Showing posts from October, 2011

Robert Kloss - A language piece, with the long strings of doomsday words doing the work of prophecy: How in those days we insulated the walls with hair, bones of children, farm animals dead. Entire horse carcasses often warmed the children within. Under the shadow of our aircraft a schoolyard of children become a river of tar

Robert Kloss, How the Days of Love and Diptheria, Nephew of Mud Luscious Press, 2011.

“Love & Diphtheria, yes: here Kloss does creation & destruction as it must be: in the same breath, a magnificent, unblinking act of remembrance & retribution, aimed at we who despite the skinless horses and burning bears would still go on, would deign to say anything at all with all this fire bursting out of people and the weird ground, and which from also comes a light.” – Blake Butler

"Let’s just get this out there: I think Robert Kloss is one of the most exciting writers to emerge from the indie world in the last few years, period. His language-heavy, seemingly-contradictory-but-it-works-perfectly-somehow-post-apocalyptic histories read like a tinted silent film: black and white with the faintest blush of something warmer, stranger. Read Kloss once and you’ll think him a pessimist; read him again and you’ll realize he’s a bit of a romantic, too. If not optimism, t…

Ryan Call - The weather is the biggest character of them all: a lot of broken skies, miraculous clouds, killer storms, fantastical happenings; a new city that will harness the power of the weather, people who use the wind as a weapon upon the battlefield

Ryan Call, The Weather Stations, Caketrain, 2011.

“When travel writer Alexander Frater wrote lovingly of his father’s fascination with weather, ‘he measured and recorded it, noting down items like precipitation, hours of sunshine and wind speed and direction,’ he might just as easily have been writing about Ryan Call. Call’s narrative consciousness chases clouds and storms the way paparazzi chase stars: not to quarry them but to worship them, ancient gods and goddesses that they are. In the story ‘My Scattering,’ a character asked to describe a storm cloud says, ‘I remember thinking I could nearly reach out and touch it, so low did it hang in the sky. It seemed to have come for me, selected me for the taking.’ In capacious tales of mythic scale, Call tends to the delicate yet sometimes brutal relationship between us and nature. The Weather Stations is a record of humans ravished by Olympian thunderheads and carried off to live among the clouds. As in the paintings of Odd Nerdrum, this…

Crispin Hellion Glover - I’m an auto-manipulator, I play with myself, I’m a masturbator, I’m so happy that I be a man, because I’ve got the whole world in my hands

Crispin Hellion Glover, Oak Mot, Volcanic Eruptions, 1991.

"Glover has written between 15 and 20 books. Oak-Mot and Rat Catching are featured prominently during his Big Slide Show presentation, and are presented as visual art as much as written art. He constructs the books by reusing old novels and other publications which have fallen into public domain due to their age (for example, Rat Catching was constructed from an 1896 book Studies in the Art of Rat Catching, and Oak-Mot was constructed from an 1868 novel of the same title). He rearranges text, blacks out certain standing passages, and adds his own prose (and sometimes images) into the margins and elsewhere, thus creating an entirely new story. Four of his books have been published so far, through his publishing company, Volcanic Eruptions. Other known titles include The Backward Swing, A New World and Round My House." - wikipedia

"The second book by actor-turned-fringe culture-icon Crispin Hellion Glover. As in h…