Friday, November 28, 2008

Newspaper Cover

this one's a double cover...

A mountain-king (someone from Monterrey) kills himself


Police Wounded

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Black Ocean Special (Chance to get a copy of Holy Land at a great deal)

I just heard that my publisher is running a special this Friday,....

So, if you've been thinking of snagging a copy of "Holy Land" and haven't bit just yet then this would be a great time to get it with no shipping charges and get a copy of, let's say, Zach Schomburg's "The Man Suit" or Paula Cisewski's "Upon Arrival" thrown in for free,....

(only potential catch is that you need to pay with paypal....)

Black Ocean Celebrates Black Friday

***Buy One, Get One Free***

On November 28th, from 12:01am to 11:59pm, buy any book priced $11.95 or more and get a second title of your choice FREE (offer does not apply to issues of Handsome). Just write in a note on the PayPal order page which title you’d like to receive. And, as always: Free Shipping! Go to to place your orders.

Support independent publishing and have a very handsome holiday.

Love Janaka

Tuesday, November 25, 2008


some stuff
Forthcoming from Rauan Klassnik:

"Ringing"-- A Chapbook from Kitchen Press.
a collection of "I want to fuck you" poems.
(early 2009)

"Dreaming"-- a Chapbook from Scantily Clad Press.
(Summer 2009)

7 poems in Coconut

3 (or 9, depending on how you count) poems in
Double Room

3 poems in Typo
(early 2009)

3 Poems in Tarpaulin Sky
(about now)

More Mexican Newspaper Front Pages

Nov. 20th-- Decapitado y Quemado
(Decapitated and Burned)

Nov. 25th-- Se Ahogo un Desconocido
(Unidentified man drowned)

Monday, November 24, 2008


i recently subscribed to HTMLGIANT and have enjoyed many of the entries on it. Today, for example, there appears a blistering attack on Tao Lin.

Tao Lin is not a ‘good guy’

(for whatever it's worth i don't know Tao Lin or his work really.... but this post is worth looking at,...)

Asesinan A Taxista

Taxi Driver Killed. (throat slashed).

Friday, November 21, 2008

Secuestrado y Torturado

Mexican newspapers like to feature graphic photos on their front covers. This is seems is what sells here. The cover of this morning's Meridiano is a relatively mild example.
A waiter, kidnapped and tortured.

Manta Rays

In Huatulco we saw hundreds of medium sized Manta Rays (about a foot and half to two feet across). Often they'd jump out of the water. Sometimes three or four at the same time, or in quick succession. They made big splashes and a couple of times they flipped over in mid-air and landed on their backs. The captain of our "lancha" told us that some people think they're looking to see where the coast is. I think they're just having fun.

Thursday, November 20, 2008


Here's a poem that for many reasons I can't see myself trying to be published. except for here on this Blog. Where I can do whatever I want. Damn, I'm in a mood today.



Like trees, there are three types of God. The first is flowering, and filled with fruit. Always. Eat, drink and be merry! The second you are tied to. The side hard with sun. And you are lashed. But these trees both live inside the 3rd——the Tree of Life. It’s the most perfect, beautiful and glorious. And it is going to die with you.


Travel Writing

Just got back from a week in Oaxaca. Beautiful place. And while sitting in the plaza there one mid-afternoon I thought about how much Travel Poems bother me.

I mean the Travel Poems written by beginner or intermediate poets. This is how it usually goes. A poet goes on a trip. He or she sits in a plaza, or by a castle, on the banks of the river, etc-- he or she has some deep thought he or she's only vaguely aware of. Jots down some notes that either's the poem itself or with a few revisions will be. The title of this poem invariably references the plaza or castle or river and definitely the exotic and mysterious city, town or village in which the poet finds him- or herself.

So, in my journal right now I have a couple of poems entitled "Oaxaca." And I'm confident in saying that these poems are not like the ones I'm chastising. And I may even keep the title(s) "Oaxaca."

I'm feeling a bit Silliman-esque as I write this. So, dream about me.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Wednesday, November 12, 2008


Brian Foley's SIR! magazine is now up on line and lots of great work's included....

Monday, November 10, 2008

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Ron Silliman Dream #1 (2nd batch): Japan

Ron and I are in a plane. An old one. A bomber, and we’ve got a bomb in back, and we’re headed for Japan I guess.

“Ron,” I say. “Shouldn’t we talk about this?”

“Listen, you prick,” he says. “This isn’t a little Haiku joke or sitting down to blog.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean,” I reply. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

But Ron’s shaking his head like a frustrated ape.

“You don’t understand a thing, do you,” he spurts out, and he’s all red and purple and he’s practically foaming.

“These people don’t even write poetry any more,” he fumes. “All they do’s sit around and watch Robert Hass movies.”

“You know,” he continues, choking up, “they don’t even know who I am. A recent poll showed that only 4 people in the whole of Japan know who I am and in the fullness of time you know that’s only going to get worse. Much worse.”

“In 30 years what is my legacy going to look like?” he continues, whining. “O, Bob Hass. Bob Hass. Bob Hass”

But then, suddenly, he snaps out of his funk violently.

“These bastards need to die,” he screams. That’s all the fire he’s got though——and all he manages, now, between fits of sobbing, is “need to die, need to die” in a very low, eerie murmur.

I roll down the window, and float out.

I’m coming in towards my house and I’m wondering if my Love Birds’ eggs have hatched yet. I’m suddenly really worried about them.

Ron Silliman Dream #2 (2nd batch): Dolls

I walk into the game room and Ron’s on the floor playing with dolls.

“Do you know,” he says, as he glances up, “that Chaucer played with dolls. Coleridge too. Basho and Ikkyu. And when Berg translated that crazy monk he played with dolls too. Sometimes all night.”

Silliman pauses and stares at me profoundly and then adds, “A kind of method acting, ya know.”

“You’re making this shit up, pal,” I tell him, as I softly punch his shoulder. (and I’m thinking how nice it is to be so chummy.)

“This’ll prove it,” he says, passing the phone to me——and it’s a voice as though on a loop, repeating over and over

“Stevie Berg here.. Stevie Berg here.. Stevie Berg here.. Stevie Berg here.. Stevie Berg here..” etc etc

Finally, I interrupt: “Do you play with dolls, Steve? Ron says you do.”

“Come on over,” another voice replies (different from the one on the loop). “ And I’ll show you.” And it hangs up before I can say anything else.

Ron and I are trudging along a beach. There are beat-up dolls everywhere.

“These are all Stevie Berg’s,” Ron says, beaming.

And sure enough when I pick one up, and look closely, the proof’s right there on its ass in still-shining blue ink

“Stevie Berg’s.”

Ron Silliman Dream #3 (2nd batch): Cactus

I’m sitting on a rock with God. Below us in a field of cactus a naked Ron Silliman is scurrying after a rabbit.

Again and again it looks like Ron’s about to nab it but he either mistimes his final leap or the rabbit’s too slick and he ends up in cactus. Usually face-first.

But, a couple of times, tumbling over, it’s ass-first. All credit to Ron, though, he’s diligently and painstakingly removing all the needles (sometimes with the help of a mirror he’s produced from who knows where.)

I look over at God. He’s blank-faced.

“Are you upset, disappointed, disillusioned...?” I ask.

“O, no,” he says, “I’ve seen much worse.” And for a moment it looks as though a smile’s flickering across his tough face.

Meanwhile, Silliman’s back in cactus.

“Ouch!” I exclaim. “That was a bad one.”

“You know,” God says, “he really does have a very good heart.”

“You’re probably right,” I mumble, “but the problem with Ron is that he has absolutely no f-cking sense of humour.”

And now, I am sure, God is smiling.

Ron Silliman Dream #4 (2nd batch): Core Strategies

The crowd all around me’s going nuts and I climb into the ring. Ron’s in my corner, and he’s screaming:

“Remember what I told you, son, remember what I told you.”

Yeah, yeah, I’m thinking. This is going to be a piece of a cake. A piece of cake. A real piece of cake.

“Just go East,” Ron’s booming. “Just go East.”

My opponent’s entering the ring, the crowd’s gone silent, and, damn, he is f-cking enormous, with a Mohawk, earrings and studs. And he’s leaping around the ring like a jack-hammer.

And, O no!——the crowd’s started chanting “The hammer.”

“The hammer. The hammer. The hammer.”

And now the ring announcer, a fat version of Michael Buffer, introduces my opponent as the “All-Time King, Bill ‘the hammer’ Snakely.”

I’m getting pummeled. Snakely’s all over me. Nothing helps. I even try reciting the opening to Chaucer’s Tales:

“Whan that April with his showres soote
The droughte of March hath perced to the roote” etc etc

No help.
Ron’s screaming, Bill’s hammering, I’m bleeding.
I am going to die, I think. I am going to die.

But then a tiny little voice comes to me like a water-lily: remember the core strategies of abstraction, son. remember the core strategies of abstraction.

And I am expanding. I am burning. Nothing can stop me. I am all-powerful. Snakely is nothing !!!

Ron Silliman Dream #5 (2nd batch): Tolstoy's

My wife and I have been invited to dinner at Tolstoy’s. We arrive two minutes late and I’m concerned.

Ron Silliman, the butler, answers the door, and he looks a bit pale.

Approaching a huge, bear of a man, Ron the Butler squeaks out: “Senor Tolstoy, may I present Rauan and Edith Kl——“

But before he can finish, Tolstoy, who’s lurched forward at least 10 feet in one giant bound, slaps him in the face.

“You impertinent bastard,” he growls. “In this house you will learn some respect... Yes, sooner or later you will learn some respect.”

At dinner while trying to reposition my wife’s butter knife Ron knocks over a wine glass and Tolstoy’s grabbed him and thrown him up against the wall.

“You filthy dog,” he’s screaming. “You filthy dog.”

“I like these two, “ my wife says. “I want to see more of them. Buy them for me, darling. O, please, buy them for me. O, please, please, please say you will!”

When, finally, I look back Tolstoy and Ron are dancing to a slow Big-Country song and Ron’s burrowing his head into Tolstoy’s chest and he seems to be sobbing.

“Old woman Time and her slaughtered chicken,” I pronounce gravely.

“F-ck you, Charles Simic,” Ron blurts out, and they’re both glaring at me quite ominously and now I feel like I’m The Little Prince and I need, desperately, to apologize to my 9th French Grade Teacher for calling The Little Prince an idiot and tell her I didn’t mean it though I did mean it.

Ron’s sobbing even harder now. And I’m feeling very guilty.

“I didn’t mean any of it,” Tolstoy assures him. “I didn’t mean any of it, Ronny. None of it at all, my boy.”

Ron Silliman Dream #6 (2nd batch): Gorgeous

I’m walking through tall, dry grass and suddenly Ron Silliman’s whispering to me:

“Remember when the days were long
And rolled beneath a deep blue sky”

I look around but I’m completely alone and, so, I keep on shopping. But when I reach for a carton of eggs

“But I know a place where we can go
And wash away this sin”

Again I look around——but, alas, nothing.

Then, while I’m unpacking, reaching deep into the sack for a bag of asparagus

“We’ll sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass wave in the wind.”

Again I look around and this time I notice a note on the refrigerator: “Come upstairs”--- and there are candles all the way upstairs and then down the corridor and all through the bedroom. I knock on the bathroom door:

“Come in, baby. It’s Ron. It’s Ron.”

And, there, rising out of a mountain of bubbles is the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen——a bit like Botticelli’s Venus, but so much greater...

Stepping into the steaming hot bubbles I take her, giggling, in my arms...

“Who knows how long this will last
Now we’ve come so far, so fast
But, somewhere back there in the dust
That same small town in each of us”

Ron Silliman Dream #7 (2nd batch): So Much Fun


Ron comes running up to me over the dunes. He’s had his hair braided and, Christ!, I had no idea his hair was so long and so exquisite and so shimmery (maybe’s he’s got extensions?) and it’s billowing and bouncing and he’s getting closer, and closer...

“My God,” he says, panting. “I thought you were lost. I thought I was never going to find you.

I drop him off at his hotel and he throws his arms around me and kisses my neck.

“I had so much fun,” he sighs.

I walk into my office where a fax’s unfurling——

“I am so happy, Ron” it reads, and below that a couple of confidently drawn
heart-shapes ——

The phone’s ringing. It’s Ron:

“I need to see you. Where are you reading next? St. Louis? Chicago? Borneo? I don’t care, wherever——I’ll be there with bells and whistles on.

I’m feeling giddy. It’s so nice to be pursued like this. And Ron must be able to sense this. This is what the phrase “meant for each other” must mean I think.

“O, Rauan,” Ron purrs. “I just want to make you happy. I’ll do anything you want. Anything at all. Just please don’t kiss and tell,... O, hell, I don’t care——go ahead and kiss and tell... I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I am obsessed. You are my North, my South, East, my fcking West. My working week. Damnit, Rauan, I have stopped all the clocks, Rauan. I have cut the dog. I have silenced the pianos. And love, my love, Rauan, is not going to die! It will last forever. It will last forever. I am the stars, Rauan. The packed-up moon, Rauan. This mantled sun, Rauan. These circles moaning. Public doves. Black cotton gloves. O, Rauan!”

More Silliman Dreams

if you're interested in first batch of Silliman dreams then go into this blog's October archives by clicking here and scroll down a few posts

Wednesday, November 5, 2008



(and if you're interested in seeing more of my stupid drawings visit
my blog dedicated to it

Blue Mountain (Pendleton)

Last Wednesday, October 29th, I read at Blue Mountain Community College. It was a great experience in many ways.

1) Thanks to Shaindel Beers for organizing the reading, promoting it, and getting such a large and enthusiastic crowd.

2) Thanks to Michael, "the student."

3) Adam. After the reading Adam asked me if I'd read Bukowski. I said I hadn't. After Shaindel's class, which i guest taught, Adam gave me a Bukowski book. I read most of it on the drive to Seattle and really enjoyed it. Thanks, Adam.

The drive from Portland to Pendleton was very scenic for the most part, and then again from Pendleton to Seattle. The mountains seemed to me to be covered with deer skins and I admired the trees whose meaning didn't properly clarify to me till the next afternoon when I watched a documentary on Vlad the Impaler and saw woodcuts and paintings of his Forests of the Impaled.

Vlad the Impaler:
A maniac of a man. Artist. Military Genius. Etc. Etc.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Halloween Readings (Olympia)

These are from Swing Wine Bar in Olympia, WA.

Thanks to Nate Liederbach for organizing the reading. (Nate's starting up a monthly series so if you're going to be in Olympia or Seattle or close and you'd be interested in reading in the series please contact me and i'll get you in touch with Nate.)

Thanks also to Nate's sister, Jess who's a part-owner of Swing. Jess is really cool. Even though she regularly consults with a pet psychic.

Jess's partner Dale is really cool too. Even though he spent all of 1982-1985 in a very questionable place of business.

((p.s. be careful if you go to a Swing Reading. if you drink too much Nate's probably going to rope you into Hedge-Diving. if you don't know "Hedge-Diving" is pretty much what you'd expect it to be. What you wouldn't expect, though, is that Nate's dad (no spring chicken) would do the most diving.... and for whatever it's worth Nate's dad looks a lot like my German friend Olaf, no relation))

Halloween Readings (Eve of-- Seattle)

Some pictures from night before Halloween Reading(Costume Parties)..... in Seattle
thx to Ali for hosting !!!....