Poems Are Reports From Inner Space by Stephen Morrissey

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Poems Are Reports

From Inner Space


by Stephen Morrissey


"Dark City" © 2015 Erik La Prade

“Dark City” © 2015 Erik La Prade

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Small Objects That Changed My Life: Shouting At The Ground by :Zoviet*France: radio essay by bart plantenga

Posted on by bartplantenga Posted in Audio, Audio / Video MnemoTechnics, Bart Plantenga, Essay, Music | 2 Comments

Screen Shot 2015-10-09 at 11.58.12Listen now as you read

“A silent man, walking in solitude by a mountain stream… We begin to see what is real and what really deserves our allegiance.” • Gary Snyder

bart plantenga

The first disc I’d bring along to a deserted island is this one – along with The Gentle Side of John Coltrane and Ascenseur pour l’échafaud by Miles Davis. Never mind that I only have Shout on a poor-quality cassette. In 1999, I was asked to participate in an art exhibit entitled “Small Objects That Changed Your Life” in De Appel Arts Centre in Amsterdam. I placed this tape with the below self-made cover – a small detail clipped from a Bruegel painting in a magazine + a dried Paris leaf – into the exhibit with a short explanation. That I never hesitate to mention it when this question comes up is impressive since I have listened to literally thousands of songs and albums and whenever someone asks for a Top 10 of anything, I usually come up with a Top 25 + a mea culpa. There are so many deserving records, so many under-listened-to artists. And yet…

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Meditation on Gao Xingjian’s Soul Mountain by Ivan Klein

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Meditation on

Gao Xingjian’s Soul Mountain


by Ivan Klein


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

Posted on by urbangraffito Posted in Poetry, Writing | 1 Comment

for hersch

by Steve Dalachinsky


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

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

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