Meditation on Gao Xingjian’s Soul Mountain by Ivan Klein

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Meditation on

Gao Xingjian’s Soul Mountain

 

by Ivan Klein

 
 
koho
 
 

Is there a way to this so-called Soul Mountain of his?
And why are we wandering this cluttered earth if not to find it?

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Secondary Living by Adam Kelly Morton

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Secondary Living

by Adam Kelly Morton

 
 

"Last Call at RedStar", Copyright © Devin McCawley, 2015

“Last Call at RedStar”, Copyright © Devin McCawley, 2015

 
 

The Oyster Shack is closed and Bob is drunk, upstairs doing his cash. With the lights out and the front door locked, the cops won’t be able to see Carole and me having a few nightcaps after hours. Not that they come around on Tuesdays anyhow. Or ever.
We’re on to whiskey with our beers. Bob’s iPod is playing Exile on Main Street. Carole is beside me smoking Next Reds, ashing into a conch as Mick belts out “Loving Cup”. Bob might join us later. It’ll be all right if he does, because there’s no way I’m going to fuck this bitch tonight. Tomorrow morning is another story. I’m hungry for it when I’m hung. It’s the best cure.
“D’où tu viens, exactement?” Carole asks through her brown teeth; when we first met, a few days ago, she told me they’re because of a calcium deficiency from when she was an infant. But I’m pretty sure it’s nicotine too. Dentists nowadays can fix brown teeth. Otherwise, Carole’s not bad. Her hair is greasy, but blonde when she washes it. She’s skinny, but she’s got a fine ass. I’ll tap that shit first thing, with her lying on her side. Just the way I used to with June.
For now, Carole wants to know where I grew up. I light up another Players and take a pull of my pint while staring up at the fisherman’s net. “Doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “Montreal.”
“Ouais, mais d’où?” She wants to know if I’m from the suburbs. Fucking downtown whores are all the same: French or English, they want to get an edge on you, so they can fuck you over. Why can’t they just be sweet?
Fuck it. I’ll tell her. “West Island,” I say.
“I knew it,” she says, in that nasal, whiny, Quebecker drawl — smoke pouring out of her dragon’s maw. “One time, I think about moving out there, for my two boys. But it too far from downtown without a car.”
I don’t say anything, and throw back my whiskey. Carole picks up our Cutty Sark and pours me another thick one, clanking the bottle back down on the blue tiles.

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For Hersch by Steve Dalachinsky

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for hersch

by Steve Dalachinsky

 
 

"St.Sebastian, Paris", Copyright © Steve Dalachinsky, 2015

“St.Sebastian, Paris”, Copyright © Steve Dalachinsky, 2015

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Duke & Jill by Ron Kolm — review by George Spencer

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Low-Rent Couple

Living in a High-Priced World:

Duke & Jill,

a collection of short stories by Ron Kolm

 

review by George Spencer

 
 

"Duke & Jill" by Ron Kolm. Cover by Jeffrey Isaac.

“Duke & Jill” by Ron Kolm. Cover by Jeffrey Isaac.

Duke & Jill
by Ron Kolm (Author),
Jeffrey Isaac (Illustrator), Bud Smith (Preface)
Unknown Press (April 28, 2015)
ISBN-10: 0996352619
ISBN-13: 978-0996352611
$12.55 US pbk | $16.86 CDN pbk | £8.65 UK pbk
102 pages, 5″ x 8″, Fiction

 
“You probably knew Duke and Jill at some point. They might have lived down the hall from you back in the day. Maybe you didn’t like them, or maybe you did. Maybe they scored for you, or you for them. Poet and literary impresario Ron Kolm represents this classic East Village trouble couple with the deadpan élan of a bohemian raconteur looking back from the other side of nowheresville.”

—Carl Watson, author of Hotel of Irrevocable Acts and Backwards the Drowned Go Dreaming
 
Ron Kolm’s book of interconnected short stories, Duke & Jill (Unknown Press, 2015), begins with the short declarative sentence: “Duke and Jill do drugs.” The events in these stories are centered around that fact; they’re filled with descriptions of the direct and collateral damage drugs do to them, as lovers and partners-in-crime, and to those around them. This all happens in that time, the ‘70s/’80s, when the variously designated Lower East Side, East Village, Alphabet City was a war zone — it was also a cradle of artistic freedom with the resultant creativity that came from it, but that’s another story.
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A Superintendent’s Eyes by Steve Dalachinsky — review by Mark McCawley

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A Superintendent’s Eyes

by Steve Dalachinsky

 

review by Mark McCawley

 
 
A Superintendent's EyesA Superintendent’s Eyes
by Steve Dalachinsky (Author), Arthur Kaye (Illustrator)
Revised and Expanded Second Edition
Unbearable Books/Autonomedia (July 8, 2013)
ISBN-10: 1570272727
ISBN-13: 978-1570272721
$13.61 US pbk | $11.33 CDN pbk | £10.99 UK pbk
180 pages, 5″ x 7.25″, Poetry
photographs by Arthur Kaye

 
 
“you fine poets who live among universities
you glorious academicians
can you see civilization in your own backyards
in the ethnic eyes of the shopkeeper
buried in one neighborhood forever
dryly breathing
under a petrified cross?

the years have changed
but the times have not.”

~Steve Dalachinsky, A Superintendent’s Eyes #1, “from the basement of the academy”, p.13
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