Saturday, August 24, 2013


Don't trust anyone. There are too many anyones and they will tear you in all directions with their opinions. Only trust yourself, and then only when you are utterly relaxed, almost dreaming, when you don't care about anything or what anyone thinks, and you are almost prepared to die in the next line. Keep your deepest feelings close, but don't EVER let them write your poem or paint your picture. When unsure what to write next, go climbing. There's no such thing as a writer's block. That's just you blocking out the light. It's not an obstacle. Write about the new intrusive shadow.


Friday, August 23, 2013

The Triggerfish Critical Review Issue 11 is now live online and can be viewed here:

Can't get the  proper hyperlink function working properly for some reason, but this overloaded blog seems to get increasingly clunky as I get older. I fear its legs are failing, its heart disrhythmic, its appetites awry...

Anyway, a kind of in-house edition featuring most of the scaffolding crew who produce Triggerfish. That seems like an unusual idea, but unusual isn't bad.

Apart from that, there's truly fantastic, Taoist artwork by artist ZZ Wei, as well as an interview I did with him via his wife Hsuan Lin, as translator.

If you've been following Triggerfish, if you're an afishonado (sorry, just couldn't help it - Hail Mary!), then you know who to expect in an 'in-house' edition. Enjoy or avoid. But don't miss ZZ Wei!


Tuesday, August 13, 2013

there was a new ape called Cuadrilla
who acted like he was Godzilla
he hacked and he fracked
till our plates were all cracked
but he promised to use Polyfilla

Sunday, August 04, 2013

some other exercise thing wah

all the trees become monkeys at nightfall
their silhouettes falling/failing in black buffaloes of exuberant life-mud

—in wine and strokes we pick the black parasites
from our hides, all of us native as treetops, roots, bark, nothing
beyond what we can see—deserter... we call you that. we dare and dare not.
the mudwine has taken us for harvest. you who deserted us, carry us then
in your strokes, carry us forth and do not. submerged as the naked one lying beneath, your story, your stroked mud, deserter. you who know nothing
and all things in the foul mouth of the harvest-rainbow. you who carry us on

my love our love, all that you are become the treetops now of monkeyed night. deserter. foul mud. breakers of wine. strokes of the carry-harvest,
unleavened, black carry.