Firstly, here's a lovely poem by Alex Smith.
The story of Nietzsche and the horse—
That Fred was walking down the street
When he saw a man brutally beating his mount,
So he walked up, pushed the man away and then, having stopped the abuse,
Turned to the horse, wrapped his arms around its neck, and began to cry—
Is often told as the tale of a man finally losing his mind to late-stage syphilis.
But anyone who has ever known a horse knows that Fred was not a madman,
But a man of exceptional sanity.
Lucky Numbers: 00291 510805 22555
I'm really looking forward to the release of this:
Against Religion is a collection of Lovecraft’s writing (from letters mainly) about religion. This is what Sporting Gentlemen, the publishers, wrote about Lovecraft:
Against Religion contains the major writings on religion, materialism, and spirituality by master horror writer H.P. Lovecraft. Including an introduction and notes by celebrated Lovecraft scholar S.T. Joshi and a foreword by noted atheist and writer Christopher Hitchens, this essential editions brings a new voice to the religious debate, and Lovecraft’s clairvoyant writing on the topic is as prescient today as it was during his lifetime. H.P. Lovecraft is the author of numerous weird tales, among them The Call of Cthulhu. His recent inclusion in the Library of America marks his unique contribution to the horror genre, and his continuing influence on writers in all genres today. S.T. Joshi is the author of H.P. Lovecrtaft: A Life, and the leading scholar and editor of Lovecraft’s work. Christopher Hitchens is the New York Times bestselling author of God Is Not Great, and editor of The Portable Atheist: Essential Readings for the Nonbeliever.
It should be out next week—and here is a link to where it is on sale now at Lulu:
3. Here is an awesome poem by Angela Veronica Wong. I'm always a fan of Veronica's work, especially her narratives! She is the author of two chapbooks, All the Little Red Girls on Flying Guillotine Press and to know this on Cy Gist Press.
boys in uniform
ironing is my least favorite household chore
and i am not particularly good at it. my mother
says men are better at ironing—something
about having more muscle. it is christmas
day and my father is shooting at squirrels
on his roof. i spent the day watching someone
else’s children. living alone is bizarre; for dinner
i had a potato and a handful of dark chocolate
chips. yesterday i had cherries and oatmeal.
of terrorism and i think: goddamn i do love those
white boys in uniforms, hair cut short, shoulders like
kansas. they are dusty faces and rolled sleeves,
obedient and respectful: the way i should be: but
a texas tornado that touches down, rips away
an intersection and disappears. it's hot—that they
could just go crazy on your ass if you fucked with me.
this is not a rape fantasy. i am not prettier
than anyone else here. when i get married, i will send
his shirts out to be pressed. i can’t bring myself
4. Here's a link to a new cool poetry blog. Lots of energy and talent and passion on thethe poetry blog.
OK see you tomorrow. Hint, tomorrow is my last day of guest blogging, so make a cake or at least cookies!