down in me

I am busily drowning my sorrows, putting back of hand to forehead, leaning back and exclaiming woe. My dress is pretty, you should see it.

Meanwhile, on the very Red Fez there’s a good and new thing I wrote some months back this year.

You’ve never read it before. (Well, except you: but you forcibly read all my stuff and you don’t remember any of it anyway so read it again. I like it when you tell me I’m demanding. Obviously I am not.)

There’s another thing you haven’t read there, by the mysterious and enigmatic Ms Roberta Lawson and probably some more too.

I think it’s good that your eyes have to hurt a little, don’t be a flan. Slam it back, pound the table and go, man.

stupid in self-portrait came
haughty, ripe with asking
rocked an illiterate disorder
ideas flew
said I’m a pink piano
an orgasm, I mean organ
cocked an anemic wink
dried out in stupid clothes
battled the wicker
waved hi to the nomads
smiled, set traps
thought about the afternoons
cut things in quarters
noses
déjalo quieto que no es tuyo

Not many chicks on BULL Men’s Fiction which is fucked as I can’t think of anything more exciting than a bunch of strange men leering.

I gave them a little something for their fourth PDF issue. I think they liked it because they called me a ‘bonus’ and you know how desperately I yearn for male approval.

So what happened was that Ryan Manning of cookiebomb liked a thing and told me he wanted it oh yeah baby he really wanted it. He also wanted a pair of my worn panties I believe I heard him say and I’m thinking of acquiescing while in my mind editing scenes together of him at home—

sniffing them first thing / them half hanging off his head while he edits cookiebomb and eats fruit loops / fitting lanky legs through the leg holes / struggling to keep his boner in the seat of them / picking wedgie handfuls of them / sleeping with them next to his nose / frantically masturbating into them / flinging them aside avant-cum so as not to soil them / his mother stoically tossing them into her laundry basket / his purple blinding rage at finding them downy soft and summer breezy clean

—or you know, could just be me.

I am all about the fourth issue of > kill author, the JG Ballard issue.

I am all about the newness of first encounters: Alexandra Isacson | Danny Collier | Jacqueline Anne Young | Kat Dixon | Lucy Jilka | Marc Lowe | Mark Cunningham | Meredith Legg | Rachel Andelman | Tom Leins | Verity Hill

I am all about the comfort of familiarity: Cami Park | Crispin Best | Daniel Bailey | RC Miller

I am all about this line in particular, from Cami Park’s piece: The other one of us is round and warm. —The Babies

I am all about High-Flying City Fuckers.

I am all about a cloud of chicken feathers, plenty of delicious girls; exhibiting atrocities and minds in Sunday school and poems that do not taste like poems, and wandering the chatty spaces and nothing is at all what you think it would and mysterious editors: I’d like to thank you, no ironies, thank you for not seeing me the way I see me so undeserving.