#robinmyers

💥 VENTA ANTICIPADA 💥 pack de 8 novedades Barba de Abejas /primavera 2022: . 4 ZINES ❒ ¿Qué es la poesía? (Yo es Nosotrxs) (bilingüe) de Ezequiel Zaidenwerg & Robin Myers (bilingüe) ❒ Hacia un modelo editorial autosustentable de Marc Fischer ❒ Respuesta a una pregunta impertinente de Orson Wells ❒ Consejos a un joven editor independiente de Mario Muchnik . 2 CUADERNILLOS ❒ Diario a bordo del Meteor de Melville, Herman ❒ Lo obsoleto de Eric Schierloh . 2 LIBROS ❒ Todas las estrellas de Tomás Fadel ❒ Los Cueros de Eric Schierloh . La venta anticipada es por el pack con las 8 publicaciones (por separado se venderán recién a partir de noviembre). El precio es 8000 e incluye 10% de descuento y envío gratuito a domicilio por Correo Argentino (en caja con seguimiento; sólo envíos nacionales) o bien entrega en zona La Plata. . Los envíos/entregas comenzarán durante la última semana de septiembre y la primera de octubre. . Más data escribiendo a [email protected] . Print or die! . #barbadeabejas #edicionartesanal #novedadesbarbadeabejas #zaidenwerg #robinmyers #marcfischer #publiccollectors #halfletterpress #orsonwells #mariomuchnik #ericschierloh #hermanmelville #tomasfadel #printordie #diy https://www.instagram.com/p/Ci2fLKuOhmV/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

What is it really about, this need to compare everything, to make things like other things, to metaphor our way into a kind of calm that may not be like a scaffold erected around the air, but truly that? I sat in a church in Masaya, Nicaragua, in late afternoon, chose the pew because of how the light was on the floor, filtered through the stained glass window at the top and let down red. I looked at that light, and thought, it’s a little like blood seeping into something soft, then left in the sun; or, it’s more like the water of a watermelon on white sheets. But, in the end, it most honestly looked like red light on the floor of a church in Masaya, Nicaragua, in late afternoon. Forgive me for pulling that light away from itself, for announcing that the moon tonight is as thin as a penny in water, for telling you that you are like a lit match when you laugh. I would live from flash to singular blinding flash if I could, if that didn’t mean some species of despair, some dissolution of faith, if that’s a metaphor I may borrow; a tragic un-jigsaw-puzzling of ourselves and the connectedness we invent and demand; completion, of course, being a secondary, more sorrowful concern. For each breath really is like every other breath, and if it isn’t, then I must believe that what is carried over, shared, or at least remembered, is where it’s going, why it happens, why I need it; is everything, everything else. Robin Myers, 2010

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