Category Archives: Uncategorized

Brooklyn’s Poet Laureate Announced

Congrats to Tina Chang, Brooklyn’s newest Poet Laureate.

Hit the link for NYPost’s article and a poem from Tina Chang.

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Writers Almanac / Jerry Roscoe

Garrison Keillor has recently read the work of poet and father Jerry Roscoe on Writer’s Almanac. Read and listen to November 28, 2009’s rendition of Bouquet. From September 2, 2007, you can hear a reading of Adequate Love.

Of course, if you like what you hear, you can pick up a copy of The Unexamined Life by Jerry Roscoe on Amazon.

New Microfiction

A good friend since the fewest of years has written a terrific short piece that’s up at Staccato. I hope you take a look; you’ll be happy you did.

Tips and Tricks (ST)

One easy way to lose weight
is to fall in love with someone
who is already in love
with someone else. Then,
when you’re about to eat dinner,
think about that. It’s like magic
without the magic! Continue reading

The Animal Psychic Speaks (ST)

The Animal Psychic Speaks

The hawk says, “I’m hungry! Where’s that mouse?”
The pig says, “Pardon me, I have the hiccups.”
The possum is thinking about intersections and her next of kin.
The anteater prefers gumdrops, but feels too shy to say so.
Those Japanese beetles see plenty of holes in the leaves’ argument.
When the stallion runs, he forgets where he comes from.
Today is your luckiest day: This rattlesnake’s on your side.

Reading Books Underground (JR)

With the end of school mid-May, the start of summer employment, and my move to Brooklyn, I’ve been doing more of my reading underground. Specifically, in trains. Instead of feverish — if sporadic — two-hundred page evenings of devotion, I now wade through books as the tortoise, not the hare. Reading on trains, twice a day, on average 34 minutes per trip, has altered the texture of daily life, the ways I experience New York. Instead of being a slave to The Savage Detectives, I cohabitate with The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle and 2666. Fewer late nights in the living room on the couch, having been kicked out of the bedroom by my employed girlfriend, unable to not keep following Arturo Belano and our collective fate of obscurity, (or worse, happenstance notoriety) through Mexico, Europe, and South America, the atmosphere occasionally ruptured by poltergeists driving death-laden semis, shaking the apartment.

Even askance glances at other commuters are changed. My aesthetics heightened to some absurd transcendent level where it feels like I understand the totality of everyone around me, their inner sum from their appearance. Or maybe I don’t feel I understand anything at all, but merely take in the passengers’ appearances in a hungry, superficial visual chomp. I smile. Even if it’s illusion, I laugh at all of us. Or at least that’s what 2666 has done to me.

Continue reading

BTDubs (ST)

My book review of Kathleen Willis Morton’s The Blue Poppy and The Mustard Seed is in the current issue of Tricycle — check it here.