Animal Farm's Page

  I could get in so much trouble for telling you this, which is why I’ll call myself V. Then again, what are the chances she’ll ever read this? Rock musicians don’t read except for magazines that feature them, Rolling Stone, that kind of thing and…

    I could get in so much trouble for telling you this, which is why I’ll call myself V. Then again, what are the chances she’ll ever read this? Rock musicians don’t read except for magazines that feature them, Rolling Stone, that kind of thing and…

— I remember a strange family had taken me into its arms, welcoming me “home,” a lost and important part of their life’s dream, they claimed, and when I heard those words instantly I developed fever — I remember red velvet wallpaper shaped with…

 After vampires and zombies, werewolves, at least according to yesterday’s New York Times Magazine cover story–chronicling the return of Teen Wolf as a TV series--are apparently the next big thing. Glen Duncan’s eighth novel in fourteen years…

“Life and a Half,” the Sony Labou Tansi declares in the Warning that opens the novel, “it’s about writing absent-mindedly.” The joke here has little to do with the image of the writer whose mind is wandering; the phrase turns the notion of…

If Infinite Jest was Wallace’s grand gesture toward the ubiquity of the consumer-entertainment junkie, and its complex corollaries in politics, economics, and the general apprehension of a bureaucratic absolute, The Pale King must be, instead,…

[lip: either of the two fleshy folds surrounding the mouth]   i press my awake lips against your sleeping ones/ lick the gap taste your front teeth/grey like asphalt/ you taste grey and gritty like asphalt & i want to inspect your lips/ i want to…

Let them come before your serious  repetitions, scratching  your mouth  loud about sleep   Yr heart is too loud Vulnerable place the  coast grows   below the mountain   working in the yard  birds in your hair still feint up a terrible…

The blind man turns away And travels only In the darkness of night, Eyes closed He blames the absence of light For the reason he cannot see, Hiding from the morning glow Damning others as he goes Claiming to be things He is not now And things he’ll…

stacks of tattered pound notes  in a Nottingham brothel, copperheads fornicating  flat out on flint rock, the outcrop splashed by milky  sun glint, by rule of thumb, fingers gone  numb, one   by one caught in a longshoreman's  knot.    Little by…