Red Lightbulbs closed up shop after a lot of glory. But they went out on a mustard packet of glory too, so at least there's that. Thanks to Russ Woods for including a few poems of mine in the last issue, and thanks to Russ and Meghan Lamb for starting RL in the first place. If I ever own a lot of rooms, at least one of them will be lit by a red lightbulb, I promise. My poems in the last Red Lightbulbs are about bro gaggles, wrist tattoos, everything rendition vs. everything experience, a good life if you don't weaken, and that time when the grocery store stopped carrying the cereal you bought every week because "sorry sir, no one ever buys that kind." There are literally a million other wonderful people in the issue. Do check.
for asking me to gibbleg about having a job and spitting up blood sprinkles in the same hours. There are never before told secrets about Mr. Glitchy, the heroic computer virus I invented in 2nd grade. There's a story about the last cab I took at AWP. There's something heady I said about "self-abandonment" and some freaky shit about molasses. Plus it's an article about a lifestyle, not me, sheesh, which means you'll get to read about lots of other cool peeps like Chelsea Martin's boo, the laid-back/kick-ass Ian Amberson. That photo to the left is of Ian, not me, because, uh, guys, that helmet? C'mon.
APRIL, an amazing Seattle literary fest started by a bunch of smarty-pants folk. Deep thanks to them (Tara Atkinson, Willie Fitzgerald, Kellen Braddock, Frances Dinger, and Aidan Fitzgerald) for being amazing and putting everything together. I was excited to write "reverse fan mails" for their fundraiser, one very silly about a guy stuck to his toilet and one of course about lesbian astronauts and Star Trek action figures and Facebook stalking and love. Can't stop, won't pop. The other great thing is Richard Chiem was sweet enough to table for Magic Helicopter Press at the APRIL Small Press Fair, and you can see a picture of him looking all genius-statue and selling books in the sexy smoky darkness.
"10 Millennial Authors You Probably Haven't Read Yet." Lotsa mighty fine folk on that list. Thanks to Emily Temple and Flavorwire for the nod. I don't care what anybody's nonchalant uncle says: I feel excited about all the new adds of Look! Look! Feathers on Goodreads!
BTW, if anyone is just finding this blog from that list and is reading this and is wondering why I don't have a more professional/easily navigable website, it's because I have a lot of old coffee cups under my lamp instead. For example, I don't have any professional headshots, so the picture I am putting here is a picture of me making a weird face with Chelsea Martin—another Millennium Falcon that could've been on that list—and Jacob Perkins, all of us holding Chelsea's books in the sweet new space Mellow Pages in Bushwick, the walls of which are covered with Mill Enema authors. Jacob and the wise'n'bearded Matt Nelson (and the shadowy behind the flannel scenes "Jon") run the fuck out of this place, and I love them and their mossy Pacific Northwest ways.
If you want to know what makes me blush, Michael Filippone talking about me and America and reading "The Peaches Are Cheap" makes me blush. That video is really long but it has like an hour of good books in it, and plus Michael Filippone is really good looking—I mean, I think? I have been told before that the men I think are attractive are not the men women think are attractive, but c'mon, this dude is good looking, right? The professional coffee cups under my lamp agree with me.