Kamby Bolongo Mean River named one of 25 Important Books of the 2000s by HTML Giant

KBMR was named one of 25 Important Books of the decade by HTML Giant. And was a Page One selection of New & Noteworthy Books by Poets & Writers Magazine.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

No news today - Guest Post - Nadxieli Nieto Hall

No news today is how I make my coffee. No news today is how I fuck in the morning. (No news.) No news today is what I say to the dolphin parading down the side of the street. To the fucking dolphin I say, “No news today” and “You need a fucking permit to parade.” No news is how I make my lunch. No news is how I smear on the mayonnaise (mayonnaise). No news is the music playing in my head, and I’m not too happy about it.

Other news in No News Daily: Zilch.

Nadxieli Nieto Hall is a writer and visual artist. She is the co-author of Carteles Contra Una Guerra (Gustavo Gili, 2004), and the former editor of Salt Hill Journal. Her work has most recently appeared in New York Tyrant.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

No news today - Guest Post - Laura Minor


I call for the appetite, the destruction of all.

I don’t want to know what we have in each other; we are animals.

Someone threw a man face down in a lime pit today and no one seems to care

And later, somewhere down Kumquat Lane, a forgotten kid

Will pull off a round in an old oak tree

Producing funeral processions of Spanish moss

Hanging death and the spooky mortality of insects.

But we don’t care about moss.

We are humans whining ourselves back to life

And songs we haven’t written haunt us

And one day, we will all be tortured

With want of more and the constant crow

Of people that can’t see beyond their own suffering.

But then, there is always a superhuman road to God that binds us

Young with dust and round in fear.

Just to put it in context, a toothless suicide is always

Across the hallway from your mother’s apartment.

Drinking turpentine, compiling the world around him.

Maybe he stopped using his toilet, used bags.

And one day that’s it. No mystery.

Just the living and the dead.

And we go on and even when we can’t as Beckett said.

We go on itching the grid with our whiskey-sharp perfume.

We live for hands and eyes

We are the webbed parts that gather in words

We are connected like the far hues of sun and sky

The rapture of all those exiting the swell of cloth and moon.

The notes we play together, the notes we first sing

When half-awake, the terribly rough suckling of a babe at tit

The fire-black broken heart of desire surviving another day

Eyes pressed to the ear’s never-ending grass.

Laura Minor lives in Brooklyn as a poet, professor, and singer/songwriter. Her work has most recently appeared in Sixers Review, Lungfull, JMWW: A Journal of Quarterly Writing, and Mantis. She has released two critically acclaimed records, "Salesman's Girl" for Hightone Records (2002) and "Let Evening Come," (Ocean of Sound Recordings, 2009). Her second solo record is forthcoming spring 2011 on Ocean Sound Recordings. She is currently finishing her first manuscript of poems.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

No news today - Guest Post - Brandon Hobson

True story. I remember a record store in metro OKC that had an overwhelming enthusiasm for a large, five-foot-by-five-foot bulletin board; it was immediately filled with fliers, photocopies, business cards, etc.,: home-based massage services, interpretive dance instructors, guitarists, amateur photographers, dog groomers, acupuncturists, tattoo artists, madrigal groups, organic gardens, exercise palestrae, recipes for gazpacho, homemade jewelry, mimes, chiropractors, nutrition specialists, Scientology enthusiasts, spirituality guides, etc. and etc., insidiously cluttered and viewed by nearly everyone who passed by. The board attracted, at some point, members of The Great Awakening, a sort of 80s, hip band that I went to see one night at Club Spit on campus corner in Norman. They played an aggressive cover of a song I immediately fell in love with, The Cult’s “Love Removal Machine.” Eight months later I saw The Cult with Billy Idol in OKC, and someone threw a beer bottle that hit Billy Idol in the head and drew blood. Idol cursed at the crowd and swore he’d never come back to Oklahoma. Sure enough he hasn’t. True story.

Brandon Hobson's fiction has appeared in NOON, New York Tyrant, Narrative Magazine, and elsewhere. His book, The Levitationist, is available at Ravenna Press.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

No news today - Guest Post - Alexandra Chasin

Literature is no news that stays no news is good news, my lord ain't that good news. And there's bad news. Which do you want first.

No good news is welcome to me.
Bad news is also hell come to me.

CHEERLEADERS (Same time as students)
Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah!
Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah!

The no news is first the bemusement of Achilles and then the happy family - either way, nothing to write home about. But Achilles wasn't the first guy to blow a gasket and he won't be the last. And Anna Karenina's broken aristocratic-hearted suicide wasn't exactly news, no more or less than Emma Bovary's bourgeois version of same. The no news is the best of times that is not also the worst of times. The nowcast is that I am an invisible woman, and that Mother just keeps on hacking. One day maybe she'll die and an Arab will get shot on the beach.

Meanwhile, Rupert, tell me something the Arabs and Mother and the other invisible women and I haven't known since the origin of the family, private property, and the state. Rah! Rah!

If only Generalissimo Francisco Franco had died and were still dead.

Alexandra Chasin is the author of Kissed By(FC2). Her work has appeared in Agni, Chain, Post Road, Denver Quarterly, Exquisite Corpse, and various cetera. She is the co-chair of Literary Studies of Eugene Lang College, The New School

Friday, September 10, 2010

No news today - Guest Post - Ken Baumann

No news today, rather, or a, there's something in both A and B but not to be confused with see, it is an ing, see? (Don't tell him) Okay then. Keep the calm in mind and qualm in hand. (Don't knock it out of his hand) Are you with me? There's nothing. (Nothing) Going. On. (Nothing?) Do you. (He's) All right. Okay. There's none. Wait, it's, or. (God) Hear. See?

Ken Baumann is. For more information, see kenbaumann.com

Monday, September 6, 2010

No news today - Guest Post - Blake Butler

Dear Robert
There is yeah no news today again
America's been rubbing my hurt apart with its special evenings
Do you want to come over and let's go shirt shopping
I feel like I could start soon to look good
Handwiches and wandwiches, Robert
What do you think of peace
I think it's a bunch of serious malarkey, and that's coming from a guy who's never been to Costco
I'd drink some snatch but there's no geese
I'd have a special day all alone here but the woman through the wall won't look me in the eye
I don't really have an eye
Fuckin shit Rob I'm starting to like how beer sounds now
When I was 19 I would have punched me today in the O
Fuck it, I'm coming up where you are
Go ahead start saying the line from the movie we both like now
Dogs are really something dude

Blake Butler sells shirts to the blind.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

No news today - Guest Post - Terese Svoboda

Auntie Blog

Where’s is that pointy thing that you hold over your head with ducks on it? Under the couch? Did I beat the postman with it? There—all splintery. We must’ve had quite a conversation. It must’ve been about Susan Daitch’s terrific post, about the zookeeper whose father (?) lets him keep a polar bear around the house and that makes him sensitive to animals in cages and there is this revolution in zoos. Talk about animal writes! Just like I was saying to the postman, do you think that my dog isn’t writing all over town, lifting his leg? Freedom of expression. Expressing freedom. Like my beau who spelled out my name that way in the snow. You don’t need Hallmark. He was an animal. And so was the postman, leaning in with beery breath to tell me I have to do something about my dog who had written on his pantleg a sort of cheery note Hello. I am sensitive to all kinds of writes is what I told him, and maybe a revolution is coming, especially in spelling. Lady! he said—I remember it clearly now because I haven’t been called Lady since I was a Little Lady—and he shook his pantleg and took a step into my house. That’s when the umbrella took a beating. How it looks like writing is going to fall out of the sky all afternoon.

Terese Svoboda's fifth book of prose, Pirate Talk or Mermalade, will be published in September a few days before Talk Like a Pirate Day.