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“Dark, Deviant, Off-Kilter & Thought- Provoking”: a D. Harlan Wilson/Raw Dog Screaming Press Retrospective

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David Vichnar of Equus Press continues his series of mini-reviews covering the best of contemporary independent small-press production, each instalment dedicated to some (usually three) of their most recent & interesting titles. In the sixth instalment, the focus is—mono- & polythematically—on the work of D. Harlan Wilson (DHW), his five books brought out by Raw Dog … Continue reading →

anatomy of an instant – louis armand’s GlassHouse (by hilbert david)

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GlassHouse is the pathology of a convergence of times and places.  It’s a snapshot of an object in four dimensions (an event, its antecedents, and its descendants) which has been broken into shards of various perspectives, and then unrolled. Jacques Derrida described the critique of literature as a type of counter-signature to documents, whose meaning narrates a distinct experience … Continue reading →

“Desert travellers, lunatic runners and nomads of the steppes”: the recent work of Lance Olsen, Bonnie Bee, & Harold Jaffe (Anti-Oedipus Press)

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To bid farewell to a difficult 2020 and welcome a more hopeful 2021, David Vichnar of Equus Press has penned a series of mini-reviews covering the best of contemporary independent small-press production, each instalment dedicated to three of their most recent & interesting titles. In the fifth instalment, the focus is on three books—one older, … Continue reading →

"Modernity today is not in the hands of the poets, but in the hands of the cops" // Louis Aragon
"It is the business of the future to be dangerous" // A.N. Whitehead

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"Poetism is the crown of life; Constructivism is its basis" // Karel Teige

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“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for?…we need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us” // Franz Kafka, letter to Oskar Pollack, 27 January 1904
February 2021
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