literature

Riding the Wave

Weather all storms. Eventually the sun will surely shine. In due time, after negative karma gets washed away, a feeling of purity and cleanliness will be felt. Radiate truth. Deconstruct lies. Banish wickedness. Embrace goodwill. Charity of the seven seas. Cross any body of water to reach the shoreline of inner peace. All paths lead to paradise.

A Tribe Once Called “Power from the Brain”

Author’s noteHouse Organ out of Youngstown, New York, edited and published by Kenneth Warren. Number 87, Summer 2014, just arrived in the mailbox. Some good shit in it. Comes stapled, folded in half, ten total 11×8 1/2 sheets, printed to equal 40 pages. No web site, but plenty of accolades. What a back to the future idea? Out of your house, on a printer, no internet connection.

Dispelling Weitko

Anyone who reads his work will quickly be made aware of the enormous amounts of study that lie behind the writing of Paul Levy—study in the form of wide and vast reading, of deep and patient thought, and, perhaps above all, a never-ending process of extraordinarily close observation. Observation of what? For the moment, the answer to that question can best be given in two parts. First, Paul Levy is an acute and close observer of the nature of life. Second, he is an acute and close observer of us, of we, of the ones who live inside of that life.

Poetry and Uppercuts: Orloski in 10 Sweaty Rounds

You get what you pay for, and if it’s money and debt, you get nothing, really. The money changers of culture have bastardized it until we have accepted 90 percent of NY books publishing and West Coast movie making. Forget about NYT Review of Books, APR, all the MFA rags, all the preening and ID politics and denuded life in all those poets’ works. Forget about Terri Gross of Fresh Air, The Q out of CBC, and freaks like Charlie “I Am an American-through-and-through” Rose.

Forty is the New 65 – And Stick that in Your 401(k)

Tax day in America — My Ass!
I’ve been meaning to fix up the bio-sketch below. Certainly, fix the age 56, since I hit 57 two months ago. Born in 1957, now 57 witnessing another lunar eclipse, and the great eclipsing of humanity by algorithmic putzes and their masters: too-big-to-fail multinationals and transfinancials and a media that are so whore-fied, that, well, the new Black is Orange.