Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Barry Hannah Reading Tonight!
Vox Literary Journal of Oxford is hosting a reading with Barry Hannah tonight at Off Square Books at 7 p.m.
Artist Glennray Tutor will also be there to talk about his work on the covers of Barry's books.
Should be great!
From the Vox site:
VOX Artist Series presents An Evening With Barry Hannah!
Join us on Dec. 1st at 7 PM for a sit down with one of America's most inventive and original writers and an acknowledged master of the modern short story. Mr. Hannah will read from his work and then take questions. At Mr. Hannah's request, black-eyed peas and cornbread will be available for a $4.00 donation.
Special guest Glennray Tutor, renowned Oxford photorealist, will discuss his work in designing the iconic cover for Mr. Hannah's classic short story collection Bats Out of Hell and Mr. Hannah's other book covers.
Special guest Tate Moore of The Kuzdu Kings (and owner of the delicious Square Pizza in Oxford) will treat the crowd to special music.
Doors open at 6:00 PM. Program begins at 7:00 PM.
Spend a few hours on a Tuesday evening with VOX and Barry Hannah! Sabers up!
__________________________
Also! The 2010 Oxford Conference for the Book is dedicated to Barry. Hooray!
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Kitty Snacks #2 now available at Lemuria Books in Jackson, Mississippi
If you live in central Mississippi you can swing by Lemuria Books to grab a copy of Kitty Snacks #2.
Kitty Snacks on CNN
Michael and I were recently interviewed
by Neal Moore for CNN iReport.
by Neal Moore for CNN iReport.
Illiteracy to Literature in the Enlightened South - Part I
By NEAL MOORE
OXFORD, MISSISSIPPI (CNN iReport)
From the basic grasp of consonants to the next step up the ladder of literacy - actually craving the concept of literature - I found the idea of introducing a literary mantra in the epicenter of what some folks refer to as the “Enlightened South” an interesting prospect.
David Swider and Michael Bible are affable and giddy and very much sincere about literature. I joined the duo for a beer at the Square’s greasy spoon, Ajax, to talk shop about the region before sitting down for an interview back on their work-turf of Square Books. Their energy plays off each other when they talk, turning every conversation into a brainstorming session of what would be cool or what could work out literary-wise for the literary journal, Kitty Snacks. At ages 25 and 28, respectively, David and Michael are relatively young to undertake the launch of a literary magazine – but this is their point. They want to make the rather daunting idea of literature a possibility for folks of all ages by offering it to the public as bite sized snacks.
According to Michael Bible, Mississippi “is the fattest, poorest, dumbest state in the country – that is full of geniuses. You have people that can’t read right next to people that win Nobel Prizes – and it’s this weird kind of dichotomy that works to both illuminate that kind of difference but also recently, bring it together.”
“The book is kind of a hard commodity right now,” explains Wayne Andrews, Executive Director of the Yoknapatawpha Arts Council, who immediately saw the potential for the journal and helped to get it published. While “publishers [are] not taking risks on new authors [nor] publishing diverse works, we’re finding new ways to do it.” According to Mr. Andrews, quarterly publications like Kitty Snacks are “leading [people] down the path to discover a magazine and then hopefully discover a book.”
Check out Part I of this report by clicking here: http://www.ireport.com/docs/DOC-351049
Thursday, October 8, 2009
An excerpt from Kitty Snacks #2: On Water by Leni Zumas
Dear Sister,
I have left you alone with them, and I am sorry. Don’t be angry. Please don’t be.
I am riding a castle in a moat the size of God, manned by men too stupid or too criminal for the navy. They deck themselves in ribbons, no shoes, their hair braided in patchy thrusts; and I dress as they do. Walk jack-hipped as they do.
My hands hurt from working the ropes and my nose bled twice and I miss you, but I am not discontented. In the morning, you should see it, how the day comes like horses. And at night the night is so black that my voice is the only proof I am here. At home we had our candle. Remember how we frazzed our lashes at it, and Mother noticed our bald lids? That was worth being whipped for, to feel the heat so close without going blind.
The captain, they say, wears a merkin. It is sinful to cut the private hair, but he has cut it; and his little wig sticks there, under the belly. I don’t know what color is the wig, nor does Ned, the boy who told me of it.
Ned with his rosy plumules, zit-ricked lad, scrubs daily with salt and cinder but no good, he is bad afflicted. Crab-face! yell the sailors and Ned rushes his hands to his cheeks. He is the only one on this castle who knows what I am. He came to me the third night, down in the hold where I lay crunched, and said very low, Are you a lady? and I said No, I’m a boy, and he said, You’re not a boy.
When the sea churns the green sailors fall to swithering. But the churn is nothing more bad than a quease from the monthly. Some of the boys cry. Boys young enough to cry are here, younger than we were when our hairs came. In sleep they call for their mothers; awake, they puke. Two are brothers, with heads the red of a schoolhouse, both sick from the minute we left shore. The younger can’t stop throwing up. The older is bony too, but his brother has shrunk to the bigness of a rabbit, no food in days, only spoonmeat. Being a soft creature, bred up in softness, he can’t stand the fling of the water. Ned advised to cut an eel into portions and feed the kid the raw bits; but the older refused. Instead he trickles biscuit into cups of milk, tilts them careful at his brother’s mouth.
Many of these boys are dotted with trout-lice, a worm like a clove or pin that sucks your moisture. I am nervous of getting a sug on me, so I wear all my clothes to sleep.
When we are bored, which is a lot, Ned tells stories from home. There lived in his road a keeper of bears, who cared for the sick or hurt or old ones that had been removed from the pit. I said what did he mean, pit? The bear-pit, he said. Our town has no pit, I said. It’s a hole in the ground where bears are, Ned explained, to be watched by the public. The public is not amused by sluggish animals; they want frisk and cavortion. So the bear-keeper tended the outcasts. Until one ate him. I don’t believe you, I said happily. I swear on my own grave, Ned said. He was found half-munched, by the man’s very daughter! Then you swear on water, I pointed out, because sailors have no grave but the sea. And water can’t be sworn on.
Poor sicklepod Ned, his cheeks coarse with oozy lobules—he is the kindest of any man I have met. This is thanks, I think, to his not being a man quite yet, no need of a razor. When I change between my two shirts, he looks away.
*****
To read the rest of On Water please see the print version of Kitty Snacks #2. You can purchase a copy by clicking the link on the right.
I have left you alone with them, and I am sorry. Don’t be angry. Please don’t be.
I am riding a castle in a moat the size of God, manned by men too stupid or too criminal for the navy. They deck themselves in ribbons, no shoes, their hair braided in patchy thrusts; and I dress as they do. Walk jack-hipped as they do.
My hands hurt from working the ropes and my nose bled twice and I miss you, but I am not discontented. In the morning, you should see it, how the day comes like horses. And at night the night is so black that my voice is the only proof I am here. At home we had our candle. Remember how we frazzed our lashes at it, and Mother noticed our bald lids? That was worth being whipped for, to feel the heat so close without going blind.
The captain, they say, wears a merkin. It is sinful to cut the private hair, but he has cut it; and his little wig sticks there, under the belly. I don’t know what color is the wig, nor does Ned, the boy who told me of it.
Ned with his rosy plumules, zit-ricked lad, scrubs daily with salt and cinder but no good, he is bad afflicted. Crab-face! yell the sailors and Ned rushes his hands to his cheeks. He is the only one on this castle who knows what I am. He came to me the third night, down in the hold where I lay crunched, and said very low, Are you a lady? and I said No, I’m a boy, and he said, You’re not a boy.
When the sea churns the green sailors fall to swithering. But the churn is nothing more bad than a quease from the monthly. Some of the boys cry. Boys young enough to cry are here, younger than we were when our hairs came. In sleep they call for their mothers; awake, they puke. Two are brothers, with heads the red of a schoolhouse, both sick from the minute we left shore. The younger can’t stop throwing up. The older is bony too, but his brother has shrunk to the bigness of a rabbit, no food in days, only spoonmeat. Being a soft creature, bred up in softness, he can’t stand the fling of the water. Ned advised to cut an eel into portions and feed the kid the raw bits; but the older refused. Instead he trickles biscuit into cups of milk, tilts them careful at his brother’s mouth.
Many of these boys are dotted with trout-lice, a worm like a clove or pin that sucks your moisture. I am nervous of getting a sug on me, so I wear all my clothes to sleep.
When we are bored, which is a lot, Ned tells stories from home. There lived in his road a keeper of bears, who cared for the sick or hurt or old ones that had been removed from the pit. I said what did he mean, pit? The bear-pit, he said. Our town has no pit, I said. It’s a hole in the ground where bears are, Ned explained, to be watched by the public. The public is not amused by sluggish animals; they want frisk and cavortion. So the bear-keeper tended the outcasts. Until one ate him. I don’t believe you, I said happily. I swear on my own grave, Ned said. He was found half-munched, by the man’s very daughter! Then you swear on water, I pointed out, because sailors have no grave but the sea. And water can’t be sworn on.
Poor sicklepod Ned, his cheeks coarse with oozy lobules—he is the kindest of any man I have met. This is thanks, I think, to his not being a man quite yet, no need of a razor. When I change between my two shirts, he looks away.
*****
To read the rest of On Water please see the print version of Kitty Snacks #2. You can purchase a copy by clicking the link on the right.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Photos from Issue #2 Release Party
Photos by Erin Austen Abbott.
Thanks to John Brandon and Mary Miller for reading.
Thanks to Southside Gallery for hosting the event.
Thanks to everyone that attended.
There are a few prints (first photo above) available. Email kittysnackseditor@gmail.com if you want to buy one.
If you missed the party you can buy a copy of Kitty Snacks #2 at Square Books in Oxford for online here.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Kitty Snacks Kegger #2
Kitty Snacks #2 Release Party!
Tuesday, September 29 at 8 p.m. at Southside Gallery on the Square in Oxford with an afterparty at Ajax Diner right down the street at 10 p.m.
Readings, short films, raffles and booze at Southside Gallery from 8-10 p.m.
Admission: 10 bucks (gets you a limited copy of the magazine, free booze, and a raffle ticket)
The afterparty will start around 10 p.m. at Ajax and will feature Oxford's best country band Cowboy Maloney's Electric City...and it's free.
So come to Southside to get a copy of the magazine, mingle, drink, hear some readings, watch some films, and hang out. Then head down the street to Ajax for some music and more booze.
Kitty Snacks #2 features work by:
Mary Miller
John Brandon
Leni Zumas
Kevin Wilson
Ryan Dilbert
Suzanna Best
Krammer Abrahams
Savannah Louise
Isadora Bay
Ben Segal
Howie Good
Meg Pokrass
Phil Estes
Jimmy Chen
& Hastings Hensel
a comic by Kent Osborne
interviews with filmmakers Ross McElwee,
Matt Wolf, and Matthew Robison
art by Len Clark and Josh Burwell
If you can't make it to the party you can purchase a copy online at kittysnacks.blogspot.com or at Square Books.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Jack Pendarvis has a new column in The Believer
Friend of Kitty Snacks and funny man Jack Pendarvis has a new monthly column starting in the September issue of The Believer. The column is called Musin's and Thinkin's and can be read here.
Jack's new book Shut Up, Ugly will be out this fall. An excerpt from the book can be found in KS #1, which is sold out.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Kitty Snacks #2 is here!
Kitty Snacks #2 is back from the printer. Get ready!
For those who pre ordered Christmas is coming early. Copies will be in the mail asap.
For those who haven't ordered now would be a good time. You've been warned.
Featuring work by Leni Zumas, Mary Miller, John Brandon, Len Clark, Josh Burwell, Ryan Dilbert, Ben Segal, Howie Good, Phil Estes, Jesse Bradley, Meg Pokrass, Jimmy Chen, Suzanna Best, Savannah Louise, and more.
Interviews with filmmakers Ross McElwee (Sherman's March), Matt Wolf (Wild Combination about Arthur Russell), and Matthew Robison (Silver Jew).
Thanks
For those who pre ordered Christmas is coming early. Copies will be in the mail asap.
For those who haven't ordered now would be a good time. You've been warned.
Featuring work by Leni Zumas, Mary Miller, John Brandon, Len Clark, Josh Burwell, Ryan Dilbert, Ben Segal, Howie Good, Phil Estes, Jesse Bradley, Meg Pokrass, Jimmy Chen, Suzanna Best, Savannah Louise, and more.
Interviews with filmmakers Ross McElwee (Sherman's March), Matt Wolf (Wild Combination about Arthur Russell), and Matthew Robison (Silver Jew).
Thanks
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Kitty Snacks #2 PRE ORDER UP NOW
Get in line to receive KS #2. They will be shipping out in a few weeks but there are only a limited number 0f 250 so get one while you can. Just click the "buy now" button over there ==>
Don't forget to donate as well. See the donation levels to the right.
Here's the lineup for #2:
Mary Miller
John Brandon
Leni Zumas
Kevin Wilson
Ryan Dilbert
Suzanna Best
Krammer Abrahams
Savannah Louise
Isadora Bey
Ben Segal
Howie Good
Meg Pokrass
Phil Estes
Jimmy Chen
& Hastings Hensel
a comic by Kent Osborne
interviews with filmmakers Ross McElwee,
Matt Wolf, and Matthew Robison
art by Len Clark and Josh Burwell
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
What we're reading: Mary Miller's Big World
Finally got a copy of Mary Miller's Big World and for a such a small book it packs a punch. Mary's stories are some of the best I've read this year and for only 10 bucks you'd be stupid not to buy it.
Check it out. Order one here.
Read a review here.
Kitty Snacks #2 also features a story by Mary Miller.
Monday, June 29, 2009
New Releases we dig: CONQUEST OF THE USELESS by Werner Herzog
Reflections from the Making of Fitzcarraldo
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Announcing the lineup for Kitty Snacks #2 ...we're aiming for the fences!
Kitty Snacks #2 will feature work by...
Mary Miller
John Brandon
Leni Zumas
Kevin Wilson
Ryan Dilbert
Suzanna Best
Krammer Abrahams
Savannah Louise
Isadora Bay
Ben Segal
Howie Good
Meg Pokrass
Phil Estes
Jimmy Chen
& Hastings Hensel
a comic by Kent Osborne
interviews with filmmakers Ross McElwee,
Matt Wolf, and Matthew Robison
art by Len Clark and Josh Burwell
Get excited because we are!
Pre-orders will start shortly so stay tuned!
We're also going to throw one hell of a release party for this one! Kitty Snacks Kegger #2!
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Kitty Snacks #2 cover art by LEN CLARK!
Our friend Len Clark did the cover for Kitty Snacks #2. It's scary as shit and totally badass. It was printed from a hand-carved woodblock and is gigantic. We'll be offering limited edition hand prints of the full spread soon. Stay tuned for an official release date.
Also, there is still time to get your ugly mug drawn by Josh Burwell in Issue #2. Just donate $75 bucks or more and you can be a part of it all as well as get Kitty Snacks in the mail for the next two years. Help us out and we'll help you out.
WE FUN by Matthew Robison
Kitty Snacks Issue #2 features an interview with filmmaker Matthew Robison. The majority of the interview is about his film Silver Jew, which follows David Berman and his band through the Holy Land. He's got a new film that was just viewed at the Atlanta Film Fest called WE FUN. You can see it for free on Pitchfork.com starting Friday, May 15. WE FUN documents the Atlanta music scene and follows bands like Deerhunter, the Black Lips, Mastadon, Kitty Snacks interviewee King Khan.
There will also be a screening in Oxford, MS (Kitty Snacks home town) on June 1 at the Lyric Theater.
Check it out! and Check out the interview with Matthew in the upcoming Issue #2.
There will also be a screening in Oxford, MS (Kitty Snacks home town) on June 1 at the Lyric Theater.
Check it out! and Check out the interview with Matthew in the upcoming Issue #2.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
For the Arthur Russell fans: Director Matt Wolf interview in Issue #2
Kitty Snacks chatted it up with Matt Wolf on his recent documentary on avant-garde musician Arthur Russell, Wild Combination: A Portrait of Arthur Russell.
Before his untimely death from AIDS in 1992, Arthur prolifically created music that spanned both pop and the transcendent possibilities of abstract art. Now, over fifteen years since his passing, Arthur's work is finally finding its audience. Wolf incorporates rare archival footage and commentary from Arthur's family, friends, and closest collaborators—including Philip Glass and Allen Ginsberg—to tell this poignant and important story.
This is a great documentary on a truly strange and brilliant man. You can check out more on the film here and be sure to read the full interview with Matt in Kitty Snacks #2 (OUT SOON!).
Monday, April 20, 2009
Kevin Wilson comes to Oxford!
Friend of Kitty Snacks, Kevin Wilson, was in Oxford last week to support his latest collection of short stories, Tunneling to the Center of the Earth. The reading at Square Books was great. The book is great too. Some of Kevin's stories will be featured in Kitty Snacks Issue #2.
Kevin's blog is here.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Get your face in Issue #2
Time is running out if you want your face drawn in the second print issue of Kitty Snacks. Donate $75 or more and we'll secure your history as a friend of Kitty Snacks as well as a work of art. You'll get your face drawn by the fantastic Josh Burwell whose drawings are featured in Kitty Snacks #1 as well as a two year subscription to the magazine.
Check out the donation levels to the right ====>
We thank you for your much-needed support!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Kitty Snacks Editor featured interview at Orange Alert!
Check out a new interview with Kitty Snacks editor, Michael Bible, at What To Wear During An Orange Alert. We love this blog and you should too. So go there and read the interview.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Issue #2 Preview-Interview with Ross McElwee
Documentary filmmaker Ross McElwee (Sherman's March) was kind enough to answer some questions about his work. Be sure to check out his films and read the full interview in Kitty Snacks #2.
"For the past twenty-five years, Ross McElwee has given new meaning and flair to first-person non-fiction cinema. Always wise and irreverent, ever the unreliable narrator, McElwee makes the grandest themes of human comedy his artistic province: love and death, chance and fate, memory and denial, the marvelous and the appalling."
- The Museum of Modern Art
Here's an excerpt from the interview:
Kitty Snacks: You've written about influences from literature like Walker Percy.
Have you had other significant literary influences? Do you find
yourself using the narrative techniques of an author when you make
your films?
Ross McElwee: I strive to achieve a non-literary quality to my narration - that is, something that doesn't feel written, but rather felt or thought. So there's not particular Southern author's techniques I try to emulate. Rather, my narrative style has probably evolved form the sense of being introspective and somewhat ill at ease and out of the loop - perhaps an overall Southern condition. Many Southerners have sailed this ship - Thomas Wolfe, Eudora Welty , but Walker Percy appears to lead the flotilla.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Quimby's in Chicago
Check out Kitty Snacks on the front page of the Quimby's website. Don't be afraid to buy it from them or from us...
Monday, March 16, 2009
Issue #1 now in stores! Selling like hot cakes!
If you live in Oxford, MS you can pick up a copy of Kitty Snacks #1 at Square Books.
If you live in Chicago you can pick up a copy at Quimby's.
If you live in Memphis you can pick up a copy at Goner Records.
or you could just click the "buy now" button over there and we'll mail you one, but it's good to support your local stores.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Clarissa's mom reads Sam Pink's Harm Another Human Being into Admiring You at the Kitty Snacks Issue #1 Release Party!
Clarissa's mom reads Sam Pink from david swider on Vimeo.
Thanks to John Rory Fraser for filming the event and thanks to Clarissa's mom for reading.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Issue #2 preview
We're moving ahead and Issue #2 is looking damn fine and features an interview with Matthew Robison, producer of the film Silver Jew based on poet/musician David Berman. The film is excellent so be sure to check out the interview in the upcoming issue of Kitty Snacks.
For now here's the trailer for the film:
Silver Jew Movie Trailer
Enjoy!
For now here's the trailer for the film:
Silver Jew Movie Trailer
Enjoy!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Almost Gone!
Issue #1 is almost SOLD OUT!
If you haven't ordered a copy now is a good time.
If you have ordered a copy it's on its way! Thanks!
Friday, March 6, 2009
A Baby
by David Erlewine
Three nights after their daughter was born dead, an umbilical cord strangling, John’s wife woke up screaming. He cowered under his hands, his heart on the verge. Her face contorted in a way he’d never seen. He rocked her in his arms, shushing her back to sleep. At breakfast, John’s son stared at the empty table. John got up and made him some juice and set out a box of Cheerios. His son threw the box in the trash. “Stale, Dad.” John hoped the boy didn’t ask about his mother, who was in bed, legs splayed, waiting to be changed.
Her psychiatrist asked what her name was. She put her thumb in her ear and said, “Goo goo goo goo.” Later, while she sucked on what would have been Melissa’s pacifier, the good doctor suggested immediate hospitalization. John rubbed his wife’s shoulder. “Not yet.” In the car, John helped her into the front seat and buckled her in. He whispered, “Snap the fuck out of this.” The pacifier fell in her lap. She fumbled at it with her left hand.
A few weeks later, he located and assembled an adult crib that to him looked like a cage. “This is what it has come to.” She nodded and crawled in. The next few nights before bed he pretended to chase her; she giggled every time she crawled in.
Her brother flew in for the weekend. He left Saturday afternoon.
John consulted with her psychiatrist, their son, friends, and then her. She stared as he explained the predicament. As he held her in his arms, he reminded himself that taking her to the hospital might be the only thing to bring her back. During the intake procedure, or maybe upon seeing her room, she just might snap back in place.
The first night in her new bed, she wouldn’t sleep, crying and screaming. A tall woman came in to check on them. A few minutes later, she returned with a bottle of formula milk. He tested a few drops on the inside part of his wrist, recalling how he had done so for their son years before, how the little boy writhed in her arms, waiting. John flicked the little lamp on. He grabbed his wife’s shoulders and shook them, snapping her head back and forth. Her eyes filled with tears. He stuck the bottle in her mouth before she could scream.
David Erlewine's stories appear (or soon will) in Mud Luscious, Keyhole Magazine, 971 Menu, elimae, CEllA's Road Trip, and other journals. He edits fiction for Dogzplot. Check out his blog at http://www.whizbyfiction.blogspot.com/
Three nights after their daughter was born dead, an umbilical cord strangling, John’s wife woke up screaming. He cowered under his hands, his heart on the verge. Her face contorted in a way he’d never seen. He rocked her in his arms, shushing her back to sleep. At breakfast, John’s son stared at the empty table. John got up and made him some juice and set out a box of Cheerios. His son threw the box in the trash. “Stale, Dad.” John hoped the boy didn’t ask about his mother, who was in bed, legs splayed, waiting to be changed.
Her psychiatrist asked what her name was. She put her thumb in her ear and said, “Goo goo goo goo.” Later, while she sucked on what would have been Melissa’s pacifier, the good doctor suggested immediate hospitalization. John rubbed his wife’s shoulder. “Not yet.” In the car, John helped her into the front seat and buckled her in. He whispered, “Snap the fuck out of this.” The pacifier fell in her lap. She fumbled at it with her left hand.
A few weeks later, he located and assembled an adult crib that to him looked like a cage. “This is what it has come to.” She nodded and crawled in. The next few nights before bed he pretended to chase her; she giggled every time she crawled in.
Her brother flew in for the weekend. He left Saturday afternoon.
John consulted with her psychiatrist, their son, friends, and then her. She stared as he explained the predicament. As he held her in his arms, he reminded himself that taking her to the hospital might be the only thing to bring her back. During the intake procedure, or maybe upon seeing her room, she just might snap back in place.
The first night in her new bed, she wouldn’t sleep, crying and screaming. A tall woman came in to check on them. A few minutes later, she returned with a bottle of formula milk. He tested a few drops on the inside part of his wrist, recalling how he had done so for their son years before, how the little boy writhed in her arms, waiting. John flicked the little lamp on. He grabbed his wife’s shoulders and shook them, snapping her head back and forth. Her eyes filled with tears. He stuck the bottle in her mouth before she could scream.
David Erlewine's stories appear (or soon will) in Mud Luscious, Keyhole Magazine, 971 Menu, elimae, CEllA's Road Trip, and other journals. He edits fiction for Dogzplot. Check out his blog at http://www.whizbyfiction.blogspot.com/
The Rabbits
by J.A. Tyler
There was a pop and some red, nothing else. It was a video my dad ordered over the phone, telling the operator YES. YES. YES, and then a string of numbers.
Here they run from bush to bush, covering themselves from us, our walking, the strollers and wagons and all the ways they know we accidentally crush them. Hiding in the lawn, here, the other zoo animals unnoticing them, their tiny rabbit bodies.
SEE. THEY JUST PEEL IT OFF. And they do, in my dad’s video, their rabbit skin coming off of them like a coat, unzipping and coming off their shoulders.
The heads have been chopped off, these rabbits in this video of my dad’s. They are headless, these rabbits.
WHERE ARE THEIR HEADS? I ask. GONE he says.
Gone, these rabbits, their heads.
I WANT TO KEEP MY HEAD I tell him, my dad watching this video, where the meat comes off the bones. BE CAREFUL THEN he says, headless rabbits on the screen, the ones that I guess weren’t careful enough.
J. A. Tyler is the author of the forthcoming novella SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE (ghost road press) and the chapbooks THE GIRL IN THE BLACK SWEATER (Trainwreck Press) and EVERYONE IN THIS IS EITHER DYING OR WILL DIE OR IS THINKING OF DEATH (Achilles Chapbook Series). He is also founding editor of mud luscious / ml press and was recently nominated for a Pushcart. Find more info here: www.aboutjatyler.blogspot.com.
There was a pop and some red, nothing else. It was a video my dad ordered over the phone, telling the operator YES. YES. YES, and then a string of numbers.
Here they run from bush to bush, covering themselves from us, our walking, the strollers and wagons and all the ways they know we accidentally crush them. Hiding in the lawn, here, the other zoo animals unnoticing them, their tiny rabbit bodies.
SEE. THEY JUST PEEL IT OFF. And they do, in my dad’s video, their rabbit skin coming off of them like a coat, unzipping and coming off their shoulders.
The heads have been chopped off, these rabbits in this video of my dad’s. They are headless, these rabbits.
WHERE ARE THEIR HEADS? I ask. GONE he says.
Gone, these rabbits, their heads.
I WANT TO KEEP MY HEAD I tell him, my dad watching this video, where the meat comes off the bones. BE CAREFUL THEN he says, headless rabbits on the screen, the ones that I guess weren’t careful enough.
J. A. Tyler is the author of the forthcoming novella SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE (ghost road press) and the chapbooks THE GIRL IN THE BLACK SWEATER (Trainwreck Press) and EVERYONE IN THIS IS EITHER DYING OR WILL DIE OR IS THINKING OF DEATH (Achilles Chapbook Series). He is also founding editor of mud luscious / ml press and was recently nominated for a Pushcart. Find more info here: www.aboutjatyler.blogspot.com.
Audubon
by Lydia Copeland
He points to the Swan's back full of cygnets, runs a finger over the dip of neck. He is her son and has inherited all her loves. Their hands draw invisible alphabets into the pictures. She shows him how an S bends away from itself. T is a table with the guests cleared away. She thinks of rivers on maps, routes. The air outside of their house.
There was a trip West with a boyfriend once, and she watched the land slide into desert and the ice melt in the drive-thru cups. The boyfriend had spilled gasoline on his shoes, and the smell stayed with them through the red dust and saguaro, through the firewheel flowers. They watched a car on fire, rolling down the interstate. A woman on the side of the road watched with them, crying about her paintings burning in the trunk. Her summer's work. Her nose was bloody. Her hands shook. They put a blanket over her shoulders and waited for the police. She and the boyfriend slept in the car that night, and she kept waking at every sound. The boyfriend found pancakes for them every morning. He seemed to always know how to find the empty places out of the way, where the waitresses came to your table without a pen and memorized your order. There was always a George Jones song and a guy at the counter eating eggs before work.
Now she has a husband, who drives in and out of weeks and comes home for three day stretches. On these days the house is warm from cooking meals. Her husband sleeps on his side, face to her face. Now her son has learned the birds of their neighborhood. The seagull, the pigeon, the cormorants in the bay. He knows the difference between starling and sparrow in parking lots. She walks with him to the neighborhood across the street to watch mallards in a stream, floating in pairs over roots and sand, letting the water take them. Her husband returns each week with a new book. Audubon or Sibley. When he leaves again, she stacks the books on the dinner table and places their wedding photos at eye level again. Her son holds the pictures sometimes, points at the lips and eyes of his father.
When they first moved to this neighborhood, she would place her son in a stroller and walk along the Bay after dinner. The water there did not roll like the ocean further out, but lapped like a minute hand inching forward. They were always alone in these evenings, and at some point she would carry her son on her hip and point to the cargo ships, the dredger shifting the silt from the water's bottom. Once they watched an egret, standing like a ghost in tide. She knew its slow flight and its neck like a loosened ribbon. Her son was quiet in her arms, his head under her chin. She thought his eyes might be closed. She thought he might not see. Fish hid in the shadows under the water. The egret didn't move when seagulls called over them, or with the horn of the tugboat. A boy and girl from the high school held hands and walked beside them and then behind the path lined with elms and down into the long grasses where no one could see them. She rocked her son in the wind and watched the sky turn gray, the birds circling the shore.
He points to the Swan's back full of cygnets, runs a finger over the dip of neck. He is her son and has inherited all her loves. Their hands draw invisible alphabets into the pictures. She shows him how an S bends away from itself. T is a table with the guests cleared away. She thinks of rivers on maps, routes. The air outside of their house.
There was a trip West with a boyfriend once, and she watched the land slide into desert and the ice melt in the drive-thru cups. The boyfriend had spilled gasoline on his shoes, and the smell stayed with them through the red dust and saguaro, through the firewheel flowers. They watched a car on fire, rolling down the interstate. A woman on the side of the road watched with them, crying about her paintings burning in the trunk. Her summer's work. Her nose was bloody. Her hands shook. They put a blanket over her shoulders and waited for the police. She and the boyfriend slept in the car that night, and she kept waking at every sound. The boyfriend found pancakes for them every morning. He seemed to always know how to find the empty places out of the way, where the waitresses came to your table without a pen and memorized your order. There was always a George Jones song and a guy at the counter eating eggs before work.
Now she has a husband, who drives in and out of weeks and comes home for three day stretches. On these days the house is warm from cooking meals. Her husband sleeps on his side, face to her face. Now her son has learned the birds of their neighborhood. The seagull, the pigeon, the cormorants in the bay. He knows the difference between starling and sparrow in parking lots. She walks with him to the neighborhood across the street to watch mallards in a stream, floating in pairs over roots and sand, letting the water take them. Her husband returns each week with a new book. Audubon or Sibley. When he leaves again, she stacks the books on the dinner table and places their wedding photos at eye level again. Her son holds the pictures sometimes, points at the lips and eyes of his father.
When they first moved to this neighborhood, she would place her son in a stroller and walk along the Bay after dinner. The water there did not roll like the ocean further out, but lapped like a minute hand inching forward. They were always alone in these evenings, and at some point she would carry her son on her hip and point to the cargo ships, the dredger shifting the silt from the water's bottom. Once they watched an egret, standing like a ghost in tide. She knew its slow flight and its neck like a loosened ribbon. Her son was quiet in her arms, his head under her chin. She thought his eyes might be closed. She thought he might not see. Fish hid in the shadows under the water. The egret didn't move when seagulls called over them, or with the horn of the tugboat. A boy and girl from the high school held hands and walked beside them and then behind the path lined with elms and down into the long grasses where no one could see them. She rocked her son in the wind and watched the sky turn gray, the birds circling the shore.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Big Thanks!
Michael and I want to thank everyone who attended the launch party. We had a blast.
Stay tuned for videos and photos of the event as well as tons of new content.
The magazine is now available by clicking the "buy now" button up there or by going to Square Books in Oxford, MS.
Thanks again.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Issue #1 pre-order starts NOW!
Kitty Snacks Issue #1 is now available for pre-order. Just click on the "buy now" button at the top right of this page and you'll have a copy of the magazine in your mailbox as soon as they're back from the press. This is a very limited issue so don't miss out. They'll go fast. If you plan on attending the release party you should hold off on buying it right now as they will be available for sale there.
Monday, February 9, 2009
New chapbook from Kitty Snacks editor Michael Bible
Be sure to check out My Second Best Bear Rug, a new chapbook from Michael Bible. You can buy your copy at Square Books in Oxford or online from Achilles Chapbook Series.
"Here's the Bible that should be in every motel room in America. Makes me think of black coffee, a shot of whiskey, a piece of meat, apple pie with a slice of yellow cheese on it, more coffee, a cigarette. Doesn't make me think of dope, though there is a lot of dope in the stories. Bitterly funny, touchingly innocent. Words of love. Read your Bible!"
- Jack Pendarvis
Monday, February 2, 2009
Kitty Snacks Kegger Tuesday, March 3 at the Powerhouse
Stay tuned for full details on the Kitty Snacks Issue #1 release party at the Powerhouse. There will be music, readings, beer, raffles and more.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Snackin'
The first issue is well on its way and should be ready any day now. We'll be hosting a party! Stay tuned.
For now, here is another poem by Sam Pink. Look for him in the first print issue along with some other great writers. Check out Sam's new chap book out now!
DEAD WHITE PERSON
by Sam Pink
The underwear I want is the kind made from your barely-slept eyelids.
I have kindness for you that is in a drawer in my chest.
I want a new face fashioned from the muscles I disconnect from your ribcage.
The hand I want is the one I have and I don't want anything to ever be inside it.
And there is nothing inside right now except all of the air in the entire world.
One of us is an earthworm in a Dixie cup full of sand.
And the other is the person watching.
I wonder if doctors that deliver babies ever do a trick similar to that "quarter-in-your-ear" trick except with like a nerf football soaked in fake blood.
ALSO! We're almost done compiling submissions for the second print issue of Kitty Snacks so if you're interested in making a submission please send as soon as possible.
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