J. D. NELSON 15 new poems: J. D. Nelson Flavored *Instant Pussy* :: photos & art by Misti Rainwater-Lites : FREE download :: http://lnk.ms/0043d view more
J. D. Nelson experiments with words and sound in his subterranean laboratory. His bizarre poems and experimental texts have appeared in many small press and underground publications.
Visit www.MadVerse.com for more information and links to his published work.
Since 1990, his audio recordings, interviews, poetry readings, live performances and culture hacking experiments have been broadcast on several radio stations in the United States. Recently, his audio experiments were included as part of the 101-hour Dada and Surrealism Festival broadcast by KBOO radio in Portland, Oregon.
His audio experiments, recorded under the name OWL BRAIN ATLAS, are online at www.OwlNoise.com.
OWL NOISE 0, his album of experimental spoken word is available as a free dowload here.
Chicks dig scars, everyone knows that, right? Meet Severence DeSnappio, a man who creates ‘fake’ injuries for desperate clients. He’ll get you a stab wound, shot gun blast, snowboarding injury - but a bite from a great white shark?
Set in Miami, Chicks Dig scars is a lyrical, Lynchian mix of dream logic and hard boiled detection.
My literary magazine, The Toronto Quarterly - Issue 2 and 3 are now available at amazon.com. There's some great poetry in each issue along with some cool interviews with up and coming and more established poets. Here is the link:
Thanks for being a friend of the Jesse Bernstein tribute page!
Comments on Jesse and his works are welcomed.
"The test of the integrity of a poem, or any work of art, may be, simply: does it lead, in the end, to freedom, or does it merely expand the arena of confinement? A voice from the outside, truly, is what we need to hear. Even a single word. Even something that is not a word, but suggests such a word."
What does one send to the Lighthouse indeed! At any other time Lily could have suggested reasonably tea, tobacco, newspapers. But this morning everything seemed so extraordinarily queer that a question like Nancy’s—What does one send to the Lighthouse?—opened doors in one’s mind that went banging and swinging to and fro and made one keep asking, in a stupefied gape, What does one send? What does one do? Why is one sitting here, after all? (Woolf)
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