Weasel's Blog, page 29
February 2, 2015
we are not the end of a movie
when my plane took off,
there was no camera behind
me, no fade to black, no credits
rolling up to tell us the parts
we played in each others lives.
only left with the drifting
delirium i was lured into;
distance growing as we
created apocryphal manuscripts
out of broken typewriter keys—-
typesetting unanswered emergencies
like the night you huddled against me.
remember? how your body quaked from
the cold as we watched the ghosts
hover around our window.
the next morning we had our coffee in
silence, shaking off the break of
character we exposed each other to.
our shadows intertwining in the sun as
we get lost in the sacrifice we could not
bring ourselves to make. you, were not
ready to love anyone, but you still ripped
the voice from my spine when you tried
to return us to anarchy the same night.
some ashes need to remain buried; so
i’m writing this as an apology letter to
the both of us, for how far i let things
go; for carrying the snow from your
homeland so i could remember the
stillness of your touch. and though
i have forgotten how you look, i
still remember your taste when the
cold trickles along my body. such
manifestos are born out of addiction,
contracted by your hands
January 31, 2015
weaselpress
Hiya! So 2015 has started and we’ve already hit the ground running. Releasing 2 great poetry collections, there’s still a plethora of releases that we are lining up. I’d like to extend a huge welcome to our new authors accepted into Weasel Press, Kai Neidhardt, Robin Wyatt Dunn and Z.M. Wise! I’d also like to welcome Z.M. Wise and Emily Ramser to the Weasel Press Staff!
2014 was a tough year; we went through a major growing pain and a great learning experience. We still have a lot of room to grow and much more to learn, and we are thankful to have all you literary junkies riding along with us. Your patience is majorly appreciated!
Right now there’s a lot of things on the drawing board. Some may happen, some may not, this will all depend on time and funding, though we’ll make every best effort to make them happen in the future. Our release calender so far is as follows:
Kai Neidhardt’s Paradise Hills - February 6, 2015
Manna Plourde’s Viscera - February 13, 2015
Vagabonds: Anthology of the Mad Ones - March 13, 2015
Vixyy Fox’s Improbable…Never Impossible - April 17, 2015
Robin Wyatt Dunn’s Last Freedom - June 5, 2015
Kai Neidhardt’s Jazz Beats and Deliriums - July 10, 2015
We’ve got two zines calling for submissions. Degenerates: Voices for Peace has a deadline of March 6, 2015 and The Haunted Traveler has deadline of April 10, 2015. Check out these two great magazines at our website!
Weasel Press will be hosting events throughout 2015, the first being at NOKturne for March 14, 2015 7PM to 10PM. We’ll be featuring Z.M. Wise and David E. Cowen (pending confirmation) along with an open mic. A third featured reader is still to be determined. Our next event will be in April for National Poetry Month. Venue is To Be Determined. More details when they are available.
Submissions for 2015 will be extremely limited to new authors until further notice. Authors who are already signed with Weasel Press can still discuss new projects with me. I’m limiting submissions to new authors for a variety of reasons, but my biggest reason is I’m prepping for a chapbook contest that will have a rather large cash prize (between $200-$500). Details are still in the works but I’m hoping to have this contest up and running by summer. I am also working on getting a paying anthology (I’m thinking on it being The Haunted Traveler, but I’m not exactly sure just yet). We have a lot of growing pains to go through, but we’re ready for them.
More updates to come. If you haven’t grabbed our latest releases, check out our storenvy and look around!
January 30, 2015
WZL Books n Stuff
Hiya!
So I’ve started a small blog where I bost book reviews. It’ll mostly be of poetry chapbooks and collections as I grab those the most, but the occasional bit of fiction may appear. I’ve got a few reviews up already, and are working on another to post.
Reviews will also be posted on amazon and goodreads. When it gets a lot more traffic I’d like to eventually ask for review copies of collections and such and provide reviews on those books. But for now it’ll be full of books I’ve purchased over time.
January 28, 2015
tenkenryu:
frivoloustidbits:
You know most people think of the word weasel as a bad term, but have...
You know most people think of the word weasel as a bad term, but have you ever looked at an actual weasel? Like, a real one?
awww :)
eeee!
it’s so cute!
Hhnnnnng
Oh god I just can’t-
And let’s not forget that the average weasel is also roughly the size of a banana. Because it clearly wasn’t adorable enough already
Little fuzzy bananas!
Weasels. They’re muthafuckin’ adorable dammit!
Weasel is a writer and overall degenerate poet. He received his...
Weasel is a writer and overall degenerate poet. He received his Bachelor of Arts in Literature at the University of Houston-Clear Lake and has been blowing up the poetry scene ever since. This Vagabond poet has had the fortunate opportunity to release a full length poetry collection titledAshes to Burn through Transcendent Zero Press. He has also self-published a small chapbook titledY’all Muthafucka’s Need Jesus. Weasel has appeared in an indie documentary titled Something Out of Nothing (S.O.O.N.) directed by Mitchell Dudley. His writing has been accepted in several anthologies, some of which include: Houston’s Harbinger Asylum, San Jacinto College’s Threshold, Permian Basin Beyond 2014,Hunger For Peace, Everything on Earth is Huge and We’re All On It, Di-Verse-Cityfrom the 2012, 2013, & 2014 Austin International Poetry Festival.
He fell into the publishing world after a couple years of releasing the growing literary anthology Vagabonds: Anthology of the Mad Ones. The anthology is still going and continues to feature several talented writers and artists in the community. Weasel Press grew from the idea that we’re all mad artists, and is now home to several wonderful individuals. The press has spawned a few other literary journals and continues to be a thriving force in the world of writers.
Some of Weasel’s influences include: Hunter S. Thompson, William S. Burroughs, Arthur C. Clarke, Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, Clive Barker, Thomas Mann, Virginia Woolf, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Kurt Vonnegut, John Ashbery, Anis Mojgani, Buddy Wakefield, Andrea Gibson, H.P. Lovecraft, James Joyce, Nathanael West, Sylvia Plath, and Hubert Selby Jr.
C. Lynn Carden AKA Happy Daze Poet, was born in Galveston, TX....
C. Lynn Carden AKA Happy Daze Poet, was born in Galveston, TX. She began writing at age 12. Her first published work was in Texas City High School Weekly School Newspaper, “Stingtales.” She has also been published in ‘International Library of Poetry’ books-”Forgotten Moments” and “America at the Millennium-The Best Poems and Poets of the 20th Century,” and the “Poetry Guild Book — The Harvest Season.” She writes in common language and loves the simplicity. Everyone and Everyday life is her interest of which she most commonly writes. She currently has four chapbooks published with more to come. She enjoys readings in Galveston and Harris Counties on the Gulf Coast of Texas.
Z.M. Wise is a poet and poetry activist, writing since his first...
Z.M. Wise is a poet and poetry activist, writing since his first steps as a child. He has been a written-word poet for almost two decades, and a spoken-word poet for four years. He is an Assistant Editor of Harbinger Asylum, a Houston-based, internationally known poetry magazine. He is co-owner of Transcendent Zero Press, an independent publishing house for poetry, with his dear friend and founder Dustin Pickering. He hosts a weekly reading at San Jacinto College. His first book of poetry, ‘Take Me Back, Kingswood Clock,’ published by MavLit, is available as both a hard copy and ebook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Nook, and Kindle. His second book that was released by Transcendent Zero Press, ‘The Wandering Poet,’ is available in both hard copy and digital form. Wise is planning to release another collection titled Wolf in 2015 through Weasel Press. Other than his three books, his poems have been published in various journals, magazines, and anthologies, such as Boston Poetry Magazine, Coalesce Magazine, Great Poems of the Western World, Torrid literary Journal, FreeMyVerse, and A Celebration of Poets. The motto that keeps him going: POETRY LIVES! Mr. Wise will make sure to spread that message and the love of poetry, making sure it remains vibrant for the rest of his days and beyond. To find out more about Z.M. Wise visit his website below:
http://zmwisethepoet.tumblr.com/
http://melissastuddard.com/
Melissa Studdard’s debut poetry...
Melissa Studdard’s debut poetry collection, I Ate the Cosmos for Breakfast, was recently released by Saint Julian Press. She is also the author of the bestselling novel Six Weeks to Yehidah; its companion journal, My Yehidah (both on All Things That Matter Press); and The Tiferet Talk Interviews. Her awards include the Forward National Literature Award, the International Book Award, the Readers’ Favorite Award, and two Pinnacle Book Achievement Awards.
Melissa’s poetry, fiction, essays, reviews, and articles have appeared in dozens of journals and anthologies, including Boulevard, Connecticut Review, Pleiades, and Poets & Writers. In addition to writing, Melissa serves as an editorial advisor for The Criterion, an interviewer for American Microreviews and Interviews, and a host for Tiferet Talk radio. She received her MFA from Sarah Lawrence college and is a professor for the Lone Star College System and a teaching artist for The Rooster Moans Poetry Cooperative.
January 27, 2015
January 26, 2015
Waking Up
I never intended to walk into a staggering murder scene, but that is simply how this morning started out. For the past couple days I’ve been staying at a friend’s place, arriving on his birthday and although Jeremy and I were not close friends, eloping from the warm winters of Texas just sounded like a good idea. Birthdays are essentially opportunities for a few beers and other related substances. What kind of traveler would I be if one never indulged in a toke or two?
I don’t know where Jeremy is, but he is not in the apartment. The last time we were together was merely a few hours ago before I simply passed out on the beanbag chair in the living area after finishing the last of the whiskey. There was a third person with us. I’ve forgotten his name, but I still remember how he looks. And now I’m in a room with a lukewarm cup of coffee staring at the books and the clothes mangled about the floor. My eyes are still a little disoriented from the previous night; it appears I’m not as tolerant of alcohol as I once thought.
So what exactly happened? I can’t say I know for sure, but I fear that Jeremy is no longer among us. I haven’t bothered with the roommate in his room, but somehow I’m sure it will be just as bad. I remember yesterday, we had been kept up inside this place, no fresh air or anything, and decided to wander about the complex. My friend had mentioned to me that there was a nature trail around and without much more thought into the matter we just walked off. It was a good few miles from the complex; we traveled through crippling construction and tagged gas stations before finding the entrance.
There was some minor construction happening on the side walk before we pushed through a broken gate. I remember cutting my neck at the entrance as we squeezed through. I suppose it was meant to be cut off from the world, but that wasn’t my concern any more. Simply a cool spot to fuck around in, never know what you’ll find. The ground was soft, I couldn’t remember it raining at all during my stay here but I could feel my shoes sink slowly into the dirt as we moved further in.
Trash littered the pathway of this makeshift forest. I thought at the time that it was a little irritating to find and if I were an environmentalist I probably would have been pissed off. But alas I was and am simply American. We came to what looked like an ankle deep lake. Jeremy was the first to jump onto the rickety bridge connecting our side with the next and I slowly followed. I wasn’t afraid of drowning, but I did think of the unknown possibilities of what might have been underneath the water.
I remember snapping a few pictures with my phone as Jeremy went ahead. I wanted to capture the broken glass feeling of the water as the trash distorted it. Some photo ops are things you just can’t miss. I hopped off the bridge and traveled a bit further into the brush. He had been examining an oddly shaped well when I arrived. My foot trampled over a fairly new receipt with some other trash. Stopping, I had to examine these items. My body became unnerved when the receipt read the recent date and that the items purchased were bullets and a scope. I held onto it as I had caught my friend’s attention. I passed along the receipt and started to examine well, graffiti tags all over the concrete. At the corner of the stone monument was what seemed like a house arrest bracelet. I could see the blood dried over the item, then shuddered at the thought of what might have been below the murky waters. It wasn’t long before we looked at each other and decided it was best to leave.
I dropped the receipt and started my out back to the massive puddle in this uncertain area. The grass rustled as we left, I thought about possible footsteps. Without a moment to process the situation, I turned around and saw a young pale man with a rifle in his hand. I had also noticed the scope attached to it. There was a silence between us; I remember our eyes locking, reading each other to see who was going to move first. I hadn’t met him before, but stranger faces have made their presence known. Options were abundant and it was highly probable I’d be shot in any situation. My leg had twitched as our new guest decided to break the tension between us.
So how’s the Jerm doing these days?” A smile traced across his lips and they dove into one of those weird long distance couple hugs that take a while. I said nothing, only watched the two as they talked for a moment about old times. Jeremy eventually explained to me that the rifleman was an old friend of his, and that he escapes to the woods for hunting when he can. Tensions were eased but I still felt a little uneasy with the newcomer among us. There was connection between these objects on the ground and this individual and I knew it, but I was too swayed to believe that this was all merely coincidental.
I began to notice something strange about them both as we made our exit from the woods. I couldn’t keep my mind from the bracelet and the gunman walking along with us. We made it back to the apartment; my body had become less tense as we started to open up a few drinks. I watched the subtle cues between my friend and the stranger; slight touches on the arm creating sexual tension in the room. I remember nothing else. I blacked out after a whole afternoon of drinking and now alone. There’s something around my foot; the bracelet from the woods. My eyes cringe at the sight of the red dot blipping every second. It seems I’m being monitored. Attached to my ankle is a small post-it. The words, “You’re Next!” plastered in red all over it.
Everyone would tell you to call the cops, cell phones are the next wonder of this world, but being poor is not helpful towards the bill. I am one of the few who would still travel without one. There are no phones in this house, though I never expected there to be any as landlines are essentially going out.
Whoever we picked up yesterday is coming back. If not here then wherever else I go. The door handle to the front is jiggling now. I can hear the keys trying to wriggle the lock open. Mother Mary can’t hear my prayers now as I close the door to this room and grab a bat left in the corner. I try to stay composed, silent as I hear the creaking of the apartment door opening. My hands grip tightly around the weapon. I lift the bat and bust out the window. I’m on the second floor of the building. Muffled footsteps grow closer to the room as I step out and fall, hoping I hit the grass when I land.
