Eric M. R. Webb @ericmrwebb - Tumblr Blog

My new sounds:

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Here's a recording of "The Bottoms at the West End of Kentucky." It first appeared in the Fall 2013 issue of Pea River Journal, and you can follow along there.

#Poem #Poetry #Audio #Pea River Journal #Fun Times

You can read along over at Pea River Journal.

#Poem #Audio #recording #Pea River Journal #Poetry #Spoken Word

Best of the Net 2014: our nominations

emrw:

So, my poem “The Bottoms of the West End of Kentucky” is nominated for annual Best of the Net. And that’s exciting!

Originally posted on pea river journal:

We publish a small slice of each issue online, and that small slice tends to come from our favorite-of-favorites list. Of that small slice published between July 1, 2013 and June 30, 2014, we nominated seven pieces for Best of the Net:…

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visual-poetry

»american psycho« by mimi cabell and jason huff

this book was made by sending the entire text of bret easton ellis’ american psycho between two gmail accounts page by page. we saved the relational ads for each page and added them back into the text as footnotes. in total, we collected over 800 relevant ads for the book. the constellations of footnoted ads throughout these pages retell the story of american psycho in absence of the original text. this retelling reveals gmail’s unpredictable insensitivity to violence, racism, and sex. it serves as a blurry portrait of an algorithm that exists in our everyday communication simultaneously forming a new portrait of the lead character, patrick bateman.

jason huff/mimi cabell nyc 2012

here you can download the pdf for free

[via]

ericmrwebb

Interesting project

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Over on the Ploughshares blog...

nobullshitreview

A Challenge / Project

Send in your War.

Your writing your poems your remembrances. It being the anniversary of Sept. 11th, we should recognize all aspects of this mess we find ourselves in.

We will collect and post.

Who knows, maybe we’ll do a special issue.

Send them to: [email protected] as an attachment. Keep it under 750 words.

We will keep taking submissions through December 31.

nobullshitreview

The plague you have thus far survived. They didn’t. Nothing that they did in bed that you didn’t.

- from Frank Bidart’s “For the AIDS Dead” in Metaphysical Dog: Poems (via nobullshitreview)

myfriendglenn

money I just think that those done that He knows they've got -tend much much worse Here they Would you take one of these thing If I read one more up on The912Project.com which is kind Why would someone why would liberals Uncle Glenn why have I done Why have I done this What fact I feel bad for...

adlerplanetarium

The Voyager 1 #spacecraft launched 37 years ago today, and is currently traveling at about 11 miles per second through interstellar space. Though Voyager’s primary mission ended in 1980 after observing both Jupiter and Saturn, it is expected to continue traveling until 2025, when it’s power supply runs out.

sagansense

And still they move…

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the-final-sentence

[Your life is yours alone.] Rise up and live it.

Terry Goodkind, from Confessor (via the-final-sentence)

Indeed.

dash-wilders

ericmrwebb

You are lost. Are you lost. Are lost you. You lost are. Lost you are. Lost are you...

Putting together the August issue

#august #august 2014 #august 2014 contributors #No Bullshit Review

nobullshitreview

October Issue Cover Up for Grabs

We’re looking for a Cover image for the next issue. B&W.

Send it to us: Submissions

ericmrwebb

Send in artwork! We'll take cover submissions until the 19th.

#art #artwork #drawing #cover #black and white #submission #submissions #lit mag #literary magazine

the-library-and-step-on-it

For me, the last few years of the postmodern era have seemed a bit like the way you feel when you’re in high school and your parents go on a trip, and you throw a party. You get all your friends over and throw this wild disgusting fabulous party. For a while it’s great, free and freeing, parental authority gone and overthrown, a cat’s-away-let’s-play Dionysian revel. But then time passes and the party gets louder and louder, and you run out of drugs, and nobody’s got any money for more drugs, and things get broken and spilled, and there’s cigarette burn on the couch, and you’re the host and it’s your house too, and you gradually start wishing your parents would come back and restore some fucking order in your house. It’s not a perfect analogy, but the sense I get of my generation of writers and intellectuals or whatever is that it’s 3:00 A.M. and the couch has several burn-holes and somebody’s thrown up in the umbrella stand and we’re wishing the revel would end. The postmodern founders’ patricidal work was great, but patricide produces orphans, and no amount of revelry can make up for the fact that writers my age have been literary orphans throughout our formative years. We’re kind of wishing some parents would come back. And of course we’re uneasy about the fact that we wish they’d come back—I mean, what’s wrong with us? Are we total pussies? Is there something about authority and limits we actually need? And then the uneasiest feeling of all, as we start gradually to realize that parents in fact aren’t ever coming back—which means we’re going to have to be the parents.

David Foster Wallace. (via the-library-and-step-on-it)

Something to pay attention to.

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Review: Let the Body Beg by Tara Shea Burke

Disclaimer: I know the poet.

On to the important bit:

I’m always hungry. My dreams show blood

- from “Imagined Farms”

These poems, as the title of the collection telegraphs, are about hunger. Real, raw, human hunger felt deep in the chest and body. This is not the hunger of “oh, I’m a little late for lunch,” or “where’s the waiter with that food.” This is the hunger of first heartbreak, of a…

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