Octave’s life behind bars continues. With no audience but his cellmate, Octave resorts to unorthodox tactics…how will Diablo react to Octave’s work?

…..like a roadside someone threw
brasura into, a ditch used up stuff ends down in,

Jon considers his regrets. German shares his.

“…Ochoa produced a poetry that shares some similarities with her more famous peers — especially for the personal tone — yet her verse is decidedly more oneiric and numinous, and less conversational.“

In a few words, she is an ideal data collector, and any misgivings the employer may have had about hiring a high school dropout have been put to rest.

Fourth installment of Anvil and Rose, the third by Inspector Wyatt.

Far from being a straightforward narrative, Jean Daive’s memoir-cum-poetic-reverie Under the Dome: Walks with Paul Celan is yet all the more rewarding for its doggedly lucid wandering through recurring vagaries of symbol and motif.

Trakl is a main character in Adorno’s important concept of the enigmatical. 

Una mosca peluda con alas índigo puede perfectamente ser el centro de atención de las niñas que usan vestido rojo.

Octave’s artistic process finally revealed! Repetition is the name of the game when each day resembles the next . . . But with any luck, Octave will soon be free to make more interesting pictures—let’s hope that someone will have the foresight to post his ridiculous bail!

Hilda Morley’s life and career read like a course in 20th century modernism.

Third installment of Anvil and Rose, the second by Inspector Wyatt.

Cualquiera puede solamente verse beneficiado por una buena traducción, porque una traducción actúa sobre y retroactivamente transforma el original.

a day like any other

“I grew up very much alone, and as far back as I recall I was frightened of anything sexual.”

Jon is ‘us.’ German is ‘nothing.’ They do it all.

Octave, our hero, is tragically locked away! Passing the time in constant agony . . . reading and painting?! Perhaps now the doctrine of Octavisme will have time to develop . . .

Érase una vez un muchacho llamado Jack…

The works included in Milano Chow’s new show at Bel Ami, “Park La Brea,” conceal themselves from strangers, murmuring discomfort and paranoia under their breath, only audible when confronted with the intention of listening.