Thursday, May 2, 2019

the epistles of Amerigo Mackeral

dear robocop,
click for photos
dear reader,

herein resides an epistolary catalog of letters typed on notecards & the backs of maps. these missives are directed at objects, concepts & ghosts including: dear dust, dear better judgment, dear moon, dear doctor & dear smoke.

these poems have resulted in two albums, many performances & other songs by the octave doktors.  these myriad doktors have exerted great efforts in making many an interesting thing. 

art & words by aaron howard.
bricks: p 52-53 andy lachance.
drawing: p 56 lieke koopmans.

84 pps. 8.5 x 11. perfect bound.

Friday, June 29, 2018

the first issue of our magazine features words, art & photos from more than fifty contributors. we've collected interesting & varied work exploring our loose themes & moving right along. these 150 pages let you know there are ways of thinking. each copy comes with surprise whales & extra hand-pulled whale prints. 150pps. 8.5 x 11".

asc helvetius
jinn bug
andy lachance
devin person
victoria brockmeyer
b.b. grimm
steve dalachinsky
the letter K
ernestus jiminy chald
yuko otomo
aaron howard
lorry kikta
molly charlotte edminster
kenny lapins
tom bair
miekal aND
kenton deAngeli
sarah moskowitz
angela rogers
quinn daly
jon levin
ron whitehead
olafur gunnarsson
honey martin
jojo Lazar
lisa richter
keri smith
lottie brazier
edgar oliver
louise oliver
silent james
brandon floyd
naomi gold
brent bechtel
billy cancel
dwight peters
ghost lee pat
margot eberle
margaux galli
liz scales
pamala rogers
michal szostalo
genevieve de angelis
julien poirier
lieke koopmans
al cummins
jc oddities market
asc alchemical
it is whales time

1st Letter on Georges -- Charles Olson

February night, or August
on Georges the seas
are short, the room’s
small. When the moon’s
fullest the tidal currents
set fastest

On the morning of February 14th we started and in twenty-four hours were over the rocky bottom of the southerly part of the Bank. A hundred sail were crowded in together, half a mile. and some mile, apart, handlining, where the cod spawn.

The fishing and the weather were good or days. Although the cold was intense we were at the rail sometimes a full hour without changing position, then, if we got a halibut, the cook would bring up a pancake with plums in it to celebrate. And coffee.

The vessel shifted its berth twice, in the first week, each time drawing nearer to the body of the fleet. The fish were more plentiful but with each move our concern grew, for we were all bunched up easterly of dreaded South Shoal. If the weather stayed fine there was no danger but if it came on a gale and even one vessel dragged her anchor, or cable and went adrift, we might all go.

At sundown on the 24th there was a sudden change. The clouds massed, and the rising wind roughened the seas. At eight o’clock the skipper was uneasy, he kept looking up at the sky and at the horizon. The wind had veered to the northeast, and was increasing. It began to snow, moderately at first, and then more.

The skipper went forward to examine the cable and gave orders to pay out ten fathom. Our lights, in the rigging, had been lit since sundown, and the rest of the fleet could still be seen, when the skipper, warning that the night would be a watch for all of us, advised those who could to get some sleep. We went below about half-past eight.

It was now about eleven o’clock. The wind was a gale, the snow came down spitefully, and the seas were so high we could do nothing but look up the sides of them. From the short break of them in these confines of Georges, the way they snapped themselves off, one of them could break aboard us and sweep everything over the rail to leeward, or, worst, coming in too big, set down on us, bury us, smother the vessel under its weight and take it and us down in one crush.

At midnight the tide itself changed, set toward shoalwater, and now the wind, the sea and the tide were in one movement from the northeast, and the gravest strain was put on all the vessels trying to ride out the night. We were on deck to keep what lookout we could for the first vessel which might loose itself and drive on to us. The oldest hand aboard was at the windlass with a hatchet ready to cut the cable if paying it out wasn’t fast enough to let a vessel by, and we had to go ourselves.

The darkness had become impenetrable and a more dismal night none of us ever passed. We longed for morning to dawn. Once in a while the storm would lull for a little, and the snow not fall so thickly. Then we would see some of the lights of the fleet nearest us, but this was not often. During the night a large vessel did pass quite near us. We could see her lights, also her spars and sails, as she was driven swiftly along. We trembled at the thought of what she might have done had she struck us., and when we learned o the terrible disaster of the gale, we spoke of this vessel as the cause of some portion of it.

At length the east began to lighten. Morning was coming. Our danger was not over, the gale continued, but there was comfort to the light. The fearful darkness and the terrible uncertainty was relieved. We could now at least see our position.

We had something to eat, in turns, when, about nine o’clock, the skipper sang out, “Vessel adrift, ust ahead of us.” All eyes were on her. On she came directly for us. A moment more and we’d have had to cut, when she passed with the swiftness of a gull, so near any one of us could have leaped aboard her. We watched her as she went on and a short distance astern she struck one of the fleet and we saw the waters close over both vessels, almost instantly. As we looked they both disappeared.

Our own anchor began to drag, and we yaw. This was dangerous in the extreme, for if the anchors did not take hold again, find new bottom, we too must cut and once adrift go as these others had. Fortunately, the anchors bit up found holding ground, and we rode again in safety.

All through the day of the 25th we watched. Two more vessels bore down on us, but went clear. We were saved. At sundown the gale moderated and the terror of it, which had swept so fearfully over Georges, was over.

The next day we were back at fishing, we fished through the week, had good fishing, and headed home. Eastern Point Light, when first sighted, looked good to us, but coming in by the Fort, the crowds of people waiting there to see each vessel’s name awoke it all again. Several came on board asking if we had seen such and such a vessel since the gale. The town was in commotion. Such anxiety I hope never again to witness. The wharves were full of broken ships and there was hardly a home which didn’t have a loss. The gloom was general over the town for many days. One hundred and twenty men had drowned that one night and day, and fifteen vessels gone down, all on Georges
the shoal of Georges
the north, west and south

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

dear willful ignorance,

dear willful ignorance,

arent you dandy.

batty justification,
imaginary preference,
automatic dismissal,
superficial superiority.

my shoes are cleaner than yours.  you are bad.

a string thinner than the slenderest sinew plays a note
that isnt there,
& that must mean something else.

oh, i dont know about that.

what can you learn if you wont think?

i dont want to know every detail of everything.
i want to know what makes things & why.

i miss pop culture.  i dont know the songs on the radio.
i dont have a teevee.  due to obsolescence:  i have an internet.

i wanto know why kids talk that way,
it's honest;
& i wish adults wouldnt talk the way they do,
it's not.

sometimes there's a bum
whose sorrow is too large
too strong for me to bear

& i cant look at them
i cant know evrything
in their eyes. 

it sucks to be too be too broke
to feed the other guy.

next time i can.

in willing discourse,

Tuesday, June 23, 2015


in 'a moveable feast' there's a story wherein ernie's wife is traveling to meet him for a writing retreat.  she dutifully packs up a suitcase with all his writings.  & the copies from the other suitcase. 

a nice heavy suitcase of manuscripts from a hundred years ago.  lovely typewritten pages, carbon copies, notes & folders.

the suitcase lost in transit. 

everything ernie had written to that point.  zoom, kapow, kaputski. 

ernie didnt take it very well.  he said & did a lot of nasty things & whined a bunch. 

sometimes you lose your suitcase. 

a few months ago my hard drive failed.  oh sorrow & woe. 

a couple weeks back, i was in chicago for work & i lost my notebook that had some 10 months of verbiage in it. grrr... i am usually good about not losing notebooks.   people paid shit money to do shit jobs throw things like this away.

it's sad.  but it wont kill nobody.  most important things were copied in some form elsewhere.  & it's a good suggestion for paying attention to what you're doing at any given moment. 

sometimes you lose your suitcase.

it's time to start afresh. 

it's time to remember to keep versions of things in different places.  if that poem is so lovely email it to yourself.  twice.  oooooor, maybe, just maybe, put it on your blog.  yes the long forgot blog you once started. 

i blogged consistently in the days of myspace.  it was pleasant to have a daily impetus to blather nothing or say something slightly more interesting.

thus hath the candle sing'd the moth