effing blog

postlogue

listening to the Magnetic Fields and Rachel's at the ghost office and printing various effing pubs, including the long overdue EM3.  No reflections regarding this year as it leaks away like the mist does outside my window.  I've had things, I've lost things, I wrote, edited, read, bewildered, guffawed, fought, laid down, slept, shook, balded, grew a beard, got a little fatter, got a little more quiet as I go in.

here's to Duke, the sweet bastard.

here's to Basil, a good kid gone too soon.

here's to my family who's been marching through tough times with grace.

here's to Howard and Mema whom I think about constantly.

here's to Nana and her righteous cornbread.

here's to Karly whom I love with all my jagged heart.

here's to my friends who are lovely each one.

here's to the dead of the world - it's over now.  relax.

Spaceship Tumblers

Check out Spaceship Tumblers, manned by Tony Tost, where you can hear poems read by their authors into phones.  Marcus Slease reads from his poem which is forthcoming in effing mag #3.  Good timing too as it is just about ready to hit the streets...

new Octopus

Octopus Mag #4  is up. 

Zach Schomburg and Tony Tost do a terrific job with this.  They are my new editorial idols. 

if you really love me or need to keep from hating me

i'll take one of these for xmas.

a t-shirt for everyone

everyone wants a garment and a mix tape of loops

sounds emitted by walking people, verbs attached,

toss in some photo play, translate that, that is by which to move

a sound by which a few have already moved, so here is

the work detail of a night moving chairs around a venue,

consider it

mission statement

     when i get me
     to my box
     of things and
     things to make

          when i get me
          in some pants
          to breach
          the doorway

               i meant to make
               a hat of cans
               before i got my
               age

                    a hat of cans.
                    who the hell
                    was i
                    kidding

dormant blade

carve a cursive pop lyric
on the chesty boy man

make haste
make dinner

we can be heroes by
the end of the program

self conscious and loving it

color of chin flesh

the beer in me splash sideways

i lurch, my thoughts hike a

trailhead to the canopy

of last call

i fight any of you for a cab

i go sloshing into the night

a business is this shirt cuff

laughing with you my fellow

forms of belts & pockets

hold me up and hold me in

the airplanes are a'coming

me and julio down by the school yard

I've been in Houston at a wedding, my brother's in fact.  This is me and my ma.  Now I'm home and drying out and back into the effing groove.  Making books for your butt.  Effing Mag #3 is under my nose.  Should go to print next week only 2 months over due.  That's not bad for me.  Look into my eyes.  Not bad at all.

new chappy from EFFING PRESS

Pleased to announce the publication of Rabindra Sarobar by William Hart.

Rabindra Sarobar

6 x 8.5

40pp + offset covers

saddle-stitched

$5.00

***********

from the book:

Down to Earth

A wriggling human

cloaked in mud

and a loin-cloth

pulls along the sidewalk

on his belly

both calves jackknifed

hard against their hams

and frozen for life--

his brutal gift from the womb.

In his face I see

strain but no sourness

as he advances toward his destiny

at a surprising pace

his grip on the planet

more secure than most.

His heart must be

chiming with the knowledge

that in the next life

with interest compounded

on his silent and noble suffering

he will soar like a winter cloud

high above the race of men

struggling on their pins.

********************

to order, send cash/check to Scott Pierce:

703 W 11th Street #2

Austin, TX 78701