I’ve had a short story called “Neve” posted in this week’s edition of Bewildering Stories, the long-running Guelph-based online magazine of eclectic literature.
The Goose just posted my review of John Jantunen’s A Desolate Splendor. John is a Guelph-based novelist. A Desolate Splendor (ECW Press, 2016) is his second novel.
This is the fourth poem of Conversations with Viral Media, a series of publicly posted broadsheets that contain poems written in response to viral video, stills from those videos, and QR codes linking to the videos themselves. They are intended to comment on the way that viral videos can function as symptoms of our cultural dysfunction. They will be released periodically until I get bored. Links to all of the poems with their videos can be found on the Conversations with Viral Media page.
The world is comprised of broken people only – that is the whole of the world. If you start to believe otherwise, you are only forgetting your own brokenness.
She wears purple rainboots and purple yoga pants to lose an argument with her child about the toy he wants.
From under her matching purple straw hat, a “no” turns into a “maybe next time” into a “we’ll come back tomorrow” into an “okay, I’ll go get my wallet, but this is the very last time.”
She doesn’t even try to argue when he demands a pizza, which she orders on a phone in a purple protective case.
She tells him they’ll go pick it up in twenty minutes, but he’s hungry now, right now, so she buys him a chocolate bar while they wait, buys herself one too, in a purple wrapper.
Adam A. Donaldson interviewed me about Vocamus Press and the Book Bash Festival for his Guelph Politicast podcast. Have a listen.
My wife and I laid in bed late this morning, made love while the kids binged on Saturday morning television, had a lazy shower.
Then she baked bread with browned butter for the party at our friend’s place this evening, and my eldest son made chocolate chip cookie’s for his friend’s birthday party this afternoon, and I sauteed batches of mushrooms and sweet onions for another friend’s fiftieth birthday tomorrow.
I’m reducing the extra onions into soup as I write this. The house is full of astringent sweetness, and of C.D. Wright’s reflections on the nature of poetry, and of “Paloma” by MESTIS.