Today I found out that the Poetry Foundation’s Harriet blog highlighted my conversation with Ed Steck, author of The Garden.

Today I found out that the Poetry Foundation’s Harriet blog highlighted my conversation with Ed Steck, author of The Garden.

Shameless dirtbag, Rauan Klassnik, had the nerve to ask me why people should read Deluge this September. And then he did what he always does. Posted it on HTMLGIANT…

Shameless dirtbag, Rauan Klassnik, had the nerve to ask me why people should read Deluge this September. And then he did what he always does. Posted it on HTMLGIANT

I had an incredible conversation with Ed Steck about The Garden: Synthetic Environment for Analysis and Simulation (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2013), a suffocating book of holograms, hauntings, and tunnels of code.
PC: “Exploration is a language of progression.” I open this book. I start at the beginning. By page 11, I am referred to the Appendix at the back of the book. I have to read the fine print if I want to advance, right? (Advancement is key, said someone important once and probably on TV.) The beginning of this book—this Garden—seems to also be the end. At this point I feel like I’m following instructions. I feel like a far less subversive reader than when I began (like when I was trying to decipher the censored text). I’m definitely following instructions now. Why? Because I desire something? Why do I want to go exploring? I want to advance because advancement leads to answers, right? Why am I persisting, Ed?
ES: You are persisting because being mechanical is natural. Naturalism is a mechanism. As I mentioned earlier, The Garden, at times, is a translation of perception, and in this instance, it is a translation of form. The Garden, the book, is a map, a directory. I wanted it to be read as a manual. Or, to appear to be able to be read as a manual, rather. And, to advance through a manual, the reader has to follow the rules of the system created by that document. It marches you through the confinement of that reading experience. It’s weird, because I realized that later on in the process of writing it – the inclusion of the appendix was something to contain the narrative of the text, to contain the landscape within it. It’s evil to be lead through your own mind, to have direction decided for you. And, I think this is where desire fits in, to break out of that mode of instruction. 
[Click] to continue reading the interview over at The Fanzine

I had an incredible conversation with Ed Steck about The Garden: Synthetic Environment for Analysis and Simulation (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2013), a suffocating book of holograms, hauntings, and tunnels of code.


PC: “Exploration is a language of progression.” I open this book. I start at the beginning. By page 11, I am referred to the Appendix at the back of the book. I have to read the fine print if I want to advance, right? (Advancement is key, said someone important once and probably on TV.) The beginning of this book—this Garden—seems to also be the end. At this point I feel like I’m following instructions. I feel like a far less subversive reader than when I began (like when I was trying to decipher the censored text). I’m definitely following instructions now. Why? Because I desire something? Why do I want to go exploring? I want to advance because advancement leads to answers, right? Why am I persisting, Ed?


ES: You are persisting because being mechanical is natural. Naturalism is a mechanism. As I mentioned earlier, The Garden, at times, is a translation of perception, and in this instance, it is a translation of form. The Garden, the book, is a map, a directory. I wanted it to be read as a manual. Or, to appear to be able to be read as a manual, rather. And, to advance through a manual, the reader has to follow the rules of the system created by that document. It marches you through the confinement of that reading experience. It’s weird, because I realized that later on in the process of writing it – the inclusion of the appendix was something to contain the narrative of the text, to contain the landscape within it. It’s evil to be lead through your own mind, to have direction decided for you. And, I think this is where desire fits in, to break out of that mode of instruction. 


[Click] to continue reading the interview over at The Fanzine

I utilized both Swedish and English to compose these five poems. They come from a longer work-in-progress called The House of the Tree of Sores. And a huge thank you to Steve Halle for publishing this work in Seven Corners.

I utilized both Swedish and English to compose these five poems. They come from a longer work-in-progress called The House of the Tree of Sores. And a huge thank you to Steve Halle for publishing this work in Seven Corners.

"Jack Nicholson’s mind is possessed. Like my body, my dress."

Head over to Montevidayo to read excerpts from my translation of Sara Tuss Efrik’s “The Night’s Belly,” a long poem of wombs and charred rooms influenced by Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980), the story of Sleeping Beauty (or Thorn Rose; Little Briar Rose), Little Red Riding Hood, and possibly even Polanksi’s Rosemary’s Baby (1968). “There are plots against people, aren’t there?” This is the question a frantic, phone booth-encased Rosemary desperately asked after being cruelly deceived by her husband. In “The Night’s Belly,” Efrik’s female protagonist similarly carries a child of unknown origin. A swelling devil-red child—sometimes described as having pincers, or flapping wings. A throbbingly painful monstrosity. Possibly the child of her husband’s “red mistress” (who later evolves into more of a Macbeth-style witch-mistress), Efrik’s protagonist continuously obsesses over the unfaithful husband’s activities.


[Click] to continue reading

BEWARE OF A HOLY WHORE,  a Troyan / Göransson production

"Channeling a conversation between the ruins of the Cold War with Berlin as the epicenter of erotic destruction and the prostitute as the figure of survival and economic post-war flourishing, ‘BEWARE OF A HOLY WHORE’ is a psychosexual remapping of desire and capital. Using the figures of Fassbinder’s BRD Trilogy and other filmic and cultural sources, the whore becomes a woman to be revered rather than shunned as she presides over a funeral for capitalism and the city, as a future site of freedom and joy.

This performance is a new video and written work created in collaboration by Johannes Goransson and Cassandra Troyan for Word Weekend at the MCA. It will take place on Sunday the 27th at 1PM in the Kanter meeting room on the first floor.”

Ginger Ko reviews Bruce Covey’s Change Machine over at Fanzine: "I mean, everything is a part of the Change Machine world; there is the particularity of molecular lattices, industrial processes, apropos remarks, one-second memories, and they all manage to avoid any twinge of exclusiveness. There is something exciting about the evenly-paced Change Machine. There is no sinister overwhelming, there is Covey to catalogue and curate, to point out the hidden objects in the visual and psychic goulash. Covey’s poems sustain because it is not an apocalyptic piling-on of substances, it is a good-humored acknowledgment of the individual pecks that make up our pointillistic postmodern.”Ginger Ko writes from Wyoming. Her poetry collection MOTHERLOVER is forthcoming from Coconut Books.[Click] to continue reading

Ginger Ko reviews Bruce Covey’s Change Machine over at Fanzine:

"I mean, everything is a part of the Change Machine world; there is the particularity of molecular lattices, industrial processes, apropos remarks, one-second memories, and they all manage to avoid any twinge of exclusiveness. There is something exciting about the evenly-paced Change Machine. There is no sinister overwhelming, there is Covey to catalogue and curate, to point out the hidden objects in the visual and psychic goulash. Covey’s poems sustain because it is not an apocalyptic piling-on of substances, it is a good-humored acknowledgment of the individual pecks that make up our pointillistic postmodern.”




Ginger Ko writes from Wyoming. Her poetry collection MOTHERLOVER is forthcoming from Coconut Books.

[Click] to continue reading

I reviewed Christine Wertheim’s mUtter-bAbel for The Fanzine:“‘waaa unnnnce upon a t t t time th th th’” The insistent pale day of pAge. The ashy, onamatopoeic gradations of Christine Wertheim’s mUtter-bAbel!—the post-hymen song’s exposure to the first light that veers itself into an infant’s eyes! The chaotic baby-babble pile-up of born and unborn betweenings of gender!—of female or male presence?—of what does our future hold? What is the cost of our network of Symbolic relations? What should readers make of this disheveled gash-environment of “s/he” noises persisting from behind a uterine curtain of crayonic impasto? Imperfect, our future? Hell yes! Imposters, future parents? Accusations will soar! (Like our world’s inevitable drone-increase!) Wertheim’s mUtter-bAbel is about our future. Our most current archaeology of knowledge as well as our TBD future-oriented archaeological endeavors.”[Click] to continue reading

I reviewed Christine Wertheim’s mUtter-bAbel for The Fanzine:

“‘waaa unnnnce upon a t t t time th th th’” The insistent pale day of pAge. The ashy, onamatopoeic gradations of Christine Wertheim’s mUtter-bAbel!—the post-hymen song’s exposure to the first light that veers itself into an infant’s eyes! The chaotic baby-babble pile-up of born and unborn betweenings of gender!—of female or male presence?—of what does our future hold? What is the cost of our network of Symbolic relations? What should readers make of this disheveled gash-environment of “s/he” noises persisting from behind a uterine curtain of crayonic impasto? Imperfect, our future? Hell yes! Imposters, future parents? Accusations will soar! (Like our world’s inevitable drone-increase!) Wertheim’s mUtter-bAbel is about our future. Our most current archaeology of knowledge as well as our TBD future-oriented archaeological endeavors.”

[Click] to continue reading

A new excerpt from Johannes Göransson’s The Sugar Book has been featured over at The Fanzine.

A new excerpt from Johannes Göransson’s The Sugar Book has been featured over at The Fanzine.

extended chokes / trunks & palm-swell soft-recoilingThanks to Chris Holdaway and Lauren Strain for publishing an excerpt from One Hundred Acres in the sixth issue of Minarets, the literary magazine of Compound Press.

extended chokes / trunks
& palm-swell

soft-recoiling

Thanks to Chris Holdaway and Lauren Strain for publishing an excerpt from One Hundred Acres in the sixth issue of Minarets, the literary magazine of Compound Press.

"She’ll always be illiterate, since she can’t read the letters of the alphabet, but now she can read one character and knows that the alphabet isn’t the only system of writing in the world," from Yoko Tawada’s Where Europe Begins (Translated by Susan Bernofsky and Yumi Selden)

"REAGAN says RONALD REAGAN a healthier, handsomer hair / in Jeris’ name, we pray: SHAMPOO WHIP! SO ECONOMICAL!"Photo credit: Joyelle McSweeney

"REAGAN says RONALD REAGAN a healthier, handsomer hair / in Jeris’ name, we pray: SHAMPOO WHIP! SO ECONOMICAL!"

Photo credit: Joyelle McSweeney

Trailer I made for Kim Hyesoon’s SORROWTOOTHPASTE MIRRORCREAM—a collection of poems translated by Don Mee Choi.

(Now available from Action Books)

“PQRS is a mess of genre, mixed media, and script; it is both part poem and part critical essay. In his notes, Patrick Durgin explicitly states that sections of this piece were taken from his other works, lifted wholesale and placed after the speaking colon. This is a kind of conceptualism: take the genre and fill it until it exceeds its own boundaries and becomes something else, or something several. 
What does it mean when our work is easily archived, searched, collated, cut apart, pasted back together, quantified, shared, compressed, leaked, and otherwise shifted from one place to another? Its materiality is questioned, since material things aren’t supposed to be that mutable, although maybe that’s naive. Still, what does it mean when our genres are wholly pierced through and bled out? According to PQRS, it means nothing. Or, it means only possibility. In this demi-play, Durgin uses the form of a play’s speaking action to build deep trenches between what is being said, who is doing the speaking, and the origin of those words.”[Click] to read Drew’s full article via Fanzine

PQRS is a mess of genre, mixed media, and script; it is both part poem and part critical essay. In his notes, Patrick Durgin explicitly states that sections of this piece were taken from his other works, lifted wholesale and placed after the speaking colon. This is a kind of conceptualism: take the genre and fill it until it exceeds its own boundaries and becomes something else, or something several.

What does it mean when our work is easily archived, searched, collated, cut apart, pasted back together, quantified, shared, compressed, leaked, and otherwise shifted from one place to another? Its materiality is questioned, since material things aren’t supposed to be that mutable, although maybe that’s naive. Still, what does it mean when our genres are wholly pierced through and bled out? According to PQRS, it means nothing. Or, it means only possibility. In this demi-play, Durgin uses the form of a play’s speaking action to build deep trenches between what is being said, who is doing the speaking, and the origin of those words.”

[Click] to read Drew’s full article via Fanzine

you’re invited. cosmic wolves and poems. and prose.

you’re invited. cosmic wolves and poems. and prose.