their proper dose of punishment, and that reality truly pains me. I myself have had to forgo the pleasures of a pitchfork in the rectum for more than a couple of days, enduring instead the tedium of a Tahitian vacation (and believe me, it's the second most boring thing in existence, right after the Hosanna choir up in Empyrean).
I realize that this must be disappointing in the extreme, and I am truly sorry to the huge numbers of individuals whose apparent lifelong dream it was to meet one or another of my luminaries - Hitler, Stalin, Torquemada, the Divine Marquis, etc. (I was about to add Mao but I've just remembered he never showed). It's a pisser, I know.
One unforeseen consequence of our (hopefully) temporary closure has been the Big Guy's (or Gal's - It has never been to clear on that score) response. He has been quite obdurate in his refusal to open his doors to any of what he deems 'undeserving' souls (infinite mercy my infernal rectum). The unfortunate, but obviously inescapable (given the recent foreclosure of Purgatory), result of this is that many of you will, to be blunt, not be dying any time soon.
I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, and can only offer my warmest congratulations on the fortunate extension of your opportunity to revel in whatever pleasures your life on earth may afford you.
Ta!
Signed again,
Lucifer Asmodeus Ba'al Zebub Aloiscius Samael Deis Trismegastus<i>
The big news is: MY FIRST BOOK IS DUE OUT SOON!!!! I'm the author "Coming Soon" way down at the bottom of the page here.. Yes, that's my real (banal) name, and more importantly THAT'S MY FUCKING BOOK!
Granted, it's only a chapbook. A thin thirty-two pages, but it's a start; pretty much the only way poets get started in a world in which no one gives two craps about poetry in the first place, let alone so-called 'experimental', 'post-avant' poetry.
I realize few of you probably read much poetry. But I'd be extremely moved to think that one or two copies of it might find their way out into the world, and there's few I'd rather see read it more than fellow SGers.
And hey, who doesn't want to read a book about an android who only discovers the fact that he is an android whilst being incarcerated in a psychiatric facility he calls the 'gore ward'? Eh?
As I said, it's not out yet, but I'll definitely be posting the link again once it's available.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
As for the rest of my life, well....that's probably best left for another blog.
Coming soon: the deets on my last teaser of a post: "Sex on a stairwell...In the building where I work..."
Titillating.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Anyway, here's the cover!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
and, on another note entirely, a bit of text I wrote a couple months ago. It's, um, unusual.
April 1st, 2008, was the date of a momentous and thoroughly unique occasion in human history. Though various bureaucrats in the halls of Hell would later come to regret the choice of date, due to many confusions regarding the veracity of their interoffice memo (for to their mind, the whole world constituted their place of work), the coincidence has, in retrospect, only added to the drama of the occasion.
The missive was unique for many reasons, not least of which was the fact that it marked the first day on which every human being on the planet received at least one piece of mail, whether physical or electronic (excepting, of course, spam emails, another innovation of Hell). Every human being, of every age, received the cream colored envelope, from the tiniest bouncing baby boy to the most grizzled of street-living crack fiends (another innovation, as each address-less person still happened upon a letter addressed to him- or herself, either at the bottom of a rubbish bin or atop a miraculously unopened and abandoned forty of Old E) - every individual noted with an excess of surprise the carefully hand-lettered script inscribed in a rusty ink (in a spidery hand that somehow transformed even the utter banality of a P.O. Box number into a numerological key to unfathomable cosmic truths) and the thick, waxy seal embossed on the back (the curious contours of which evoked thoughts of hellfire and fleshless craniums in some and the heartbreakingly innocent visage of a boy of thirteen in others) - and we must note here that even those receiving emails, most of whom were office workers unlikely to be home at the appointed hour, had this same visceral experience - every individual noted the curiously dry, almost leathery, texture of the paper - and many, no doubt, felt that strange transport often inspired by the receipt of personal mail, that feeling that somewhere out there, someone gave a damn - and not one individual happened to toss said missive immediately into the nearest ashcan or recycling bin, for though it had all the hallmarks of those unpleasant bits of business one receives from persons unknown yet obviously sinister that usually inspires in human beings the utmost disregard, each felt it imponderably vital that this communiqu be opened and perused immediately.
The message, whether conveyed in English, Aramaic, Cantonese, Braille, Esperanto, Swahili, Quebecois, etc., read exactly as follows (excepting unavoidable affects of semiotics):
<i>Dear Human (presently being),
We write this day to regretfully announce that, effective this date, April 1st, 2008 C.E., Hell is no longer able to accept further admissions of human souls.
We apologize for any inconvenience.
Sincerely,
Lucifer Asmodeus Ba'al Zebub Aloiscius Samael Deis Trismegastus
P.S. Look, it's not as if we want to. Simply put, the dimensions of Hell, once thought to be as constantly expanding as you human beings have only just noticed your universe to be, have been pushed to the breaking point by your incessant, bunny-like breeding. Not to mention your patent refusal - and bravo, my pets, bravo - to kneel to that ridiculous autodidact up in the sky. The fact is that many of the most deserving of my citizens are having to do without their proper dose of punishment, and that reality truly pains me. I myself have had to forgo the pleasures of a pitchfork in the rectum for more than a couple of days, enduring instead the tedium of a Tahitian vacation (and believe me, it's the second most boring thing in existence, right after the Hosanna choir up in Empyrean).
I realize that this must be disappointing in the extreme, and I am truly sorry to the huge numbers of individuals whose apparent lifelong dream it was to meet one or another of my luminaries - Hitler, Stalin, Torquemada, the Divine Marquis, etc. (I was about to add Mao but I've just remembered he never showed). It's a pisser, I know.
One unforeseen consequence of our (hopefully) temporary closure has been the Big Guy's (or Gal's - It has never been to clear on that score) response. He has been quite obdurate in his refusal to open his doors to any of what he deems 'undeserving' souls (infinite mercy my infernal rectum). The unfortunate, but obviously inescapable (given the recent foreclosure of Purgatory), result of this is that many of you will, to be blunt, not be dying any time soon.
I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, and can only offer my warmest congratulations on the fortunate extension of your opportunity to revel in whatever pleasures your life on earth may afford you.
Ta!
Signed again,
Lucifer Asmodeus Ba'al Zebub Aloiscius Samael Deis Trismegastus<i>
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
kenyon:
i write poems - you knew this right? - and in our little world where "celebrity" poets still aren't household names there is no such thing as "only a chapbook." this is HUGE. but you know that, deep down. 
congratulations!!!!!
congratulations!!!!!
kenyon:
oi. yes - i'll pm you a link or two.