I love all the adventures I get to go on! Happy earth day! 🐾

Overheard a man with a heavy Boston accent talking about Lucky Charms with a small boy, his son maybe. The discussion was very intense and formal, like a catechism.

“It’s important to try to write when you are in the wrong mood or when the weather is wrong.” —John Ashbery buff.ly/2HmBA15

Re Walser as a (young) tortured poet, trans. Kristofor Minta

I translated Michel Butor’s essay about criticism — you can read it in minor literature[s]! I love Butor’s strange brain, and I hope you will too.

He had me at: 'I first got to know Kristofor through his translations of Rilke, then from A Perfectly Ruined Solitude, a fantastic collection of his original poetry, which merits a full post in itself.'

The Swiss writer Robert Walser was born on this day in 1878. I wrote about My Heart Has So Many Flaws, a collection of his early poems, translated by Kristofor Minta and published by Sublunary Editions:

paradise-almanac.net/p/no-time-is-t…

“Clouds in their roundelay,
pass through the world’s repose.”

Robert Walser (trans. Kristofor Minta)
from My Heart Has So Many Flaws

This will be a lot of fun. I'll discuss how Hilbig threads the needle between poetics, autofiction, and gothic horror in his writing.

a great strategy for writing valuable and enduring work is to regularly assert how you aren’t actually being serious and don’t really care about your subject matter that much

The sky today, mocking our recent efforts

in case you missed it yesterday, my short story 'backscatter' was published over on APOCALYPSE CONFIDENTIAL yesterday
apocalypse-confidential.com/2024/04/08/bac…

Charles Baudelaire was born #OTD in 1821. His poetry has influenced countless horror and crime fiction writers throughout the years. Some can be found in our Night Fears anthology, translated by Clark Ashton Smith, edited by Eric Williams asterismbooks.com/product/night-…

'It was such a simple thing. One body casts light on another, and that one throws its shadow on a third...'

Late Adalbert Stifter, leaning against some Californian rocks and grass, with an eclipse in his chest.

Somewhat anticlimactic