Call For Submissions

You are calling for submissions
and I
am still on your mailing list.

This digitized sneer;
this unsolicited reminder.

I have worked to
put this all behind me.
I have walked backward
so that I might
bend down and erase my tracks.

Is this what you want? My submission?

My words, which you so blithely chewed and swallowed, are long
since excrement. I wager they were rough when they came out of
the other end.

You say you will not censor
any poet’s words
though long ago
your red pen
edited my life
mercilessly.

I sat and folded
your fucking zines
but commas
and periods
were already disappearing
from under my
sentences.
You left me without a clause.

Still,
you insist on sending these calls
and I will be deaf
from the ring
should I refuse to
answer.

This is what you asked for,
but not what you deserve.

This is my submission,
though I hope
you know by now,

I will never submit.

I’ve taken your name off of the screenplay

Wake up.

 

You were always unreliable,

Mank,

they told me not to hire you.

 

Said you’d drink me into the ground

and that you did,

though something must be said

for the journey itself.

 

So, no–

I don’t know what to think now,

except that angles like yours

don’t exist in nature.

 

I will label you a thief.

 

Tie your name to a string

and tie that string to my wrist

so that I drag it everywhere.

I will find the world’s dirtiest places

and walk until the soles of my feet

are gone.

 

And, lo,

the next time you try to sign something,

you will be at a loss.

Your hands will fill with soot.

 

Wake up.

Please respond.

Jamie Tanner Interview

The graphic my editor on UMR whipped up is so cute on this one, you just must be redirected to:

http://www.undressmerobot.com/umr1184132186.html?PHPSESSID=c3fd1e1790cea6c14ee08cf319fafd33

Review: Jamie Tanner’s The Aviary

from: http://www.undressmerobot.com

Jamie Tanner’s The Aviary, released by AdHouse Books this June, is a cyclone of surrealism and effortless elegance. The clean black and white look of the book doesn’t betray its thorny forays into dream worlds, repression, and lots of dismemberment, but it does complement those subjects. The mental landscape of this collection of 14 stories is staggering at first: I suggest that you don’t attempt to read it all in one sitting, because you’ll end up missing something. It’s like a meal with many courses which requires breaks for digestion.

The Quiet Bird-man, the premier product of the Casualty J. Organ Company, is our guide through Tanner’s fastidiously cultivated realm. Dressed to the nines, the Bird-man does not talk, but blinks with supreme authority. Although he’s marketed as a toy to amuse children, it’s apparent that he has unsettling human qualities. From the outset, part of his charm is his unfaltering poise and nebulous blinks, which can usually mean whatever the reader interprets. They sometimes seem benevolent, sometimes sadistic. He is a staple throughout the stories, as is his boss Mr. Organ, who seems to own everything in the unnamed town.

In the first story, we promptly see that, although there is much adventure, no one will classify this as a lighthearted romp. Tanner introduces a lonely old codger seemingly imprisoned in his isolation, telling the Bird-man of his obsession with mermaids. He admires them because they are free of licentious activity by sheer virtue of their physical makeup; something he wishes was his own destiny. This unwitting gentleman is only the opening victim of Organ’s behind-the-scene manipulations.

Miss Diamond, Organ’s assistant, first spews the fresh and delightful curses that pepper these pages. The use of blue language in a unique way befits the verboseness of the whole book; it’s strangely lyrical, academic, and crass at the same time. A talking dog (who is also a professor) apologizes, “I must say, it is merely my lack of thumbs that makes me brusque,” pages away from a robot making pronouncements such as “HOLY PILE OF FUCK.” Often, a single repeated sentence gives you the significance of a particular episode.

From the beginning, Tanner’s cinematic eye is apparent—the panels almost look like storyboards. Opting out of anything flashy (including color), the book stands on its sheer eccentricity and characters. Frequently, you’re only seeing one person/thing in a panel, which does more to highlight the individuals. There’s a lot of use of negative space and the composition of the frames never lags or bores. The weighty examination of love and death comprised in this book is illuminated with shockingly adorable characters. The Bird-man himself, Walt the young penguin, and Buttons the robot are just some examples. The innovation of The Aviary has to do with tiny novelties, such as when Tanner plays with time structure using placards labeled “Later,” “Eventually,” “Previously,” “See ‘Eventually’ as depicted earlier,” etc.

A revolving door of characters continues to intertwine and build through the stories, interacting or reacting to each other. It’s not unusual to meet pornographers with monkey heads or robot-headed boxers here and no one ever mentions this as being out of the ordinary. A man with the head of a cat walks around in his “un-death,” falling in love and falling apart physically, piece by piece. (Granted, this is a less than subtle metaphor, but one that most people can relate to.) Much that happens in this strange world is dealt with in a totally blasé manner, but it’s up to you to decide if the characters are horribly detached or simply desensitized to the bizarre and grotesque.

“Diamonds” neatly ties together the loose ends of the stories that precede it and gives the readers a better understanding of what exactly is going on. At this point, you really need it, and I know I was starting to doubt that explanation would be forthcoming, as is the case with some avant-garde and many independent comics. The last story, “Mine,” exposes even more, though in an agreeably vague way. “Diamonds” contains a glut of the recurring images: most importantly birds, water, and amputation. The title refers to the previously mentioned Miss Diamond and her sister, who is in a loveless marriage with a limbless comedian.

“Mine” is the final story and I won’t ruin that ambiguous gem, but my favorite of all the vignettes is the one right before, titled “Outside the Aviary.” I personally think it’s a better culmination of the journey than “Mine” but it may just be the style that I favor. It would have made a lovely ending in itself: the “patron of the pornographic arts,” Heinrich Bruno, presents his final exhibit. Dubbed A Series of Escapes, it presents photographic/art renderings of the major events in the book. The characters have just barely escaped incarceration, matrimony, and the boundaries of the body, as the advertisements for Bruno’s show boast. Their escapes don’t exactly place them in better positions than their imprisonments had. It’s a montage in panel form and a clever pay-off for the careful reader.

All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed The Aviary, partly due to my obsession with language and the general textbook tone of the book. The language, charming and somewhat anachronistic, definitely gives it a distinctive feel. The same goes for the art, which is the perfect counterpoint, working with the writing instead of trying to overpower it. Jamie Tanner achieves something innovative in this AdHouse release and hopefully we can expect more in the future.

Zygote in my Coffee: Issue 88

A new poem of mine is featured in the newest issue of Zygote in my Coffee (http://www.zygoteinmycoffee.com/). Just click the chick for the hot literary action.

Newsarama Reviews Hate Your Friends

My comic got quite a nice write-up from Ryan McLelland at http://www.newsarama.com, an all things comic related website by the folks of View Askew (Kevin Smith). Also featured is our company’s other offering by founder Michael Wood.

hate your friends #6
Love in a Time of Super-Villains #1
Space Monkey Comics – $2.50 each
www.spacemonkeyonline.com

It seems like the brains behind Space Monkey Comics can do no wrong with their two latest books. Many moons ago I had reviewed hate your friends and now the title is back with its sixth issue, a double sized issue that has the events of the five past issues come to a head.

It would be easy to compare hate your friends to the classic John Cusack film High Fidelity or the quasi-classic Rory Cochrane/ Renee Zellweger film Empire Records because both films deal with a record store and the personalities that work inside them. However as hate your friends has gone on, the characters go from being caricatures of those you might see working retail to feeling like real people that you care about issue after issue. This was very obvious as I reach through this latest issue where we see main character Phineas imploding he catches his roommate, who recently went to work at a big retail record store, hooking up with his best friend and bandmate. This all comes out just as Phineas’ band is about to release their latest CD, an album that looks to take the indy music scene by storm. However after the storm he’s just gone through, which includes his boss getting beat up in the music storm, Phineas has just about had enough of everything and everyone. The character of Phineas is written beautifully by creator/writer Kristin Blank who captures beautifully what it feels like to be a man scorned. The fact that his character development is only one of many throughout the issue marks this issue the best of a series that only continues to get better as each issue is released.

Michael Wood’s artwork helps bring the indy music scene to life in hate your friends but it his unique writing style that brings inanity to a whole new level in Love in a Time of Super-Villains #1. It’s a book that shows how superheroes would live if they really lived in our world. They are snobby. They are rude. They have agents. They all care about themselves. Yeah, pretty much how Angelina and Brad would act if they have superpowers. In the world where a superhero cares more about their popularity rating than defeating the villain, heroes Cosmic Man and The Amaze-On Princess wake up in their Las Vegas hotel room. Amaze-On is nursing a mean hangover and is unable to remember the night before. Something about Elvis or something…

Turns out both her and Cosmic Man got super-trashed and ended up getting the Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love package at the Chapel O’ Love. Amaze-On can’t believe it…she’s going to the Oscars with the Hawk next Sunday! Her approval rating will plummet like a stock market crash! Her only thought is to call her agent to try and sweep this mess under a rug, but as paparazzi do, someone snapped some shots of the couple wandering out of the chapel. The marriage made front page news but what is worse is that the public LOVE that the two are married. Suddenly two heroes who don’t really like each other have to continue like this just to placate their egos in the public’s eye. Wood shines on both series with a art style that is all his own and a writing wit that brings emotion and heart to even the stupidest of situations.

In Case of Rapture, Break Glass

from: http://www.thebeak.org

 (The Beak is a commentary site for much commentary. Spend some time there.)

Rapture Ready offers a handy little memorandum to print out and post on your refrigerator should the promised time come and you find yourself about to be yanked out of reality along with the rest of the righteous. As the Beak has always had an interest in public service, we offer our version of the Memo to use at will, should you find yourself stuck on Earth during the Rapture. This note can be thrown into the sky, in case of Rapture, and will surely be caught by someone ascending. Perhaps one of the chosen will actually give it to God, and maybe he’ll have mercy on the heathens, because at least we’re funny. It’s worth a shot. Memorandum Date: (Unknown) To: Those about to vanish/those who have already vanished From: Those languishing on Earth Re: Re: The truth about what happened Well, color us embarrassed! Despite all of our studies to the contrary, you crazy motherfuckers were right! I guess we’re pretty screwed. The note you left on the ‘fridge tells us: “We who belong to Christ were called into the air above the planet in the rapture,” and we’re a little confused, despite the explanations that follow. I think it’s the Tim LaHaye mention right at the beginning that threw us. You may not realize, but he’s not much esteemed in the academic and rational world. Either way, we’re still here, and from what you’ve told us…we have some preparations ahead. The Bible references are pretty handy, but since the Antichrist had us turn them all in, we can’t actually read what they say. So, yeah. It seems things are going to get rough. We who remain can’t even update our MySpaces anymore. Apparently, the people who run NetFlix have ascended, because we’re not receiving our movies, either. Some of us have even had to leave the house to retrieve our licentious entertainment. It’s pure terror. Really, your note was very thoughtful, especially the breakdown of the next seven years. I’m sure you know that we’re not much for planning that far ahead, usually. In fact, we were napping when the Rapture occurred. Trying to suss it out has been exhausting, so we’ll lie down again after penning our missive. Perhaps you’d consider this slothful, but you have to admit that if you were in our position, you’d be fairly tired as well. We have formed a Coalition of the Sheepish to try to combat the forces of evil that we denied. Mostly we meet every morning in shacks to eat doughnuts. Some of us cry; some of us watch America’s Next Top Whore of Babylon. Those of us with presence of mind have opened the backs of our necks to tear out the RFID chips that were inserted while we snoozed. At first, I thought my neck had been altered so that I could enter the Matrix and I was like, SWEEET! But, alas, the serial number was 666. Honestly, we’re pretty terrified. We just wanted to let you know that you’re perfectly justified in saying, “I told you so.” We’re going back to sleep now, as that’s the only plan that the CoS could approve by committee. We’re hoping that we can just doze for seven years. We know you wish us luck. Sincerely, The Heathens

A Brief Word on “The Hoax”

Today marks the release of Richard Gere’s new movie The Hoax, which examines the infamous con artist Clifford Irving. Irving’s claim to fame was an “authorized” biography of the reclusive Howard Hughes, which though the book was sold and money exchanged hands, was an utter fabrication. I haven’t seen it, and most likely won’t until I can put it in my NetFlix queue, but I feel obliged to use any soapbox I can to shout that there is already a film about Clifford Irving (and the world he became a seasoned fraud in, Ibiza) that I’m certain is much better and has been pushed into unfair obscurity. It’s not a reenactment. It’s not a documentary. It’s not an essay. It may be a documentary-essay. Orson Welles’ F for Fake began as an account of famed art forger Elmyr de Hory and ended up part biographical, history as it happened (in the case of Irving), an editing tour de force, a fake-out itself, and a totally engaging, infinitely fresh picture. It was one of Robert Anton Wilson’s favorite movies. It’s one of mine. I implore you to get a bottle of wine and sit down with it before you go to watch Gere make with the Hollywood version.

Naked Chocolate Jesus

from:  http://www.thebeak.org

 It’s naked, but is it Art?

I never thought I would have occasion to type the phrase “Naked Chocolate Jesus” into a search engine, but this implausible day has arrived. I can’t tell you how satisfying it was. Artist Cosimo Cavallaro planned to debut his latest sculpture “My Sweet Lord” in the Lab Gallery (located within the Roger Smith Hotel) during Holy Week, culminating with a midnight showing on Easter. This rendering of Mr. Jesus Christ is 6-feet tall, 200 pounds, stark naked, suspended above a chalk cross, and entirely made of delicious dark chocolate. I’m just guessing about the tastiness. The world may never know, because Cavallaro was shut down. Shocking shocker. Naked Chocolate Jesus was packed into some ice and sent away; no room at the inn, apparently. Once word got out about what would be on display at the Lab from April 2-7, the “watchdog” Catholic League got their loincloths all in a bunch and began to bombard the hotel with protests. Bill Donohue, the head of the CL, was very vocal about dissent to the exhibit. He called on his fellow faithful to boycott the hotel, imploring that it was already “morally bankrupt.” He actually called it “an all-out war on Christianity.” Please chew on that for a moment, folks. So, why the fuss? Is it the chocolate? Well, I’ve seen a chocolate Jesus before, and I’d be willing to bet that you have as well. I know you’ll think me a heathen, but I’ve even eaten a few. (Including a particularly palatable square that contained the Lord and all twelve of the apostles.) It certainly can’t be the nudity; there’s a naked Jesus statue in St. Peter’s. The problem can’t be the full Monty, right? That’s simply anatomy. Jesus was a man; he has been depicted as such before. Donohue has specifically cited the timing, but I’m not so sure this would fly with his organization at any point. Cavallaro can’t help it, Bill, this just happens to be the time when you will give him a large amount of free publicity. Cavallaro has a history of pretty disgusting food art. He’s covered the model Twiggy and a room in a Manhattan hotel in cheese and even sprayed pepper jack all over a house in Wyoming. His last exhibit at the Lab, in 2004, was a four-poster bed laden with 312 pounds of processed ham. The move to the chocolate medium just seems classier, non? Maybe we should be supporting him, instead of sending the NCJ off to an indefinite fate, if only to keep the chocolate coming and the rancid cheese out of the scene. Donohue reinforced his “bad timing” argument by stating that the gallery would not show Martin Luther King, Jr. with “his genitals exposed” on MLK day nor would it show Muhammed naked during Ramadan. (Martin Luther King, Jr. did not technically start a religion, but who am I to quibble with Mr. Donohue on any of his instructive opinions? Perhaps he has him mixed up with Martin Luther.) This would be the way to go, actually, for squat little Cosimo to maximize the firestorm and get the most exposure out of this incident. (That pun was not intended, but it is a joyful happenstance.) I see a series: all of our spiritual leaders, on their highest holy days, peeled lovingly from a naked, gleaming, cocoa mold. The Buddha would provide a treat for all of Manhattan. Maybe it’s me, but I think that’s a transcendental experience. The chocolate won’t last as long as marble, metal, or wood… but if the Easter bunny can be the star of Holy Week and Santa can steal Christmas, why can’t artists get in on the fun? Cavallaro describes his art on his website as “the struggle between need and desire; the known and unknown; the warm security of the womb and the chill uncertainty of the world.” Quite the tall order and I’m not certain that I could identify any of those themes in the Naked Chocolate Jesus. Somehow, it doesn’t matter. What matters to me now is where that thing went and how I can get an invite to the party where, inevitably, Jesus will be coming to dinner.

Archives of Poetry

One of my many web-lit duties is functioning as the Public Relations and Fundraising Director of the Cerebral Catalyst (http://www.cerebralcatalyst.com).  Archives of a sampling of my web published poetry can be found at the site, alphabetical or chronological.