Posted on Leave a comment

“Thunder Road” — by Nick Hornby & Bruce Springsteen

Thunder Road by Nick Hornby & Bruce Springsteen
It really doesn’t seem that long ago when my friend Mark approached me to help him out on a project involving Nick Hornby and Bruce Springsteen. Mr. Hornby had written a terrific essay on Mr. Springsteen’s seminal rock song “Thunder Road”. Mark had already approached both men and secured approvals to publish the proposed book — with the stipulation all proceeds went to charity.

Mark put up the materials, and I put up the labor and went to work.

I had constructed a book called Friends and Enemies using a dos-a-dos structure to compliment Tim O’Brien’s two short stories, and I felt the same structure would work for “Thunder Road”.

My work on Thunder Road took way longer than it should have — for which I am 100% responsible — and eventually I handed it off to Mark. He saw the book to its completion. Lead Graffiti and my friend Bill Roberts from Bottle of Smoke wrapped it all up into one beautiful package.

There’s not much more to say about this on my end, other than Mark produced a terrific book, and all that’s really important is the book is complete. I’m quite certain Thunder Road will stand The Test of Time.

And I still consider Mark a close friend.

Here’s Mark’s words on the book, as well as all the information you need to purchase a copy. The book was oversubscribed upon publication, and there will be no reprints. 100% of the proceeds from this project went to TreeHouse.

Posted on Leave a comment

The Girl in a Motorcyle Helmet

The Girl in a Motorcyle Helmet
So I’m scouring the flea markets and second-hand shops and thrift stores and all that usual nonsense on a not-so-recent trip to San Francisco, and I was having terrible luck. I’ve never really had any luck in SF, though, so I wasn’t surprised. I made one last stop over at The Magazine on Larkin Street. I used to live in the neighborhood, and it’s one of my very favorite places in the city. It’s the only store I know where I can find early Beat magazines and Betty Page bondage mags under one roof. Their Vintage Smut offerings are incredible — world class — as is their knowledge on the subject.

They’ve got a couple of boxes filled with hundreds of photographs; one box houses the tame, weird stuff, while the other features mostly hard-core smut. I like to rummage through both.

I pull an old Polaroid of a girl wearing a helmet. It’s a motorcycle helmet, but it looks almost like an astronaut’s. Upon closer inspection, I’m not even sure it’s a girl. I’m pretty sure she’s a she, but who knows for sure. I set it aside, but I wasn’t ready to commit my 25 cents for it.

Deeper into the box, I pulled a second pic from the same sitting. This time, she’s looking away in this sort of arty-farty way that intrigued me. I wondered if she had the camera on a tripod and was taking a self-portrait. I wanted to know if she worked in a lab — or if she might have been a doctor. I wanted to know why she was sitting for a picture in her helmet, and why she chose to look away on the second take. I wanted to know why one picture was developed in January, while she waited another month to get the other one developed.

I flipped the second picture over, and since it was priced at a dime, how could I put them back in that box?

Some time later — just a few weeks ago, actually — I bought a new scanner, and the first two things I decided to scan were the pictures of the girl in the motorcycle helmet. And when I started messing around with the two scans in Photoshop, it became clear to me what she was doing in the second picture.

Well, not so clear, really.

But something’s about to go down, and it might not be good.

And at that second, when it dawned on me there was a second person living in this picture, and how that second person radically altered the mood of both pictures — it really startled me. So much so, I’m thinking of printing  something featuring the two images…cause that’s how I roll.

The Girl in a Motorcyle Helmet

Posted on 2 Comments

Volta

volta1-01.jpg

Volta is my homage to Wallace Berman.

It’s also an assemblage and a little magazine that’s published whenever I can make it happen.

I named it after James Joyce’s one and only (failed) business venture. It was called The Volta Theater. The Volta was located at 45 Mary Street in Dublin. Opened in 1909, it was Ireland’s very first movie house. Although the very first movie to ever screen in Ireland didn’t take place at The Volta. Which is probably why it failed? I mean it takes a really shitty businessman to open a movie theater in 1909 only to have it fail. Thank goodness. What if The Volta was a success?

Some have even claimed The Volta as myth, as far as it being Ireland’s very first movie house, but that really doesn’t matter, does it?

The first issue of Volta was published in an edition of 50 copies, all of which were sent to the friends, the enemies, and the heroes of the synaesthesia press.

Essentially Volta is a junk shop of sorts, as I take whatever paper scraps I have laying around from completed projects, found scrap paper from thrift stores, and various found objects that I’ve yet to use, and then I just run ’em through one of my presses — after I set the type and proofed it all.

Contents for the first Volta include poems by Bukowski, Brautigan, Litzsky, Denander, and Catlin; there’s one of the many “overs” I had in my archives of the Childish woodcuts that accompanied “The Strangest One of All“, as well as an assemblage / found piece by Jim Pritchard.

John Martin called Volta a “brilliant little piece of publishing”, which made me squeal like a little girl; I squealed a bit louder when he sent me 6 Bukowski poems for future issues.

You can’t buy a copy. It simply arrives at your door.

volta1-02.jpg

Posted on Leave a comment

Charles Bukowski — 4 Poets

4poetscover.jpg

the synaesthesia press published an essay on the state of American Poetry according to Mr. Charles Bukowski. It appeared in synaesthesia press chap book #2, 4 Poets. The chap book is long out of print.

Bukowski wrote the essay in 1964. It was discovered in an old notebook that’s in the special collections department at the University of Arizona’s library. It’s in one of those 39 cent spiral-bound notebooks you buy for school. There’s beer stains and doodles all over it, and most of the contents are random thoughts and the kind of rants you’d find in someone’s personal journal. And right in the middle is this great essay.

So without asking anyone’s permission, I published it.

John Martin didn’t like it. But he bought almost the entire run. Maybe he’s got some laying around, but I wouldn’t know.

Every once in a while a copy shows up on eBay, but I’m not the seller. Because I don’t have anymore left; besides, I promised Black Sparrow no more sales.

In the same notebook was the first draft — in Buk’s hand — of “The Day It Snowed in L.A.” It was published almost 20+ years later, and almost verbatim, as what sits in that notebook.

I found the cover illustration I took for my book in that notebook, too.

I can’t tell you how excited I was to hold that notebook in my hands. It was a special experience I don’t think I could ever relive, cause I’m 20 years older now, and those sorts of feelings have long left me.

There were 243 copies printed; in addition, I printed 11 special copies that had another essay called “The House of Horrors” tipped in. The 11 copies were printed using 11 variant covers, all different mock-ups I had in mind for the regular edition.

Oh — “The House of Horrors” was in that same notebook, too.

Posted on Leave a comment

Billy Childish — The Strangest One of All

Johnny Brewton introduced me to Billy Childish.

Billy Childish is a musician/poet/artist. And, instead of writing something up here on my own, I took this straight from his website; check it out, as you can buy great stuff directly from Billy:

“A cult figure in America, Europe and Japan, Billy Childish is by far the most prolific painter, poet, and song-writer of his generation. In a twenty year period he has published 30 collections of his poetry, recorded over 70 full-length independent LP’s and produced over 1000 paintings.

Born in 1959 in Chatham, Kent. Billy Childish left Secondary education at 16 an undiagnosed dyslexic. Refused an interview at the local art school he entered the Naval Dockyard at Chatham as an apprentice stonemason. During the following six months (the artist’s only prolonged period of employment), he produced some six hundred drawings in ‘the tea huts of hell. On the basis of this work he was accepted into St Martin’s School of Art to study painting. However, his acceptance was short-lived and before completing the course he was expelled for his outspokenness and unorthodox working methods. With no qualifications and no job prospects Childish then spent some 12 years ‘painting on the dole’, developing his own highly personal writing style and producing his art independently.

My name is Billy Childish. I was diagnosed dyslexic when I was 28.
I have published 30 collections of poetry and 2 novels. I have made about 100 independent LP records and painted over 2000 paintings. When I was 17 I had a bank account under the name of Kurt Schwitters. I lived on the dole for 15 years.

I am self taught.
I do not like fashion culture.
I do not hate anyone.

Billy created the woodcuts for Barry Gifford’s The Strangest One of All. Every woodcut is the same subject — William S. Burroughs — the subject of Barry’ s book.

There’s a single woodcut of WSB peering through the die-cut window on the cover of the chappie; and, if you have the edition of 26 lettered copies, you got two bonus woodcuts of WSB, all wrapped up in a nice manila envelope.

Billy fondly calls William Burroughs “the old duffer”; I think that’s pretty funny.

Posted on Leave a comment

Richard Brautigan — Four Poems

4poems.jpg

I was talking to my friend Mark at his bookstore in the Haight, St. Adrian. This was a long time ago.

We talked about books.

We talked about Kerouac or Bukowski or maybe the great things coming from X-Ray Press. I don’t recall.

Then, we talked about Richard Brautigan. I do recall this, because as we were talking, Mark brought out a copy of All Watched Over By Machines of Loving Grace. It was a first (and only) edition, and it was published by the Communications Company in 1967 — and probably within walking distance of Mark’s store.

We talked about the fact it was probably printed right around the corner, and we talked about the fact that, 30 years earlier, Brautigan had roamed this very neighborhood, handing out poems and chapbooks freely, and how that sort of thing doesn’t happen much anymore.

We even talked about R. Crumb walking this same neighborhood during the same time, pushing a baby carriage full of Zap #1, and how he sold them right out of the carriage.

Then Mark read the copyright from Brautigan’s book: “Permission is granted to reprint any of these poems in magazines, books and newspapers, if they are given away free.” The book was published in an edition of 1500 copies — none of the copies were offered for sale — they were all given away.

The entire edition was given away. 1500 copies. Free.

We both agreed this definitely doesn’t happen anymore.

I bought some books from Mark, jumped on the #7, and headed back down to the Tenderloin and the hotel I called home.

Sadly, St. Adrian’s doesn’t exist anymore, either…just like Crumb and his baby carriage and people giving stuff away for nothing.

A few years later, while working on the Vandercook, I decided to take a few of my favorite poems from All Watched Over By Machines of Loving Grace, print them, and, following his copyright, give the book away to the friends of the synaesthesia press; the people who, since its inception, have supported synaesthesia either through shared knowledge, submitting work, or buying the books.

4 Poems was the result.

Twenty-six lettered copies were printed. There were maybe 20 “overs” which were sent to Brautigan’s daughter, Ianthe.

I have no more.

My only hope here is it’s an adequate thanks for all those who have helped synaesthesia make it this far.

And maybe this little book has some of the spirit and essence that All Watched Over By Machines of Loving Grace offered.

Posted on Leave a comment

Neeli Cherkovski — Johnny Marries Giselle

cherkovski.jpg

When Johnny Brewton married Giselle Orsolio, I approached Neeli Cherkovski to write a poem for the occasion. I had met Neeli few times earlier at his home in San Francisco, and he was always a gentleman. This made it easy to approach him about the project, and when I called him on the phone, I was right. Not only was he kind, he was genuinely enthusiastic about writing a poem for Johnny & Giselle, and, just a few days later, he called me and said it was finished.

I printed up a hundred or so and handed them out to the guests at the reception.

Johnny Marries Giselle

I

it’s a wonder
like grass, the glass
in that music, brittle
steel, strong
silence pushing a man
through print
into light, the marriage
of spirit and
soul, the union
of imagination and
mind, the rooms
two will find
together and those
that remain
locked in one set of eye

II

“…the marriage
of true minds…” how
we read ourselves and bend fog
backward and dream
waves, arm in
hand, lip to lip, hand in
the sky, till we bend
to our twin reflections and
never do anything but live

Neeli Cherkovski
2 May 1998

Posted on Leave a comment

a. di michele — The Mollifier

mollifier.jpg

A. di Michele’s chap book The Mollifier was published November, 1996. When people ask me to describe it, I like to say, “Joycean HyperText”, cause that’s how a. di michele describes it, and who better to describe his own work but the author?

When I say “Joycean HyperText”, they usually follow up with an unsure nod, or “what?”

And then I say, “exactly. Now go read it.”

di Michele illustrated The Mollifier, too.

I found this bio somewhere…I can’t recall where:

A. di Michele
Jackson, MS
B.A. in Philosophy and M.A. in French (Critical Theory)
from Mississippi State University

Poet, lingual neuro-situationist trans-bard and furniture/enviroment deconstructor

Author of:
BLACK MARKET PNEUMA (Lavender Ink, N.O., 1999)
THE MOLLIFIER (Synaesthesia Press, S.F., 1996)
NAY-PAU-LORON (Fell Swoop Special Issue #42, N.O., 1996)

His poems/works have recently appeared in: MESECHABE (N.O.), LOST AND FOUND TIMES (OHIO), SANDBOX (NYC), NEW ORLEANS REVIEW (LOYOLA), BALLPEEN (MS), SZ2 (BOISE STATE), and MY CAT SPIT MCGEE.

His poetics reflect/refract/distort/etc. an inter/intra-ACTIVE submergence into the proto-bitstreams of primal-archaic “thought” or sense in all our various sub-vernaculars (post-anti-modern, lingeaux-des-rues, gnostic litany, taoist/soto transparencies, synaptic skat)

latest work (in progress):
NOTES FOR/AGAINST ARCHITECTURE: a situationist foraging through the phenomenological bandwidths of ungridded celebration and diagonalized confrontation with mortar and design; to be published in modular dispatches beginning in november.

statement about play(ing):

“i’ve done better. i’ve done worse”

and:

“poets would do better to work in sweatshops rather than sweat in workshops”

or:

yes! the 1000 monkey funny-bone power plant!

Posted on Leave a comment

Lawrence Ferlinghetti — Four Poets

4poetscover.jpg

I went to a reading Mr. Ferlinghetti gave at the Caravan of Dreams, in Fort Worth Texas; this was in 1992, I think.

Ferlinghetti read for an hour or so, and afterward, he signed books and answered questions. While I was getting a book signed, I asked if I could have a poem to print, and, without a second thought, he opened up the folder he was carrying and handed me one.

What a gentleman.

Pure class.

It would be the last poem Steve Fisher and I would get for a then-untitled project, and it really completed what was to become 4 Poets.

Mr. Ferlinghetti’s poem, “Poet as Fisherman”, later appeared in These Are My Rivers: New & Selected Poems 1955-1993, published by New Directions.

4 Poets was published in an edition of 232 copies, with 11 “special copies” that had a variant cover. The variant covers were simply mock-ups of different papers I was experimenting with for cover stock.

Posted on 1 Comment

Steve Fisher — Rock Salt & Glissandos

synaesthesia press paperback original #1 is Steve Fisher’s Rock Salt & Glissandos: Stories and Poems.

For lack of a better term, it’s our first “real” book.

Steve Fisher is one of the co-founders of the press. He was there from the start. In fact, he named the press. In addition to being a piano tuner, he was a bookman and a writer.

Steve now functions as Guardian Angel for everything synaesthesia.

“Steve Fisher’s work reads like Jim Thompson (at his best, say, Savage Night) meets Drugstore Cowboy with Jean Genet standing outside in a freezing desert wind waiting to score. It’s a shame we can’t have more, much more — because Fisher wrote like a flaming angel genius. Maybe he was.” –Barry Gifford.

Rock Salt & Glissandos is the first of a projected series for first-book authors. Fisher’s work first started appearing in many of the country’s finest literary journals in the late 80’s; TriQuarterly #99 ran a special “Steve Fisher section”, publishing seven of the short stories that appear in this collection. Hayden’s Ferry Review called their special section of Steve’s work “Edges & Spears Outside”.

“The vitality of Steve Fisher’s sense of human presence, his great ear for the way language is emphatically, richly, meaningfully spoken in situations of intense feeling and danger, and his sheer talent as a writer make his stories among the most remarkable and memorable of our time. It is heartbreaking that he is not still here among us, able and writing. What he had to say, we need to hear, and the way he said it was completely his own.” –Reginald Gibbons, author of Sweetbitter: A Novel and Fisher’s editor at TriQuaterly.

Fisher tuned pianos for a living, scouted for and collected rare books (Charles Bukowski, Nelson Algren, and Harry Crews were a few of the authors Steve collected.) He also corresponded with Bukowski while Steve was incarcerated, and he wrote great short stories and poetry. Don’t confuse the author with the mystery writer Steve Fisher; since I’ve been telling people about this book, that seems to be the common reaction. And since there’s no living author, there’s also no book tour, no interviews, no signings or readings.

This book needs all the help it can get.

“It’s essential despair, hell on Earth in prose and poetry, all of it as real as life, caught from the viewpoint of one of the condemned. A subjective style that creates the prison world from a viewpoint of an inmate who barley mentions his feelings but makes the reader aware of his own relenting agony. I couldn’t put it down.” –Floyd Salas, author of Tattoo The Wicked Cross.

As a small press with only one “real book” to offer, the distributors are hesitant to carry this title. I don’t even want to talk about the horrors trying to sell this at Amazon.

“I decided early on that Steve Fisher was the best writer of prison life and the drug world I had ever read. He wouldn’t have liked such pigeonholing, but it is high praise indeed. He didn’t get to write as much as, say, Burroughs, but I would in all honesty rather read Steve.” –Gerald Locklin, from his introduction to Rock Salt & Glissandos.

Read this book. If you’re into drug literature, prison literature, William S Burroughs, Jean Genet, Harry Crews, Bukowski, The Beats, Nelson Algren, or Barry Gifford, you’ll love it.