Once there was a man who was tired of breathing. It’s just such a drag, he said. So he decided to stop, but found that he couldn’t—the air just kept going in and out.
I’ve been to Yuskavageland—an improbable zone at the intersection of the European painting tradition, religious iconography, porn, and, I’ll argue, performance art.
This First Proof contains the poem “Hello, The Roses,” by Mei-Mei Berssenbrugge.
Dissolution of the totalitarian Soviet regime brought Russia democracy of an imperfect sort. But much of the euphoria of the early nineties has dissipated in the face of new realities.
In September, 1987, I asked two poets, Lyn Hejinian, from the United States and Arkadii Dragomoschenko, from the Soviet Union, to begin an unusual correspondence.