ISSUE
8 HOME || BROKEN NEWS
|| CRITIQUES || CYBER
BAG || EC CHAIR || FICCIONES
|| THE FOREIGN DESK GALLERY || LETTERS || POESY || REVIEWS || SERIALS || STAGE & SCREEN |
||
by Andrei Codrescu |
||
www.codrescu.com | ||
You will
notice a certain political excess in this issue. The Corpse mirrors
the nation. It also mirrors several other nations, including the Editor's
own native Romania where a fascist nearly took over the Presidency. Happily,
a neo-communist did instead, while in the U.S., the Shrub got away with
it. We are not unhappy with the ascension of Dubbaya, because we do great
when we have big visible targets painted brightly on the tarmac of satire.
We like also the fact that along with Dubbaya a whole slew of right-wing
dinosaurs are bound to flash their scales for our Bazooka gum wads. All
in all, it's a pretty low-chakra administration: Bush, Dick, Colon. Anything
more elevated, folks? So it's no wonder that our writers have discovered
that Nixon isn't dead, that Republican rage is concentrated at the tip
of a golf club, and that feeding children and the Pentagon simultaneously
is going to be no picnic. Outside these pundit red zones, we are up to
our usual mix of international high-brow mockery of everything sacred,
unabashed pornographic literacy, narrative destructothons, serial plunges
into the abyss, pulpit mashing, and many ineffectual protests against
the ravages of time and the shredding of Love by machines. Meanwhile,
in our personal lives we would like see some cash (buy those mousepads,
damn it!) and we are trying to find love with a print publisher who may
(this is strictly a rumor, so please keep it hush-hush) bring us back
in the form of a thing that you can take to bed, leave in the bathroom,
eat cookies on and lend to a friend. If this happens, you, our readers,
will be the first to benefit, because we know, don't we, that print is
so much softer than pixels. You didn't hear this from me. As usual, our
gratitude is extensively owed to the people-angels who for no good reason
other than the advancement of letters and their enjoyment of punishing
labor, have helped us proof this issue. They are: Tim Dardis (Boulder
poet, bike-riding fool), Paris Tirone (Ashland, Oregon, gravity-defying
ecrivian), Robin Becker (her Baked Ham is out of this world, but her Prose
makes many people blush), Nat Hardy (Canadian scholar involved in recent
hockey mishap playing with swamp team), and Jeff Barnosky (a complex man
who tries for Simplicity in Verse). Otherwise, we live within a swirl
of rumors and innuendos that would make the second generation of New York
poets chuckle with weary recognition. See you at the Corpse Cafe! |
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ISSUE 8 HOME || BROKEN NEWS || CRITIQUES || CYBER BAG || EC CHAIR || FICCIONES || THE FOREIGN DESK GALLERY || LETTERS || POESY || REVIEWS || SERIALS || STAGE & SCREEN |
||
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