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Burden of Ashes
A literary dreamscape in which the landscapes of childhood, homelands, bodies, lovers, and desires succumb to whimsy, revision, and denial. With wild grace, Chin bounds through actual events and imagined outcomes-in a place where killing snakes, stern discipline, family pets, and childhood vacations share equal time with unrequited love, the mournful specters of ex-lovers, imagined passions, and the enigmatic power of a good kiss-reconciling what is lost, taken away, denied, outgrown, left behind, survived, remembered, and reclaimed. Marketing
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Author Appearances in San Francisco and New York Justin Chin is the author of Essays, Diatribes and Pranks and Bite Hard . His writings have appeared in American The Next Generation, The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry, and Chick for a Day. He has created eight full-length solo performance works and several shorter works that have been presented nationally and abroad. Born in Malaysia and raised in Singapore, he currently lives in San Francisco.
Advance Reader Copies
Author Appearances in San Francisco and New York Justin Chin is the author of Essays, Diatribes and Pranks and Bite Hard . His writings have appeared in American The Next Generation, The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry, and Chick for a Day. He has created eight full-length solo performance works and several shorter works that have been presented nationally and abroad. Born in Malaysia and raised in Singapore, he currently lives in San Francisco.
- GenresPoetryLGBTShort Stories
224 pages, Paperback
First published May 1, 2002
About the author
Justin Chin
11 books46 followersBorn in Malaysia, raised & educated in Singapore, shipped to the U.S. by way of Hawaii, and lived in San Francisco. Author of 3 books of poetry, all published by Manic D Press: Bite Hard (1997); Harmless Medicine (2001), a finalist in the Bay Area Book Reviewers Association Awards; and, Gutted (2006), which received the 2007 Thom Gunn Award for Poetry by the Publishing Triangle. Squeezed in between these were 2 non-fictions: Mongrel: Essays, Diatribes & Pranks (St. Martins, 1999), and the ur-memoir, Burden of Ashes (Alyson Publications, 2002).
In the nineties, also led a double life as performance artist: created and presented seven full-length solo works here, there and where ever. Packed up those cookies in 2002, (with occasional relapses) and the documents, scripts, and what-heck from that period was published in Attack of the Man-Eating Lotus Blossoms (Suspect Thoughts Press, 2005). Continues to produce text/visual Book-based performance work. Book 2 is an on-going project where discarded or abandoned books found on the streets & other public places are remade, remodeled, & reworked into artists books.
In the nineties, also led a double life as performance artist: created and presented seven full-length solo works here, there and where ever. Packed up those cookies in 2002, (with occasional relapses) and the documents, scripts, and what-heck from that period was published in Attack of the Man-Eating Lotus Blossoms (Suspect Thoughts Press, 2005). Continues to produce text/visual Book-based performance work. Book 2 is an on-going project where discarded or abandoned books found on the streets & other public places are remade, remodeled, & reworked into artists books.
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
June 30, 2020
QUOTES:
Writing is an ongoing risk. And it is a risk that I take on, maybe because I know no better way to make sense of this mud of life.
And in the end, in the dustbin of my history, when all is decaying and rotted, composting to bits, whether my work survives after me, or even survives the next few years, will remain to be seen. What I know is what this work did: It gave me the courage to speak, and to find some semblance of myself worth the words.
"You're just so cynical," my mom chastises. "I keep praying that God will open your heart more."
"Oh, so God is now a cardiac surgeon," I say, but she ignores my wicked cynical mouth.
From the rattling boombox, we listened to the Reverend Anderson's Midwestern drawl as he preached the message of Satan's all-encompassing reach and how God's love was stronger than rock music.
Angels and demons are cut from the same cloth.
The art of cartography places everything where it should be, until the charts are lost, the places change, or the cartographer decides that the object simply doesn't exist anymore.
It's good to feel safe but safety always reminds me of danger, otherwise it wouldn't exist.
Passion. It's just a word, and one should never be afraid nor critical of mere words. But then, we boys take what we can get our hands on, what we can put our lips to.
Writing is an ongoing risk. And it is a risk that I take on, maybe because I know no better way to make sense of this mud of life.
And in the end, in the dustbin of my history, when all is decaying and rotted, composting to bits, whether my work survives after me, or even survives the next few years, will remain to be seen. What I know is what this work did: It gave me the courage to speak, and to find some semblance of myself worth the words.
"You're just so cynical," my mom chastises. "I keep praying that God will open your heart more."
"Oh, so God is now a cardiac surgeon," I say, but she ignores my wicked cynical mouth.
From the rattling boombox, we listened to the Reverend Anderson's Midwestern drawl as he preached the message of Satan's all-encompassing reach and how God's love was stronger than rock music.
Angels and demons are cut from the same cloth.
The art of cartography places everything where it should be, until the charts are lost, the places change, or the cartographer decides that the object simply doesn't exist anymore.
It's good to feel safe but safety always reminds me of danger, otherwise it wouldn't exist.
Passion. It's just a word, and one should never be afraid nor critical of mere words. But then, we boys take what we can get our hands on, what we can put our lips to.
January 2, 2008
i just *heart* justin chin. his writing makes me want to laugh and cry, if not at the same time, at least really close together. yes, i know it's cheesy, but it's just darn true with him.
April 6, 2014
Just finished Justin Chin's Burden of Ashes (Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001). Chin a Chinese Malay born in Malaysia, raised in Singapore and emigrated to the San Francisco is a glo-punk spoken slam poet. His Burden of Ashes is a collection of essays formed around memoirs and rememberances of things past. A really well written and witty collection which moves quickly, and quirkely over a wealth of topics from desire, sexuality; identity, disease, death and love. Chin's sense of humour is rather of the wall but his pieces are truly written in a fun light humoured way that at times reaches a poetic quality. I must admit I enjoyed most his paen to a former boyfriend, "Horehound". I enjoyed this piece so much and found myself reflected during my relationship with Chris in Chin's own tortured desires for his horehound. Chin's piece on the journey back to China with his family is also really enjoyable and filled with the realities of living or visiting China as a Chinese gay male. Also his tales about interacting with his family and his own queer sexuality are very reflective and introspective while still being lightly funny.
A man I used to love died in a hospital alone. We had grown apart and lost touch. I met a common friend one day at a bar and he told me about my ex-lover. Nobody claimed the body for two weeks: His parents refused, his only sister could not be found, and the hospital was certainly not going to release the body to his AA sponsor. So after two weeks they cremated him like all the other unclaimed bodies, put his ashes into a jar, and then allowed anyone to take it. But no one did. He was buried by the municipality in an unmarked grave. I drove to the cemetery. He was buried in Lot 12, Block 86, Section D. Incredibly precise locations for a person who is nothing but ashes unclaimed.
Justin Chin, "The Burden of Ashes" in Burden of Ashes (Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001), 133.
The art of cartography places everything where it should be, until the charts are lost, the places change, or the cartographer decides that the object simply doesn't exist anymore.
Justin Chin, "The Burden of Ashes" in Burden of Ashes (Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001), 134.
I am queer for my lover's body. Horehound is mescalinestrong. Dazzling as expensive fireworks. One taste of my Horehound's feast and I beg for his tendrils to twine around my genitals like how a bull is primed for a rodeo. I am ready to be ridden until I kneel on the dusty ground, horns to the dirt, begging to be tamed. Tame me, my sweet, my bitter Horehound. Make me grow unfettered around your body, as your namesake grows.
Lie still; let my tongue function as fingertips, my senses of touch
and taste meld. Let me be the cartographer of your body I know how
to start: from your left nipple, closer to your heart, where the
pump of blood heats that tit more than the other. A more flavourful
place to begin, no? Let me suck, childhungry, until it spurts bitter
on my tongue, pushing my mission to the hollow under your left arm,
again warmer because of your pumping heart. I will nestle in your
brush, press my mouth and nose close to your skin, follow the flow
of your blood as a paper boat in a storm drain does, forcefully,
involuntarily, to your left wrist, kiss your fingers as if they were
a sacrament, read the lines in your palm. I will find the oases, the
monuments, the dikes, the hells, the battlegrounds of your body so I
will know where to hide when you love me or when you fury me.
Justin Chin.
"Horehound" in
/Burden of Ashes/
(Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001): 152-153.
Obsessions are best kept that way. It's not really wise to try and
bring them to you, even if you desperately want to. Even if you're
horny beyond belief.
Justin Chin.
"A Sea of Decaying Kisses" in
/Burden of Ashes/
(Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001): 216-217
A man I used to love died in a hospital alone. We had grown apart and lost touch. I met a common friend one day at a bar and he told me about my ex-lover. Nobody claimed the body for two weeks: His parents refused, his only sister could not be found, and the hospital was certainly not going to release the body to his AA sponsor. So after two weeks they cremated him like all the other unclaimed bodies, put his ashes into a jar, and then allowed anyone to take it. But no one did. He was buried by the municipality in an unmarked grave. I drove to the cemetery. He was buried in Lot 12, Block 86, Section D. Incredibly precise locations for a person who is nothing but ashes unclaimed.
Justin Chin, "The Burden of Ashes" in Burden of Ashes (Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001), 133.
The art of cartography places everything where it should be, until the charts are lost, the places change, or the cartographer decides that the object simply doesn't exist anymore.
Justin Chin, "The Burden of Ashes" in Burden of Ashes (Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001), 134.
I am queer for my lover's body. Horehound is mescalinestrong. Dazzling as expensive fireworks. One taste of my Horehound's feast and I beg for his tendrils to twine around my genitals like how a bull is primed for a rodeo. I am ready to be ridden until I kneel on the dusty ground, horns to the dirt, begging to be tamed. Tame me, my sweet, my bitter Horehound. Make me grow unfettered around your body, as your namesake grows.
Lie still; let my tongue function as fingertips, my senses of touch
and taste meld. Let me be the cartographer of your body I know how
to start: from your left nipple, closer to your heart, where the
pump of blood heats that tit more than the other. A more flavourful
place to begin, no? Let me suck, childhungry, until it spurts bitter
on my tongue, pushing my mission to the hollow under your left arm,
again warmer because of your pumping heart. I will nestle in your
brush, press my mouth and nose close to your skin, follow the flow
of your blood as a paper boat in a storm drain does, forcefully,
involuntarily, to your left wrist, kiss your fingers as if they were
a sacrament, read the lines in your palm. I will find the oases, the
monuments, the dikes, the hells, the battlegrounds of your body so I
will know where to hide when you love me or when you fury me.
Justin Chin.
"Horehound" in
/Burden of Ashes/
(Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001): 152-153.
Obsessions are best kept that way. It's not really wise to try and
bring them to you, even if you desperately want to. Even if you're
horny beyond belief.
Justin Chin.
"A Sea of Decaying Kisses" in
/Burden of Ashes/
(Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001): 216-217
January 10, 2011
beginning I could really relate to. (We share similar experience- not sexually.)
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews