The Alexi Papers

The Alexi Papers

 

The sun stretched lazily on the strand, like some imbecilic half-child of the Emperor. The Thief lay in his room, ruing the day he first saw the strange stranger, as the Professor exited, wiping the spittle from his vacuous cheek. Noone could be heard in the company except LeRoy, the page boy fool, bon vivant of the jet set. His laughter rang as you would expect it to, but did the dog hear it? The kind of boy he was was in evidence here and in other places. Then in a sudden note of frenzy there appeared my friend Rudolf who will eat the flesh of a monkey while we sing

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Fragments of Grace

Fragments of Grace

 

 

The hyperbolic queen of Main Street

The driver of the great engine

Of the great wheel

This rare and vertiginous glory

Overwhelmed by affection

And slow ambulation

 

She has a weird second-generation Vassar walk –

Clack-Clack with a quick scuff in the middle

The taxi drivers all stare at her

Her peculiar power stalling one out

In the middle of the street

 

But I knew she’d zip by in the light rain

(honestly) her nipples standing up under

That smooth, sleek red dress

She’s there, walking quickly

But taking a long time to pass

 

Her wide belt emphasizing her small waist

Strong back and good round ass you like it

Long, long tan legs, branchlike, treelike

And in fact limbs of course it’s raining harder

Raining on this fragment of Grace

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Mars as a Planet

Mars As a Planet

 

Mars as a planet never thinks of love

And therefore never has sperm on its carpet

And a woman already gone

 

Due to widespread nighttime exposure

Mars is often on television

And never sleeps alone

 

A world without rain

But possessing vast hidden oceans

Mars waits suspended for

The next great change in human attitude

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The Insect at the Home of a Mutual friend

The Insect at the Home of a Mutual Friend : QUOTEBAG

 

Right now we’d like to dedicate this to everybody here with hearts, any kind of hearts, and ears – it goes something like this here…

– Jimi Hendrix

 

At least I am speaking to someone who understands me, and not to one of the cabbages in whose midst I have been vegetating since morning.

– Laclos

 

I don’t think I’d ever plan anything out carefully, and certainly not that. If I went to the devil it would be because I wanted to, or because it’s a good drug, or because I don’t give a damn for my idiotic body of a woman anyway.

He’s only trying to be modern and brutal and all that, poor dear. Don’t mind him.

– Jean Rhys

 

Observe her carefully when she is sitting alone, thinking; why she looks like one foredestined to everything accursed and damnable in the world.

– Dostoevsky

 

This warped, decadent youth was once an angelic child.

– August Strindberg

 

"What?" said Mrs. Reed under her breath: her usually cold composed grey eye became troubled with a look of fear: she took her hand from my arm and looked at me as if she really did not know if I were child or fiend.

– Charlotte Bronte

 

I myself have a horror of the commonplace, and I dream only of strange adventures, strong passions, delirious ecstasies, bizarre and difficult situations, and I have to find pure and simple happiness that way, and, try as I may, I haven’t been able to find another.

– Theophile Gautier

 

Delirium passes the time, but it’s ticklish when anyone’s around.

– Celine

 

"But if Mr. Holgrave is a lawless person!" remonstrated Phoebe, a part of whose essence it was to keep within the limits of law.

"Oh!" said Hepzibah, carelessly – for, formal as she was, still in her life experience, she had gnashed her teeth against human law, "I suppose he has a law of his own!"

– Nathaniel Hawthorne

 

He was in a fair way to do himself lasting harm, floundering between worlds passed and worlds coming, which had a habit of crushing men who stayed too long at the point of contact.

– Henry Adams

 

He startles those who do not like to be startled, and does not compose those who wish to be composed.

– Walter Bageliot

 

Such is the unhappy age in which we live that not even the strangest aberrations are a cure for boredom.

– Stendhal

 

Until this time his career could be summed up as that of a moderately independent artist with a conservative background, who had offended a few dogmatic academicians, but from 1885 on he offended nearly everyone, even some of his closest associates.

– John David Farmer

 

He was regarded as a true visionary artist, or one who portrays through art his personal visions of the "divine light" and out of body experiences of "union with the Mother Goddess" i.e. sexual intercourse with demons.

– Barbara Aho

 

The fact is that modern artists are gnostics and practice things that the priests think are long forgotten; perhaps even commit sins that are no longer thought possible.

What Nietzsche calls "decadence" and Marx calls the "ideological superstructure" is here simply called the state university.

– Hugo Ball

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APT

Our too-young and too-new America, lusty because it is lonely, aggressive because it is afraid, insists upon seeing the world in terms of good and bad, the holy and the low, the white and the black; our America is frightened by fact, by history, by process, by necessity. It hugs the easy way of damning those whom it cannot understand, of excluding those who look different; and it salves its conscience with a self-draped cloak of righteousness.

– Richard Wright

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A Stolen Season by Steve Hamilton

Don’t you just hate people who review books before they’re available? TOUGH. I just wrote this so I’ll post it now — remember to run down to an independent bookseller September 5th and pick up a copy!!
 

A Stolen Season, Steve Hamilton, St. Martin’s Minotaur, $22.95

 

A Stolen Season begins with a typical Upper Peninsula moment – a bunch of friends are waiting on a dock for Fourth of July fireworks when it begins snowing. Things get serious soon after, however, when a boat wrecks nearby, bringing some very nasty characters into Alex McKnight’s life. Not helping his mood is the fact that now that he’s finally surrendered his well guarded heart to Ontario Police officer Natalie Reynaud, she’s in another country, and on an undercover mission that precludes any but the most fleeting contact with him.

After one of those fleeting contacts things get much worse for Alex. Steve’s always admired other writers who are a little darker than himself, but in A Stolen Season, he takes the reader on a journey that’s as noir as they come. I want to use action movie cliches for this book like "This time it’s personal!" or "Sometimes a man has to cross the line!" – when you Taser your best friend, you know things are getting heavy – but the book itself is anything but a cliche. It’s one of the strongest entries in a brilliant series by one of mystery fiction’s best writers, vivid, viscerally moving, fast paced and just plain excellent. Hamilton’s an author who has more than fulfilled the promise of his Edgar for Best First Novel, and it’s past time he got serious consideration for Best Novel period. Let me be the first to nominate A Stolen Season.

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Meeting

Meeting

 

Tonight Sally and I are hanging out at school, sitting on the cabinets in the teachers lounge, waiting for everybody else to show up, feeling like we don’t belong even though we technically do, Sally’s skin onion paper white in the florescent glare. "What’s important is not what you think about, it’s what you see," she’s saying. And what do I see? Out the window is that blond woman smoking, the secretary, the one with the receding face, as if she were a horse, or at least had been kicked by one at some point. After you’ve seen a face like that you don’t forget it. There’s something in the way she takes a long drag off her cigarette, tilting it up 45 degrees, grimacing and bored, that makes me think that that’s the way the Mannequin would do it, even though I don’t know how the Mannequin does it, or even if she smokes. "Proust would say it’s what you remember but can’t help remembering," I say. "He was wrong," Sally says. "It’s what you see. It’s what you see and can’t help looking at." The Mannequin is what we call our colleague, a beautiful woman named Mary Quinn, who I reflexively dislike because she is so perfect and because I think she dislikes me. Lately she’s been more attentive, but it’s just her attempt to be hip and we both know it. Still I’m intrigued and to some extent turned on to know someone like that is reading my stuff and using it, and even her acquaintance with me, as a badge of honor.

Maybe when she shows up I’ll feel more at home tonight. What are Sally and I doing here, anyway? We hardly ever go to anything that’s not mandatory. Now the Mannequin does arrive and on her (high) heels is her friend, the one with the nice, normal, even streetwalker legs terminating in a vast, soft, wide marshmallow body. Actually she’s not really the Mannequin’s friend but they know each other. All the principles have arrived, (including the principal) and things get going, but soon enough Sally and I slip away into the dark hall, looking for, we decide, the usual things.

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In My Father’s Gun Are Many Chambers: Quote Bag

In My Father’s Gun Are Many Chambers

 

All your America is like a dense Balzacian hive in a jewel point.

– Jack Kerouac

 

The torn Madras handkerchiefs of negresses, and the red gowns of yellow girls, hanging in tatters from their naked bosoms, mixed with the rent dresses of deep-rouged white women, and the split coats, checkered vests, and protruding shirts of pale, or whiskered, or haggard, or mustached fellows of all nations, some of whom seemed scared from their beds, and others seemingly arrested in the midst of some crazy and wanton dance.

– Herman Melville

 

How like an iron cage was that which they called liberty.

– Nathaniel Hawthorne

 

Crime is not a crime in country of criminals

I will perish – I cannot become vulgar – nor cater to vulgarity. Therefore, the mob will eat me.

– Baroness Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven

 

These days young people don’t seem to experience pleasure unless they’re committing an anti-social act.

– Stephen Greenleaf

 

Sixty days ago she was such a lovely child and now here she is with a gun in her hand.

– Randolph Apperson Heart

 

It wasn’t drugs that drove me crazy, it was people.

– John Hinckley, Jr.

 

Shower, keep clean, enjoy colors and animals. People if possible.

– Sylvia Plath

 

To diagnose, through Plath’s poetry, the pathological aspects of our era that make death of the spirit inevitable – for that era and all who believe in its assumptions.

– Joyce Carol Oates.

 

Poor quality is the natural and necessary result of sound financial management.

– Jerome Doolittle

 

It made Poole wonder where it would all end, the fathers and the sons, the fast-food joints, and if there was a way to disconnect both the gene pool and history, to let nature take over again.

He could always scratch out a living. That wasn’t the problem with modern life, modern America. The problem was something else.

– Gaylord Dold

 

What he seemed to have in mind was a sort of bicycle socialism, as if here, too, there should be a limit, and the bicycle would be a good place to stop. He spoke of our automobile-TV culture as of something distastefully gross and heavy; Vietnamese ethics are permeated with ideas of lightness and swift pliability: bamboo, bicycles, sandals, straw. As though society’s burden of goods should be no heavier than what a man can carry on his back. With a full lipped contempt very like the contempt he showed for danger, he rejected the notion of a socialist consumer society.

At the time, the implications of this were not clear to me, I was only conscious of a feeling of happy agreement, remembering the ominous meeting between Mr. Krushchev and Mr. Nixon in the model kitchen, like a domestic spat in the infra-red setting of some future One Hell.

The samples of U.S. technology that had been showered on the North were mainly in bomb form, yet the ordinary Vietnamese was able to make a connection that eludes many American intellectuals between the spray of pellets from the "mother’ bomb and the candy hurled at children in the South by friendly G.I.’s, between the pellets and all the Saran-wrapped products of American industrial society which can no longer be separated into beneficial and deleterious, "good," and "bad."

Since nobody can live in a vacuum, nobody, whatever he thinks, is free to "drop out" — poor blacks rioting carry home whiskey and T.V. sets.

– Mary McCarthy

 

Tell them what? That the mystic warrior was a freak out side show?

– Sonny Crockett, Miami Vice (T.V.)

 

Blessed is he whose life has not tasted of evil. When god has shaken a house, the winds of madness lash its breed till the breed is done.

– Sophocles

 

Everything is functioning; only man himself is no longer.

– Hugo Ball

 

Whatever happens, we shall remain stupid.

– Gustave Flaubert

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Kerrytown Bookfest!!!

Here’s my short article about the bookfest for the Current magazine — god knows what the editors will do to it…

 

Don’t ever confuse a Book Festival with a Bookfest! While the Ann Arbor Book festival is a rather august affair backed by a passel of corporate heavy hitters, The Kerrytown Bookfest is conducted in the much more communal spirit of a bunch of kids getting together to put on a show in their backyard. But what a show! Billed as a "celebration of the art of the book," the fourth annual Fest will feature booksellers, author panels, book binders, book repair tips, book appraisals, calligraphers, kids activities, music and food.

One of the 2006 edition highlights will be the annual conclave of the International Miniature Book Society. "This will be the first time the event has ever been hosted by a book festival," says Bookfest board member Joan Knoertzer. "Members are coming from the Czech Republic, Germany, England, Canada, Russia and all over the world." Miniature books are defined as less than three inches in any dimension, and there will be numerous examples on display at the Fest, as well as presentations from the artists who create them.

This years author panels focus on genre fiction with romance, science fiction, comic art, gay and lesbian and mystery writers discussing their works. "I’m particularly pleased to have local authors of the caliber of Davy Rothbart, Loren Estleman and Beverly Jenkins on hand," says Robin Agnew, owner of Aunt Agatha’s Mystery Bookshop, who oversees author programming. "We’re also thrilled to have Jeff Mallet, whose comic strip Frazz is one of my favorites."

Another popular portion of the Fest has been the demonstrations by the Hollander’s School of Book and Paper Arts, which this year include nationally know book artists, binders and printers talking about their unique work.

For the kids there’s a children’s tent with book making, fish printing, paper making, paper marbling and storytelling as well as music provided by the Ann Arbor School of Performing Arts. And all of that is in addition to over a hundred vendors, whose wares span the book universe from rare volumes to comic books.

The Kerrytown Bookfest will take place Sunday September 10th from 11-5 PM at the Ann Arbor Farmer’s Market in Kerrytown. Visit www.kerrytownbookfest.org for complete information.

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Coming Attractions

Coming soon:

 

         The Next Work

                  of the

           Immensely Successful

Beautiful and Extraordinary Author

               who adds

           Another Laurel

              to his already

WORLD WIDE REPUTATION

        by his artistic rendition

OF GREAT PROTEAN CHARACTERS

        in this famous extravaganza

The Greatest Drama of the Day

        No Pillow For Marguerite

                          or

           THREE FAST WOMEN

new features               new characters

new songs                    new conundrums

new jokes                    new dances

          NEW MODES OF FUN

 

Here’s Adventure – Here’s Romance

Here’s

            THE CHALLENGE

         OF TOMORROW

           Hubris – Miasma – Catharsis

        DIVERSIFIED AG SERVICES

      Mysterious Cults of the Megalith Builders

              Be Mesmerized by JAH

Cope with TEN of life’s toughest PROBLEMS

ANCIENT SECRETS REVEALED FOR THE

            GOOD OF MODERN MAN

All in color

For only a dime

 

void where prohibited by law

 

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