Magic Helicopter Press: We Were Eternal and Gigantic, by Evelyn Hampton

He was huge but could not grasp himself.
—Evelyn Hampton, from SAG: A SAGA

We Were Eternal and Gigantic, Evelyn Hampton

We Were Eternal and Gigantic, Evelyn Hampton‘s small collection of poetry and prose from Magic Helicopter Press, is a wonderful first read, but I’ve been over my copy several times, and each time find something new to appreciate and wonder over. Throughout the book, Hampton covers America’s money-obsessed culture, superficiality, capitalism, sexism and other heavy topics so lightly and effortlessly, you barely notice. In bill blass gave money a breezy look, she tells us, about Bill Blass: He designed a suit for the ways a woman could behave. A woman could walk quickly. A woman could sit sexy on her bare legs and still have some legs left over to run a business.  Somewhat devastating. Really charming.

There are 10 poems and 4 stories in this collection. The poetry tends to deal with larger, less personal issues, like money, sex, society, faith. Haircuts. The stories are more in depth, uniquely insightful about people and their relationships, effectively braiding image and occurrence together in a steady emotional progression. Cell fish, in particular, is especially moving, about a couple affected by illness.

Highly recommended. Many odd citrii.

Rejection junction, what’s your function?

I’m not sure if there’s room in the online world for yet another highly competitive lit mag, but the editors of Rejection Digest don’t give a flying teardrop. They want your work, but they’re picky, more than most– you have to PROVE yourself to them– your work has to have been REJECTED, at least once, to have a shot at getting in their precious digest, BUT if you can provide FIVE sufficiently valid/form/humiliating rejection e-mails (not including any from them, I assume), publication is GUARANTEED. As if.

Anyway, good luck. Fuck McSweeney’s, there’s a new game in town.

Submit

Submit to you —
could that be what you are saying?
the way ripples on the water
submit to an idling wing?

–Ono no Kamachi

Because it’s important

Mike Mitchell

Make a statement.

Free Philip Glass

“I believe that when we are in the presence of interpreted music, we are watching the creative process as it happens. It is a very special moment. It’s something that, while scientists are looking deep into space, looking for the moment of creation – how can we do that in our ordinary lives? I think we do it when we look at sports, when we look at music, when we look at dance. It’s a moment when we can participate in that moment of creation. It’s a powerful, powerful moment.” –Philip Glass

free mp3s here

Over Pushkin & Gogol

Incidences
Daniil Kharms

(7) Pushkin and Gogol
GOGOL falls out from the wings on to the stage and quietly lies there.
PUSHKIN appears on stage, stumbles over GOGOL and falls.
PUSHKIN: What the devil! Seems I’ve tripped over Gogol!
GOGOL (Getting up): What a vile abomination! You can’t even have a rest.
(Walks off, stumbles over PUSHKIN and falls) Seems I’ve stumbled over
Pushkin!
PUSHKIN (Getting up): Not a minute’s peace! (Walks off, stumbles over
GOGOL and falls) What the devil! Seems I’ve tripped over Gogol again!
GOGOL (Getting up): Always an obstacle in everything! (Walks off, stumbles
over PUSHKIN and falls) It’s a vile abomination! Tripped over Pushkin again!
PUSHKIN (Getting up): Hooliganism! Sheer hooliganism! (Walks off, stumbles
over GOGOL and falls) What the devil! Tripped over Gogol again!
GOGOL (Getting up): It’s sheer mockery! (Walks off, stumbles over PUSHKIN
and falls) Tripped over Pushkin again!
PUSHKIN (Getting up): What the devil! Well, really, what the devil! (Walks
off, stumbles over GOGOL and falls) Over Gogol!
GOGOL (Getting up): Vile abomination! (Walks off, stumbles over PUSHKIN
and falls) Over Pushkin!
PUSHKIN (Getting up): What the devil! (Walks off, stumbles over GOGOL
and falls into the wings) Over Gogol!
GOGOL (Getting up): Vile abomination! (Walks off into wings; from offstage)
Over Pushkin!
(Curtain)
(1934)

Somewhere graphite grey

Angela Simione

Hermitting
Angela Simione

I’ll go through all my papers today
Sort through the poems and paintings and make a home
there: between the ink and the page. Delicate
strange,
a forgiveness I can accept, somewhere graphite grey.

Smelling like melted wax and lit cigarettes,
hair shoved back in barrettes,
avoiding the phone and door knocks, slinking
shyly among strangers, admirers, and mothers.
I have a hope.

mending myself with a crochet hook, tangling
up a garden of black and white flowers,
avoiding chores, pajama noon
I am a kid again.

new white,
burritoed in blankets, eyebrows kissed and
notebook in hand.

I wanted to fuck a robot

So you want to be an astronaut
Rebecca Loudon

what hoodoo did you encounter
in the swamp
prying open shells with your hook
grip tight enough to turn a flywheel
six hash marks today
track your compulsion
slake your blue-
veined Jesus

clouds puckered from the north
at Yaquina Head steam rising
a constant foot-deep howl
I examined my body in hotel mirrors
that was my job across the country
Oregon Idaho Montana Illinois Virginia
coffee and a compass
my hair shorn
rolled whiskey in chloroform
worshipped your tongue’s pink pelt
holy holy holy
hot wet cloth pressed to a boil
on my pudendum

I wanted to fuck a robot
have him lurch above me
metallic thumb inside
his nictating lens
hey rube hey rube
I danced in a whirlygig dress
sea smell throbbing up

let’s fly in an aeroplane no storm but the Perseids
zip above the James River while all the tweeters
in the meadow tweet holy holy holy
lifted by a spaceship that proves
the great inconvenience of love
green lights spraying underneath
your metal thumbs
your Duchenne smile

Vodpod videos no longer available.

They have voices like human beings, but their roars are proverbs.
—Henry Darger

They spell very greatly

So very great

I have a piece up at for every year in honor of the year good beer became mandatory in Germany. That never happened here.