the odd uneven time
I haven't updated this site in over two months. Half the summer I was too busy losing my mind (three cheers for anxiety and manic-depression!) to do much of anything other than survive, and the other half of the summer has been spent writing, making art, making zines, traveling a bit, doing readings, taking workshops, and generally having an awesome, albeit busy, time.
It's not that I have nothing to show for the summer - though it would be alright even if I didn't (I'm forever trying to train myself out of the capitalism-induced mindset that I have to be constantly "productive."). I've recently completed two zines.
Dimestore Ghosts is a zine/chapbook of poetry, prose, and prosepoetry that I’ve written in the past year–12 pieces in all. Most pieces have originally appeared in magazines or zines, or on my blog, but two have never been published before. This chapbook is about ghosts, lovers, relationships, sadness, crushes, drinking, and America, amongst other things.
Tattoos Fade is a companion to an art piece of the same name. Each image from the art piece–made with photography, text, and image manipulation via Xerox machine–is in the zine (seven images in all), plus relevant quotations and my own words. It’s a look at memory and ephemerality, as seen through my stick and poke tattoos.
In other news:
My piece "You Don't Meet Nice Girls in Copy Shops" is in Gut Flora, the Chapess zine anthology. (You can purchase a copy of that here.) Reckless Chants #23 is more than halfway done. The bulk of it is excerpts from an essay I’m writing about grief, sadness, anger, trauma, violence, queerness, and a lot of other stuff, and that will be interwoven with pieces about parenthood, mental illness, music, punk, love, and nostalgic memories of things like a writing professor I had, old friends and lovers, Chicago and Michigan, dancing with girls, etc. (You can read an excerpt here.)
It's August, it has been raining a lot, and summer is winding down. As Sylvia Plath wrote: August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time. Or, as Jason Webley sings about: "August Closing His Mouth After a Long Summer's Yawn." This time of year always makes me very sad. Not depressed, but melancholy. I love autumn but watching summer fade always reminds me of mortality and the fleetingness of everything.
But there's nothing much I can do about it, except drink coffee, write, and watch the rain.