Tag Archives: modern

Those Dark New Hampshire Woods

hampsire.jpgPropitiously, auspiciously, precipitously ran into Desmond Reed‘s work by chance on Tumblr, which for all the fat and noise is really one of the few places left one can sign on and see a ton of awesome art with relatively little digging.

A celebration of life’s will to grow, Those Dark New Hampshire Woods concerns a few weeks in the life of its denizens, rendered from all of whose perspective, looking inward and showing us how it is from over their shoulders, not unlike As I Lay Dying.
The book, like all great stories, like in Faulkner or Bolaño, distinguishes itself both through its place in a universe all its own as well as its exposition of the stories within that world in an elegant and silly spiral of nested and/or tangentially-related vignettes.
Amongst other instantly-relatable characters we meet the drifter, who drifts, the scumbag, the wild hairy uncles, the world’s smallest pervert, who seeks happiness despite being on the other side of existence.

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The obscene god of rebirth from Those Dark New Hampshire Woods

It is in the story of the Scumbag and the Troubled Teen that we encounter the persistent theme of nature’s regeneration, presented by means of the cloning by pore of the characters, reducing the proud, complex human down to the physiognomy of the plant kingdom. The joy with which their bodies relentlessly reproduce cycles through the setting and creates a second whirling narrative wheel.
My only gripe is what the hell is going on in the New Hampshire woods, and how does one end up there?
Those Dark New Hampshire Woods is a work of modest comic art blessed with satisfying textual depth, a work of literature not to be missed in the 2016 crop.

I also got the second one but honestly I haven’t even read it yet. I’m too blown away.
The books are published by Birdcage Bottom Books, and when you buy stuff from them you get a bunch of extra stuff!
https://www.birdcagebottombooks.com

In Therapy After All

I have a therapist now. His name is Miguel Zenón. He has promised me that our therapeutic treatments will not result in my writing’s being more bourgeois or self-pitying. And he plays on stages sponsored by global asset management, so don’t be thinking he’s just some dirty Mexican you don’t need to listen to. I think his is the most important music being made in this country right now, at least that I’m aware of.

Speaking of anxiety, some lame article by News Wire says that people who complain are disposed physically through the act of complaint to be anxious and depressed. If there was ever proof that psychology is not productive science at all, but rather racist and imperialist rhetoric, this is it. According to the study –completed by a computer analyst! –those of us who are anxious because the fucking ecosystems of the planet are collapsing so we can have cars and internet, we are just complainers making ourselves sick by voicing our outrage and trying to scream the truth to a world of deaf consumers.

But those who screw as many people as they can to be financially successful, who refuse to raise their kids, who never leave the place of work, the suburban enclave or the gym, are justified in their anxiety for working so hard to be successful. As long as they don’t complain, because that just makes things worse. There you have it.