Most of the content I'm associated with in the world is not suitable for children. Most of the suits I wear make me unable to bear children. When Abel died, he was buried alongside his children in his best suit.


if i'm a monkey you're a really good episode of west wing

News for you: Colin Bassett has launched bearcreekfeed, a cool new online anthology/magazine of long short stories, somewhat like that other online bear thing. The first story up is by Kim Chinquee, famous for her short shorts and her appearances in your sleep.

Rachel: Colin Bassett seems to be from Springfield, Missouri. I don't know why I told you he was from Australia. There might be another Colin from Australia. Am I right on this?



all the boys love my marshmallow

From Leigh Stein:

Join us for a poetry reading in the backyard at Harrison Space as part of the Bushwick Arts Festival. There will be fire and there will be marshmallows. Poets will be encouraged to read with flashlights. Drinks provided. Bring your own friends.

Tao Lin is the author of the poetry-collection, COGNITIVE-BEHAVIORAL THERAPY (Melville House, 2008), and a few other books.

Jennifer L. Knox is the author of the books A Gringo Like Me and Drunk by Noon, is a three-time contributor to The Best American Poetry series.

Amy King is the author of I’m the Man Who Loves You and Antidotes for an Alibi, both from BlazeVOX Books, The People Instruments (Pavement Saw Press), and most recently, Kiss Me With the Mouth of Your Country (Dusie Press).

Elisa Gabbert, a poet living in Boston, is the author of Thanks for Sending the Engine (Kitchen Press, 2007) and, with Kathleen Rooney, That Tiny Insane Voluptuousness (Otoliths Books, 2008).

Mike Young
co-edits NOÖ Journal, and his poetry chapbook MC Oroville's Answering Machine is forthcoming from Transmission Press.

Leigh Stein is the author of many chapbooks, including How to Mend a Broken Heart with Vengeance (Dancing Girl Press '08). She was recently nominated for Best New Poets.

Directions: take L train to Morgan stop. Exit station at Bogart. Walk down street immediately ahead. Look for golden bomb shelter doors in the ground about 1/2 block up on your right.

Come early & look at art. Stay late & listen to music.




Wigleaf has launched a new online fiction award series called "The Wigleaf Top Very Short Fictions," with the 2008 edition featuring stories from 2007. Three stories from NOÖ [six] and [seven] made the list:

Lydia Copeland's "Haircut"

Mary Miller's "This Boy I Loved a Rock"

and Victoria Sprow's "The Angel Project"

Congratulations to all the winners, and bulky, nougat-filled thanks to Wigleaf editor Scott Garson and guest judge Chad Simpson.

More awards. More. More!


hotel magazine poems

I've got two poems in Alex Abelson's handsewn Hotel. One is an MC Oroville poem that's the craziest one aside from the collage pieces. Other contributors include CA Conrad, Jim Behrle, Jeni Olin, local friendz Chris Cheney & Trinity Weiss, & more. Email hotelmagazine1@gmail.com to get a copy.


at the donor's behest

NOÖ has released an e-chapbook of bad poetry: Matt Jasper: A Collection of Bad Poetry. Written for and dedicated to the man in the title. Featuring Alex Burford, Blake Butler, Jack Christian, Bryan Coffelt, Elisa Gabbert, Rachel B. Glaser, Tao Lin, and K. Silem Mohammad. Download now, uh huh uh huh.


avant-garde freshman comp

My class was doing peer response today, which means they wrote the whole time and I sat there. This felt very much like "exam time," which crowned me tyrant, enlaboring them with no shot at entertainment salvation. All semester I've promised and forgotten to bring "background music." Oops. Today I thought this: "what's more entertaining for disaffected middle class American youth than me?" I didn't actually think this sentence. It was more abstract. I was a "vessel for the greater good," much like a Baptist choir or the guy in charge of the Dr. Pepper recipe. I decided ("elected") to think entertaining thoughts and record them. Those of you who know me will recognize that I think about the same fifteen things over and over again, which you've always suspected but which (until now) you've never been able to prove at my arraignment. After peer response was over, I read these thoughts out loud. My students giggled. Problem solved. Hands washed. Eat your dodgeball. Don't talk to captives.


Ugg boots, bourgeois canteens, Dimitri Nabokov, Vitamin C pills, productive eye contact, imitation RayBan's, anxiety plus or minus codeine, fashionable Yeti, I want to reincarnate as a terrible song by Bright Eyes; the same people will like me or not like me, Tao Lin throwing a banana at Kendra Grant Malone, the ethics of the in-joke, a hitchhiking bee, the bus driver who wanted to be God, what if Tom Waits were my grandfather, how sure I am that I can't be friends with anyone who doesn't know who Tom Waits is and how that makes me sad but only a little sad, less sad than an old man in a NASCAR cap, more sad than a stale muffin, less sad than the Pacific Ocean, more sad than a drunk 3AM IM from my ex-girlfriend in a tiny Dutch town in Washington, the Dutch invasion of Washington, vintage cardigans, the troubling amount of times I suddenly remember that the author of Fight Club is actually gay, a soccer match between neutral facial expressions and the so-called "shit eating grin," the three maps of the Planet Earth in this classroom which you hadn't thought about until now (*points*), why tonic water is so "important," how I feel about scales of 1-10 on a scale of 1-10, Minnie Driver, Kurt Russell, Usher, signs of prohibition ("NO SMOKING," "DON'T FEED THE CHILDREN") versus signs of ambivalence ("NOTE: DUCKS PRESENT. YEAH. WHATEVER.") this quote from Andy Warhol: "I'm bored after I do it once unless I do it every day," and life as a vehicle for one task, such as designing the employee uniforms of a local doughnut store with franchise ambitions.


sorry poetry we're kicking you off the island

I just realized we don't need poetry anymore. To wit:

So Nice, So Smart
--Kimya Dawson

i was quiet as a mouse
when i snuck into your house
and took roofies with your spouse
in a nit and out a louse
and lice are lousy all the time
they suck your blood drink your wine
say shut up and quit your crying
give it time and you'll be fine

you're so nice and you're so smart
you're such a good friend i hafta break your heart
tell you that i love you then i'll tear your world apart
just pretend i didn't tear your world apart

i like boys with strong convictions
and convicts with perfect diction
underdogs with good intentions
amputees with stamp collections
plywood skinboards ride the ocean
salty noses suntan lotion
always seriously joking
and rambunctiously soft-spoken
i like boys that like their mothers
and i have a thing for brothers
but they always wait til we're under the covers
to say i'm sure glad we're not lovers

you're so nice and you're so smart
you're such a good friend i hafta break your heart
tell you that i love you then i'll tear your world apart
just pretend i didn't tear your world apart

i like my new bunnysuit
i like my new bunnysuit
i like my new bunnysuit
when i wear it i feel cute


i'm coping with peak oil right now leave me alone



I have two moods: cruel or nervous.
And a vial of infectious ha-ha-ha.
They printed all the riddles without
reward money. Affection last seen
clamped or camp. I'm a gully in the
steam of your sidewalk accordion.
If that's hard to follow, I'm right
behind you. Time's got a top-notch
immune system. Just now, I grew my
beard toward a show of support.
Sure, you have your own life's blue
deed, but I have a satellite's habit.


Look! All those ideas wanted tailors.
Which means I am programmed to omit
cannoli, Elvis, a flashlight in a boot,
shipwrights, the two breasts on the
matchbook Nicole drew for me (breasts
not the matchbook) the glory morning
train (the song not the train)--well,
shit, it's all an idea, I guess. You
are a combination impossible to press
in chorus. Both the peekaboo and long
kinds of need. This is your medal.
This is also a heretofore uncharted
mood named Kitten in a Cedar, named
Chicory and Whiskey. Three moods, I
guess: cruel, nervous, and love poem.