Category: writing

New poem

Milky Way

They stopped counting at four hundred billion.
Just threw in the towel.
Resorted to a shorthand of equations, accompanied
by hair-pulling and other frantic gesticulations.

That’s a lot of stars, of suns–
but still only one, single galaxy,
not an especially distinguished
galaxy at that.

Kind of humbling, isn’t it?
To realize from a cosmic perspective we’re
the equivalent of country bumpkins, living
wayyyy out in the boonies.

And so can any god suffice?
Persuade us of a divine flame
burning invisibly within us, shining
like one of those stars?

Or have you murdered faith,
Galileo, by measuring the glory of
Creation with your heretical gaze,
recanting except in your heart?

 

© Copyright, 2015 Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)

Quote of the day

“I’ve got this personal feeling things are not supposed to be happening to people all of the time. At least I’m not designed for it. There should be more open spaces between events. That’s my clear thought for today.” (Jim Harrison, from his novella The Seven-Ounce Man)

From the Mailbag

I get quite a number of notes from individuals requesting my advice on matters relating to publishing, indie or otherwise.

Recently, two or three people queried me about how to better “monetize” their writing.

Deep breath.

Folks, anyone who has spent even a brief period on this site or has read a mere handful of my Tweets would know that I hold such attitudes in absolute contempt.

Trying to break into writing to make money, seeking fame, fortune and bestseller-dumb? Sorry, you’ve come to the wrong place.

To clarify:

If you’re a purveyor of fan fiction, you should have your hands burned off with an acetylene torch. You are the shit real writers scrape off the bottom of their shoes.

If you concoct shapeshifter/paranormal romance you are a literary pornographer. You exhibit Grade Six-level writing and, it’s clear, retain an absolute horror of penetrative intercourse. As Bill Hicks would say: case fucking closed.

If you “lease” your talent to some franchise, averring that your penny dreadful writing subsidizes your “good” stuff, you’re only fooling yourself…and the gods of Literature can be very, very cruel. Regardless of how you rationalize it, you are whoring your Muse, peddling her ass for a fistful of loot. Your self-righteousness, the ferocity of your denials, only reveals the depth of your insecurity, your secret shame. You disgust me.

A twenty-something twat knows fuck all about life and has no right to claim an authoritative view on anything. You are also far too young and insignificant for a memoir. No one gives a shit about the suffering and pain (largely self-inflicted) you’ve endured during your brief existence. Your life is not unique or particularly interesting. You are part of a growing demographic: an egotistic, narcissistic non-entity with delusions of self-importance. There’s a lot of that going around nowadays and no vaccine in sight. Pity…

Demanding correct spelling and competent syntax is not “old school” thinking.

Unless you approach your craft with devotion and seriousness, work tirelessly and daily at improving yourself, you are a dabbler. A wannabe. Your efforts the equivalent of macaroni art: the gold paint may be slightly more gaudy, the noodles more generous, but it amounts to the same, unsightly mess stuck to the front of your fridge.

This blog is dedicated to a higher purpose, a celebration of the power and majesty of the printed word.

There are plenty of sites for people who compose in crayon, scribble on walls or any available surface and congratulate themselves for their artistry.

If that last sentence describes where you’re at, I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.

There’s the door.

Don’t let it hit you on the ass on the way out.

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Blog Post #374: A New Look

Yes, boys and girls, time to do some house-cleaning, add a lick or two of paint, shake out the cobwebs, freshen up the ol’ joint a little.

Presenting a reboot of “Beautiful Desolation”, hopefully a version that is more readable and easy on the eyes.

Let’s celebrate these latest renovations with some new music.

I mentioned I’d purchased a MIDI keyboard for my Mac—well, yesterday I put the finishing touches on the first batch of music I’ve created with the MIDI and today I loaded a whopping fifty-three minutes worth of aural oddities on to my BandCamp page.

Here’s a sample cut from Primordial, a trippy number called “Corona” that’s quite representative of my recent work.

To listen to the album in its entirety, click here.

New music, new look…a good beginning to my summer.

And there’s more to come. Much more.

Keep watching this space.

For those who suffer through sleepless nights…

ShadowyInsomniac

terror
abrupt/disorienting
like that dreaded midnight call
confirming what you already knew

nowhere
a harbor or sheltering cove
to deflect the tempest—
absorbing the hours like blows

© 2015  Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)
Photo: Sherron Burns

Neglected Authors, Part II

A gratifying response to my last post, a couple of the writers I cited reaching out and offering words of thanks.

No problem, folks.

But I also took some stick for neglecting to include some other neglected authors on my list and for that let me say merely mea culpa.

Nobody’s perfect.

Here are some more names to ponder and, hopefully, seek out. These wordsmiths are/were absolute masters and deserve to be discovered (or rediscovered):

Wilton Barnhardt
Lydia Davis
Christopher Fowler
Craig Grant
Eric McCormack
Ted Mooney
James Morrow
Christopher Priest
Ishmael Reed
Iain Sinclair
Colson Whitehead

Past (Honorary) Members:

Kathy Acker
Antonin Artaud
Elizabeth Bishop
Thomas Disch
Ivan Doig
Martha Gelhorn
William Goyenne
Knut Hamsun
M. John Harrison
Lucius Shepard
Freya Stark

Compared to the junk currently being excreted by traditional publishing, these fine scribes are like brilliant flowers growing out of dung. Help save great works from obscurity and superb writers from the bottomless trash can of history.

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