Two Poems
We birds
in dense lament
for metal moss stream.
Over the bridge fly in sight
we will have shape, scrape
the burn marsh grass, the blazing terse…
We’re a wheat bellow
bride the cold of which forever
prickle. Wine and twilight and we tip
the bluer hats pasted soon
of the portico.
By James D Autio.
3:AM Asia: Clarification
By Roland Kelts. For my latest column in The Daily Yomiuri and 3:AM magazine, I interviewed Yukari Shiina of World Manga, an agency specializing in connecting international artists with the domestic manga publishing industry. The following insights and comments by Shiina-san, an agent and industry consultant, survived the final edit: Shiina believes the depressed economy […]
Novelistic Form: Burroughs
Daniel Older: Your books, since The Ticket That Exploded especially, are no longer ‘novels’; a breaking up of novelistic form is noticeable in the Naked Lunch. Towards what end or goal is this break-up heading? William Burroughs: That’s very difficult to say. I think that the novelistic form is probably outmoded and that we may […]
Five for: Ben Brooks
1) What are you working on at the moment? A novel about a man being kept alive alone in a room while the earth is decontaminated (after a poisonous bloom has filled the sky and shattered). He begins to forget things. His television turns itself on, showing only images of wildlife and scenery. 2) What’s […]