Matt Bell has redesigned his website. He says it his hand was forced. He also archived some of his stories that were published in print. A Certain Number of Bedrooms, a Certain Number of Baths is particularly excellent. Looks like Matt has some work forthcoming from fine venues like Hobart (again), Keyhole, Lamination Colony, No Colony, and, of course, Best American Fantasy 2008. Zing.
Ken Baumann said this: but man it's good people are making things i guess
The latest issued chapbook from Publishing Genius is now living and waiting to eyed. Link it up. Here is how Adam Robinson describes Nate Pritts's "Endless Summer":
Nate's chapbook is a series of poems called ENDLESS SUMMER. It's a pretty short piece with lots of repetition, yet somehow I think that it manages to spiral with rich affect. Summer is so active, and there's always so much happening, such a range of drastic splashes, and this series manages to capture that bedrock emotionality. What am I saying? I don't know, but here's something else: Nate Pritts writes words but after reading all of them, the words are gone. I don't remember the words, I remember the what.
Everyone probably already knows all of this.
But not this: today is an iron manhole cover burned into the sole of someone's foot.
"Try not to be so serious all the time." --Me, thinking, just now
Here is a piece of a new story I just drafted for the third time:
Father is draped over the windows. What is left of him, dried and stiff and burgundy-brown: somewhat wrinkled and dirty, bleeding and caked with soul.
This was an accident. It should be soil. Soil, parched and small and something to be washed away at night.
Mother has hung sheets soaked with Father's blood over the windows to keep out the demons and the sun. The flies still get in. They are hungry. Always hungry.
That will probably be cut or rewritten out of existence soon. Or not. I don't know.
Oh, and Blake Butler. Somewhere with ice cream earlobes and a picture of a giant frogneck goiter.
Blake has written another novel. These novels he writes are the incarnation of Lynchian literature. I would be interested to see what could happen if Blake put his recent novels through the Burroughs cut-up machine. I think Blake Butler is the Burroughs Cut-up Machine.