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Field Trip Bio: Patrick Trotti is a 25 year old writer, editor and student. On good days it’s in that order. |
the complete first page, as teaser: They moved in unison. Like some sort of pack of silent wolves. Their terrain was made of asphalt instead of rolling hills. It didn’t matter much. They were just as vicious. Fully equipped with their light cigarettes and iPods, they all walked with a strange confidence. Despite stum-bling over one another, they looked as though they knew just where they were going. Their final destination had been given to them. Their steps rehearsed. The path trekked before. People moved aside as they approached. Splitting urban parking lots had never been easier and cooler. Everyone else in town was dressed in various colors. Bright orange mixed with hues of yellow and baby blue. But this group wore nothing but black. Of course there were different shades depending on how often they washed. … by the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H. |
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He Gives Them White Robes Bio: Nicholas Liu, who lives in Singapore, is the author of Versions from the English (firstfruits publications, 2011) and the editor of Unswept (unswept.org). |
the complete first page, as teaser: “Admit to a woman that you’re a virgin.” Buck Williams had spent the day buying a car. His jacket squeaked when he moved. Rayford understood how people could be charmed. “I’d love to be in love.” The first of his three messages. “But you have to realise, this is not how I see the core group. Usually my tie is straighter, my shirt fully tucked in, my suit coat buttoned. Sometimes I forget what language I’m in. Should you be struck by a car or caught in a fire, it may be the most merciful way you can die.” * The seventh seal is so awesome. A noisy pizza place. All the prayer support you can get. Lightning may have triggered some spontaneous interaction. … by the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H. |
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Tumbleweed Bio: Ainne, 25, is propsmaker and slave in chief of Paper Monster Press. email: bard_lizard@yahoo.com |
the complete first page, as teaser: Flashy words make the world turn but they
don’t turn it right. Flashy words make the world turn but it don’t turn right. Turning and turning, you make me turn and turn again. And I am tumbleweed. I am dandelion. I am a bit of fluff you convert into a magic wheel. I turn and turn again. Turn and turn again. And each time the wheel goes round that is a prayer. Each revolution akin to the movement of the sun. So you pray for light. I pray for warmth. But in your arms. So little is left, the wheel-man turns the wheel. The revolutions to the sun, always towards the sun. Black holes and sunspots, people don’t see these things, … by the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H. |
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Dear Physical Environment Bio: Based in Singapore, Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé is an interdisciplinary artist, dividing his time between writing, editing, teaching, and sculpting. email: desmondkon@yahoo.com.sg |
the complete first page, as teaser: It has been more than a lifetime of oceans. Marie and Derrick shared Freud's silk-stockings-and-napa-leather relationship with old coinage. The way he gave poet Bruno Goetz two hundred kronen like a patron of the arts, in exchange for a personal narrative. The narrative was filled to the brim. It was peppered with anecdotes about his flirtations with seafarers. Marie had only ever touched water in a dipping pool. Never been near the ocean or seen the beach. She attempted the retreat along with Derrick and myself, our self-imposed discipline of keeping quiet for extended periods of time increasingly painful, the vipassana meditation reducing every flight of imaginative fancy into ether. Started … by the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H. |
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To Whose Mandolin It May Concern Bio: Based in Singapore, Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé is an interdisciplinary artist, dividing his time between writing, editing, teaching, and sculpting. email: desmondkon@yahoo.com.sg |
the complete first page, as teaser: The Middle Way between eros and thanatos. The retreat, both spiritual and literary, demanded that we alternate between silence and reading aloud. Into a wall. Alongside an artificial harmonic. All the time voraciously processing and triangulating our thoughts, until we permitted these small embouchure windows, when we finally got to write down everything we felt or did not feel. Voluble tracts, these. And in ink, our laptops locked away, heat-warping in the trunk of our minivan. In another life, someone will quote me as saying: “The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.” Marie’s dream was more pragmatic, like Rorty on a ladder looking down to check how far the ground had … by the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H. | ||