anyone who lives near or in madison and would like to host me, tao lin, mira gonzalez, chloe caldwell in your house or gallery or bookstore or bar, please email me ee at hobartpulp dot com ASAP thx
It’s as though Bud Selig consulted with R. A. Dickey on the development of his knuckleball, offering to change the elevation of the mound to showcase its effects.
Talking to Reed also made me realize how stage-managed and, in some senses, artificial the X Games’ vaunted progression can be. One of the signature achievements, on a par with Tony Hawk’s 900, was Travis Pastrana’s double backflip, on a motorcycle, in 2006. “Travis was like, ‘Oh, I need the ramp set up like this,’ ” Reed recalled, explaining that part of his job was to be in regular touch with the show’s talent, to find out what the stars are working on, and to incorporate as much potential for iconic moments into the event program, whether by tweaking the rules or the format. This year, he’d added a quarter-pipe to the freestyle motocross course, at the suggestion of a French rider named Thomas Pagès, who planned to perform a “bike flip”—that is, the bike would rotate in his hands while his head and torso remained still. “We try to make sure we build and position everything, so that they can come in and perform what they want to do,” Reed said. “We like to think we’re good at producing what the athletes are doing.” It’s as though Bud Selig consulted with R. A. Dickey on the development of his knuckleball, offering to change the elevation of the mound to showcase its effects.
(via aaronburch)Aaron Burch
hobart editors aaron burch (left), caleb curtiss (right) with future SF/LD author (summer 2015!) Uzodinma Okehi (middle), nyc july 2014.
Reclined on an alpaca rug, I don’t see
past my fingertips. A sad outline blows smoke
rings toward a rental’s ceiling, composes series
of odes to omnisexual barflies, canticles
meditating on a cricket that lives in the cornice
of my dining room—the poor little ticker,
protesting its heart out, probably starving.
Who else will entertain this philosophical grabass?
On who’s bill? How foppish is this bug,
verdant suit, buttressed legs he rubs together
in song, too often, worrying inseams.
His color sticks reluctantly to exoskeleton.
Watch those legs grind down like pencil lead—
How lording over a single room in a house,
much too large, is like trying to hold a column
of cigarette ash between two fingers.
Indeed, it seemed one long worry, my friend,
but it crumbles; the real worry is.
(via swingingaxes)SWINGING AXES
I make Money for a Living
Throw some letters together and you got words.
Throw some words together and you poetry.
4 poems by Victor Freeze