nope, of clicky-links to URLs with disappearing ink I do not speak. Au contraire, I’m talkin’ bout publications— the tactile experience of fingertips brushing against pressed paper. The tender crease of a spine. The stink of ink spiraling up one’s nostrillus maximus & connecting with receptors in the limbic area, stimulating electrochemical signals.
My favorite words come bearing risk of paper cuts
Vorsicht! Consider yourself hereby forewarned:
it seems I’m particularly fond of italics this fine day…
Royal Proclamation Number One:
(a fanfare is appropriate)
The latest issue of the rad-ass, bad-ass literary journal Gertrude
includes my short story “Sugar Rush”: a tribute to
C U L I N A R Y . P E R V E R Y
That’s right, baby—we’re gonna get baked, & then you get C a k e d…
[from the publishers]:
“To commemorate this milestone release [issue 15 of Gertrude],we put out a call for writing & visual art
that explores, celebrates or subverts queer stereotypes. ‘The Gay Issue’ represents the diversity & talent
of the LGBTQA community.”
¤ THE PARTICULARS ¤
80 perfect-bound pages of flamboyant wit, 19 verse-slingers serving noteworthy lit, &
seven shades of wickedawesome visual artistry on eight full-color inserts that
one prancy fagocytosist went way gay over, on the tip of the APA
that’d be numbers & statistics; thank.you.ever.so
Michelle Auerbach, David Brennan, Wayne Bund, Clint Catalyst, Nicole J. Georges,
Jeremy Halinen, Daniel W.K. Lee, Kirsty Logan along with nine other lesbi-luminaries &
rump-wranglin’ Cult Icons-In-The-Makin’ that any cool-enough-to-singe-flesh-upon-contact
member of the cognoscenti c/should expect to find included among the impeccably-edited
roster of a journal esteemed as such/such as this…
Nonetheless, not unlike the dry ice to which I alluded a mere skip backwards o’er single perioddical: that’s a
scavenger hunt I’ll leave for you & your ducats to embark upon, darlin’
☆ G E T ± S O M E ☆
[though as an ápertif, an excerpt of my story]:
As the adage goes, ‘A Don’t Is A Delicious Invitation To Do.’ In the sexual practice known as “caking,” it’s particularly true.
I can’t take credit for coming up with this deviation of the old in and out, though unlike the lot of other subversive acts referred to as the stuff of urban legend—the Dirty Sanchez, Blumpkin, Cleveland Steamer, Chili Dog, et al—I’m honored to say I can vouch for its point of origin, and am a mere one degree of separation from its source.
“Caking” came about during the darkest days of that carb-counting craze when solo patties of beef were the new burger, and a demeanor bitter as Susan Atkins was the new black. It was socially acceptable to have breath that smelled like a fresh slaughter, so long as we weren’t seen consuming anything in a public setting that bore even the faintest traces of Evil Incarnate: refined sugar.
:: yes bitches, shit gets good up in thurr ::
— However! —
THIS IS NOT OVER YET
Royal Proclamation Number Two:
(not only/but also)
Baby, I’ve Got Some More Good Word For You…
From the publishing house, social network & international non-profit, Little Episodes—an organization that “promotes the arts as a therapeutic tool & platform to incite empathy and understanding”—comes the anthology Brainstorms
© Little Episodes Publishing, 2010 • ISBN 978-0-9565003-1-1 • Edited by Fawn Neün
“featuring work by Melvin Burgess, Todd Swift, Sadie Frost, Nina Antonia & Clint Catalyst, Brainstorms is the second volume in the ‘Expression of Depression’ series, a collection of poetry & short fiction from established & emerging talent.”
[from Little Episodes founder Lucie Barât]:
“The launch of our second anthology is a statement of intent. We aim to de-stigmatise depression and promote compassion & understanding rather than fear and embarrassment. The opportunity to create and subsequently publish art will give people a sense of well-being which could aid in their recovery.”
[from the printed matter]
an excerpt from my short story “Breaking Up With Tina”:
Whenever I hear recovery folks recite the slogan that their ‘worst day sober is still better than [their] best day using, ‘ I can’t help but feel my eyes rolling. For that I have four words: They Needed Another Dealer.
Oh! & H-e-ey Old-Schoolers, spot check how that paragraph comes to a Grinding Halt:
…And in the words of The Cure’s vocalist, Robert Smith, the further I got from the things I care about, the less I cared about how much further away I got.
G E T ± YOURS
peek at the back flap*