>[ from spread - http://www.spreadhead.net
>I. Issue xiv (grab) [ http://grab.spreadhead.net
>now spreading...featuring new prose and poetry
>by Maurice Oliver, Tom Bradley, Wayne H.W. Wolfson,
>Luke Buckham, Teknikal Nova, and Jayson Michel
>II. Check out unblog [ http://unblog.spreadhead.net
>our rambling registry of random rummages, rescued
>readings & renegade ruminations.
>III. New mind.cake: _ID.xorcism_ [ http://mez.spreadhead.net
>code artwork by Mez Breeze.
>IV. New on art.ill.ery: [ http://parentela.spreadhead.net
>collages & watercolors by Claudio Parentela.
>V. Spread now accepting contributions to the following sections:
> -issue xv: essays, poetry, prose, who gobbled up the ghost
> -mind.cakes: code art, browser art, flash art...
> -art.ill.ery: claim your own virtual subgallery...
> To submit your works: email firstname.lastname@example.org
>VI. For your capitalist/consumption fix [ http://shop.spreadhead.net
>help keep spread spreading...
>Spread Spam: You are receiving this email for any one
>of three reasons 1) you a proud partner, a fellow jammer,
>a guru, an inspiration, a friend of a friend of a friend
>of this website; 2) you've elected to receive it but can't
>remember exactly when, because we don't really do this
>everyday; or 3) you've been listed by someone you know who
>thinks you might find this circular a better alternative to
>viagra. If you hate stuff like this, block it with your spam
>bot or reply to this message with the word "unsubscribe."
>SPREAD XIV (GRAB) NOW SPREADING...
>And so spread 14: grab emerges. Peace.
>The editors have been batting for a heftier volume.
>How else to accommodate a rich hoard of contributions?
>But the accumulation of e-mailed pieces sent in has
>turned oh so unwieldly-- serves the editors right for
>slacking too long on their chores. Forgive them if they
>choose to tread the safe path, by serving up a measly
>morsel from the cache. Some of the authors in this issue
>are already familiar contributors. Their works, as well
>as those by the first-timers here, are sure shots to
>satiate readers' extended hunger for new underground
>guerrilla exploratory art and lit.
>Hey, there is even a non-English language piece
>coming out ("Sin Titulo" by Teknikal Nova) that we
>thought of publishing as is and without the aid of
>translation, simply because we are not competent and
>do not trust free automatic translation services on the
>web that will mercilessly mar the work's sense and
>essence. And so, in addition to contributors, a call is
>in order for willing translator-editors and -reviewers
>in the other languages. Indeed, spread has drawn so wide
>an audience that was not foreseen since it started
>close to the turn of the millennium. Please let us see
>your credentials and samples.
>Meantime, let's skim the rest of the issue.
>Regular contributor Luke Buckham asks us to dig
>more into his bag of explosively exquisite poems.
>The vituperative prophet and vicious poet is at it
>again. His lines unleash warrior and lover, in tandem
>or at tension, over operas of obliteration of self
>(along with its extensions and relations in), society,
>place, and time. That the poem "The Atomic Bomb"
>sends Buckham's more benign sentiments indicates
>the potency of his venom: "(She) suggested that
>eating pussy might make me / more useful. "It feels
>like an inner atom bomb to us ladies" // she exclaimed...
>I replied / with great maturity and (felonious intent)
>that though an increase in cunninglingus // might not
>uninvent the atom bomb, I would certainly go / down
>on her in a daze of gratefulness ..."
>In contrast, Maurice Oliver - another habitue of
>spreadhead - delivers verses that derive power from
>acts of preservation, as in the plumbing of the yet
>unenacted and unobtained in "I Wish & Wish & Wish"
>that overturns an otherwise banal challenge to, yes,
>"make a wish." But make no mistake of typecasting
>Oliver to tamer, if not more tender, pursuits. Get
>yourself blistered in the following parley from
>"Entry-Level Lock Pick": "I think the future will
>always / be just a shoulder without the promise of
>an arm", she confides, as one / renegade zipper hip
>boot decides to go solo. "Yeah, and the newspaper /
>ink will always stain my hands for weeks after reading
>the obituaries," I / reply, just about convinced that
>the phoned-in threat to bomb the school / is in lieu
>of the dreaded statewide achievement test ..."
>Scrolling further down to the fiction department ...
>Wayne H.W. Wolfson's 128-word fiction, "Heaven," falls
>way under spreadhead's criterion for works of "fliction"
>-- short fiction in a flash of 250 words. (In fact, the
>piece reads almost like a poem.) The story, however,
>still manages to pack a cosmos of thought, heart, and
>breath caught bare and isolate, albeit in a "flick" or
>"flash" seized from the accumulating blur of life's
>"frictions" between "action" and "inaction." The Talking
>Heads long ago sang of a bleak "heaven (as) a place
>where nothing ever happens." Wolfson's minute opus
>affirms but seeks to abide beyond, although still
>inexorably afflicted by, that scene.
>While the other two fished from the fiction grab bag
>are revelatory, if not instructive, of the writing life.
>Jayson Michel's "Black Dog" reprises the pathos of
>a writer who is painfully uncertain of, or reluctant to
>exhibit, the worthiness of his art and craft's output.
>Michel's writer distracts himself to the max to erode
>the wearying weight of his dilemma: conducting bonfires
>of his work in between hazes of cigarette smoke and
>hangovers; self-degradation at parlor rituals among
>a beloved "surrogate family of individuals"; haunting
>bookshops for inspiration, or affinity with the great
>writers, only to find himself in one as the haunted
>and in need of healing when he chances upon a surviving
>notebook of his that vengefully flaunts his words (wounds).
>On the other hand, and finally, in "Sam Edwine Gets
>That All-Important Publishing Contract, And Decides
>What The Key Word Of His Book Shall Be," Tom Bradley's
>writer confidently mines available idiom from the
>milieu (such as "obscenities" authored communally by
>truck drivers and ditch diggers), quirkily instructed
>by the mintage of bon mots from the canon (founded
>on the works of Hemingway, Heller, Orwell, et al.),
>for that original "hook" that will reel in for him
>immortality, if not passing greatness at least, in
>the writing business (or foolishness).
>the spreadhead collectiv
>spread ( http://www.spreadhead.net
) is new underground
>exploratory art + literature in the new medium.
>11:30 PM 7/15/06