He remembers this: in January four Years now, my little niece Rebecca Ann Burgin playing behind the Oxen at the horse Mill, bending to Grasp a shiny Stone when the Brace, which the Oxen pushed to, caught her Head against the outside Post & smashed it to pieces. She could not have felt but an instant’s Pain, yet the Sight of her were difficult to bear.
I began writing it six years ago and completed the first draft within six months. Richard, the redhead that Gus and I picked up in Paris, liked it, which bolstered my confidence because when we met him (seven years ago) he was in the final semester of a prestigious film studies program.
I’d like to propose a definition that modifies Zukofsky’s metaphor to clarify and broaden the term of “experimental writing” and which thus hopefully rehabilitates it from the censure of the many — including a formally daring writer like Erickson — who view the province of experimental writing as a naval-gazing warren, an unpopular gymnasium occupied solely by the effete.
T. Motley is serializing "Highlights from the Life of Raymond Roussel" in the Brooklyn Rail, helped by a grant from the Spillway Fund, spillwayfund.org Text translated from the French by Mark Ford and John Harmon.
I don’t have to be anywhere, but I wake up early, 6:35. Some mornings I set the alarm for seven but wake up at five and play over all the things I’ve ever done wrong, every conversation where I might have said something (inadvertently or on purpose) to hurt another person’s feelings.
When I first entered Pok ̊ Su’s house, the first thing I noticed was an ornate bird cage, hung near a window. There was a spotted dove cooing inside. Another bird cage hung next to it, but it was empty. I asked Pok Su how he managed to catch the bird.
The black Oldsmobile proceeded cautiously over the sand of a beach. Balazs was at the wheel. In the back seat Maurer and Branko sat on either side of a seven-year-old girl wrapped up in a sleeping bag whom they had rendered unconscious with a morphine shot.
Elizabeth Strout writes fiction that adds and strips away. For every remarkable act of noticing, every tree rustle or bitter wind she gets across, her work hides the profound alienation—self divided from self, parent divided from child—that drives her characters on.
JOSHUA DANIEL is a new york-based cartoonist and illustrator. He makes noir comics, political comics, boardgames, and DnD characters. You can also visit his website for commissions and other things, www.thenoirguy.com, and also check out more political comics at thenoirguy.itch.io