The Atrophied Bicycle Chain

I've been quiet these last few months, not only here (where I've never been particularly loud), but just in regards to writing in general. These last weeks, of reading Roberto Bolano, hearing news of acceptance for some of my poems, and the usual sense that I could always be doing more than I am have propelled me to write at nearly every free moment.

I've been kicking around some ideas on how to get Fuzz Against Junk 2 (which is not done) out. I really want to make it a print issue. I like to read on the subway and the eBook revolution has not been kind to poetry. Then again, with my girlfriend studying abroad in Spain, leaving me behind to the pay the rent, scarping together $300 will be pretty hard. So the online option is on the table.

I received my second package from Ugly Duckling Presse in the last few weeks and am just now getting around to looking at it. Even though I don't like everything they release, they are certainly a very inclusive press, which is something I can appreciate.

Anticipating: Ashbery's Rimbaud, Animal Collective in Prospect Park, tomorrow's poem.

Why not merely the despaired of occasion of wordshed

The first batch of invitations has been sent for the second issue of the magazine. It's a slow start, but once I get some work, I'll begin scoping out reams of paper and shopping around for cover art and a plate block to be made.

I'm still in recovery mode from the new year, as I had friends visit for a long weekend, one that we spent running around the city trying pack as much possible into three days.

Other than that, reading Bolano's The Savage Detectives and tapping out occasional poems on my typewriter.