from Sad and Beautiful World #2, summer 2004
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This made the HELL out of my day. Glad you liked the new record (it’s definitely not for everyone) and I’m always happy to see one of my things next to one of the things I love the most (the Death in a Rifle Garden zine). Great meeting you on tour, as well. I thought the story of you eating the rejection letters was pretty damn excellent. Happy International Zine Month…

lil package from wearepioneerspress arrived safely in the mail on friday & made my day as per usual— posting this here mostly to get it out there that greater mythology blues, the album/zine shown here in orange, is my new favorite record & i haven’t been able to stop playing it on repeat in my car around town. go grab a copy if you’re looking for music that sounds best played real loud past midnight when you’re heading home with all the windows down and the state highway empty in front of you and you can feel the ghosts of the old south & the older south watching you from behind all the billboards. recommended for fans of cicadas, frogs, the blues, ghosts, etc.
in addition to how much i’m enjoying the album, adam (along with everyone else at PP) is one of the good guys— besides having helped out me & a whole legion of other folks with his big motherfuckin’ sad book, i met him at a book reading back in may and he really tactfully kept his cool while i spontaneously told him a story about how i ate one of my college rejection letters (thanks, adam). as always, i LOVE pioneers press and i can’t rep these guys enough, but i’m gonna keep doing it, so: in related news, it’s international zine month, AKA a perfect time to get on the bandwagon of one of the coolest distros i know & try to support them if you can, truly.

hey i completely agree with you about Greater Mythology Blues (the album, haven’t read the zine yet) - it’s so damn good!   been listening to it the entire year so far. “The boy born with 12 fingers, the prophecy, the destroyer…”and thanks for giving that D.i.a.R.G. zine a shot. hope you enjoy
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Preface 18 by Chelsey Minnis

from Bad Bad(Fence Books 2007)

*i hate my shitty camera

White Privilege (Scalps & Spoils)

A decent fucking
Frack accident
Earthquakes mount rush
                                 more presents
                         like a scalping

                        Trickled granite cheek
Doom an orphan’s bob n’ weave
         donkey kong
                              down beneath
Until he trainhops a Thunderline
                     head west in rain
Like ecstatic dance, escaping
                                         police. Last night
 they circled him for defacing property -
             chalk mark on metal
Something man to man
          chickenscratched like:
Fuck Yr Crazy Horse Pointing Too
& maybe a shaky bozo texino beside

                                      you can imagine 
The privileged feeling: slips
Through a heavy fine one death
                                          dry night
& this morning faces
   this murderous site, american burial
          crumbling wild hillside 

Torch Ballads zine in SF


thanks to Breezy at the great DIY shoppe Needles & Pens, my zine Torch Ballads finally has a local home here in San Francisco for the summer. go buy a copy while they last. $4 
16th St. btwn Guerrero & Dolores in the mission


s/o to Breezy for hooking it up. she carries the zine Asswipe here too, 5 issues

A Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing, A Many Pointed Buck Shadow
Found Painted On The Sidewalk In SOMA
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The Making Of The Horn Spoon by Gary Snyder

from Myths & Texts (Hunting section)
Totem Press, 1960

Pitch Fork

eden   hazard

Us, Thieves


Cousin wonders why

           I don’t
                      return his calls
                      the ex junky, always
calls me to a blonde Jesus
 or some othersuch refusal
to think for oneself. I found Jesus
Arab, moving 
                     from recovery to recovery.
                     From recovery:
a discomfort -
                  buried in stories
half-told. The parts like
                                  stolen jewelry
                  that seem holy
family heirlooms, those rings
            his mom inherited, he pawned.
                                         That Pontiac
his sister lent, he wrecked.
From relapse 
     to relapse it’s never all told
                        & never untold. My cousin
wonders why
                     they won’t forgive his shivs
of their deepest trust in his knotty veins;
              What’s thrust up his nose
will occasionally bleed out
  when his mom wears out
her usual jewelry won’t ever be heirloom;
                           Won’t ever be a car loan
when he’s late for the horse tracks, sister
home with her kids
                   & I don’t return his calls either
                   & I don’t relearn his Jesus
I’m not always there for you Cousin, my blood
reminded of what it is to hide a stolen jewel.
My phone in my hand, buzzing
                           hand buzzing,
                           hand              inalienable
like what it is to wreck a loved one’s
borrowed trust. Moves from relapse to relapse
         existence moves through recovery
and a part
                         move in spite.


Sad She Said 
Am I Priity

"I got intrigued by the look of individual words. The word ‘guarantee,’ for instance, looks to me a bit like a South American insect."
Aram Saroyan looking at language in poetry (via The Poetry Foundation)
Same Ol’ Say Nothing Summer

Ve Not
Had An
In Month
  ay Nothing

Dont Lie
             Summer Out
Dont It?

Animal Acts by Charles Simic