Tumbleweeds

NEG notes in the comment box below that R&R has taken a leave of absence for a little R&R. This is true. Now we're back. We are anxiously awaiting Noah's five new books this year, as well as my own magnum opus, the tentatively titled Aviary Evacuation Plan. Why tentatively? Well, you have that one book from Ahsahta (I think) with the pretentious title that contains the word "aviary." And then you have Jess Mynes' brilliant little chap Birds, For Example. And then one of Noah's books has a bird in it. There's a bird glut in contemporary poetry. So, my genius tome of 81 pomes will probably not have a birdy title. Just so you know.

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Janet Holmes is blogging over at the Poetry Foundation.

Speaking of the Poetry Foundation, everyone's favorite James Spader look-alike film-making post-avant genius poet, Nick Twemlow, now working for the MAN, has been extremely out of touch. This is my public cry to the heavens--Nick! If you're in the heavens, come down here. Let me see you. In the meantime, you should treat yourself to these poems which are, dare I say, brilliant.

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I was going to call those poems terrific but I haven't yet had enough Pepsi.

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On listening to Burzum over a Sunday meal of pot roast, long time friend (and foe of poetry) Erik Draper quoth:

It sounds like it's the end of the song for seven minutes.

His daughter seemed to enjoy it as well.

Black Metal Tip: Don't play black metal for your cat. Despite the popular folk association of felines with our Dark Lord, they really hate metal.

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Tony Tost wishes he were Andrew Mister.

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Andrew Mister wishes he were Lester Bangs.