hush little baby you don't have a mouth...
The news from 703 W 11th, Austex: Befriended by Sisyphus barley wine by night and casting off this week's crap with po and more po, it is Friday and the sirens of society do blaze past my office space this morning like any other. Marching ants do the NPR thing while coffee steam makes mushrooms on the windshields of luxury sedans and contractors' half-tons. Texas half asleep in its skin, we had the first frost of the new darker/richer/hotter winter. O honk your horns, we are crawling to work. Again!

Effing Press - my lil babe - turns one year old this month, la la la. Just starting to walk in its little booties and diaper butt. 7 publications thus far produced, have mailed some 600+ copies to the homes and hands of lit lovers and have made new friends. Editing proves fascinating and difficult and I learn and I grow an opinion, can you imagine, and am learning like my baby how to and how not to piss on a leg. Not exactly inciting riots but the future looks half bright if you close one eye. Effing Magazine #3 is being built by monkeys in tool belts as we speak, the foreman reports a good view has been achieved. Gee Dub says to the press(ed) corp that effing mag should earn some capital and then intend to spend! and and we do, Chuckles, we do. Poetry and vis art-stuffs from young and old, man and woman, intellectual and comedian, doomsdayer and hope pusher, and those in between and on the side... New effing chapbooks are also in the works. Hoa Nguyen and Clayton Couch and William Hart and perhaps a collaborative photo/word collage thingy by myself and painter Philip Trussell. I have new fonts, new design ideas, a better eco-paper source, and stealthier boldness for my guerrilla printing scheme. I declare yes a fuck you to the local printing industry. We don't need you like you said, go gouge some other sucker!
Also around the corner locally is the Stitch fashion show and craft bizarre. I act as vendor coordinator and am pleased to report 50+ vendors this year will be on hand hawking their fine fine handmade goods. If you are thinking x-mas shopping yet (fudge!) then come to this. Her Space Holiday will jam, dj's will spin, models will strut, and the local craft movement will blind you with choices and style.
In other bursts of pride, the New England Revolution soccer team, for whom my brother Rusty plays, play DC United this weekend in the Eastern Conference Finals. Watch it and cheer for them, watch a Pierce kick some butt, he's a defender, and he does and with fervor. Dig the beautiful game.
Let the sub-Canadian blood pool drain away, we have work to do. Let's make us some poems, let's strap them on like bomb belts and run headlong into the uncertain future as wild windmilling dancers of earthly heat. There is pulse, allegedly!