LA PETITE ZINE ISSUE #20, FIND YOUR HAPPY PLACE, INVEST IN IT, WATCH
IT PROGRESS, SELL IT FOR A PRETTY PENNY.
A
note on our new sections:
We have been haunting the circuits of La Petite Zine for five years
now, and we find it time for an expansion of sorts. In this issue,
you will find our new InteReview section, wherein interview
and review collide and poetics, potentials, manifestos emerge. You’ll
find a Nepotism Depot, as we travel to our alma mater and
shake out a sample of what’s shaking among the current New School
darlings. Between this issue and #22, you’ll be able to thrill
to our first serialized release, Kristen Iskandrian’s
curious, dazzling “The School.” Future issues will featurette
slices of the English and Canadian experimental poetry scenes, quarantine
the hot hot hotties under twenty-five, and delve into particular aesthetic
strategies Iron-Chef-style.
As always, we’re accepting beauts and brutes of all manners.
Query with the inchoate, and we’ll be glad to consider.
________________________________________________________
Postmodernism
does not create an ethical vacuum, and/or please stop handing me that
Baudrillard snack cake.
Postmodernism cannot be reduced to a single-celled organism. Like
all theoretical categories (feminism, romanticism, X), the category
postmodernism entertains a gaggle of tactics, which do not all operate
in tandem (though some do), and do not all hold fast to the most dogmatic
and hyperbolic postmodern position (though some do). Haraway, Foucault,
Butler , Anna Tsing, D&G, for example, provide theories that convert
smartly into glossy-hided hydra-headed praxes of possibility. You/I/we
= the brokers of conversion.
So, grim prophetsm, keep crying endtimes! Queasy birds, take fright
and—if you must—weave the nest rife with caricatures of
connection. The rest of us, sleeves and sleaze rolled, ticker on,
tentacles flexed, get down to the subterranean business. Pack your
neo-decadence, modesty, fastidiousness. Your uteri, spleen, excess,
brevity. Pack your surprises, organs, and strategies. Take the earnest
wig from its case, screw the ironic monocle to its peeper. Trimmings
overflow our aesthetic flux. Dig deep for the adjective that temporarily
stuns the quickening. Where hybrid formerly arrowed original, we see
nothing but fields of hybridity. That is, nothing but micro-historical
mish-mash. Shine the nexus, meet me in the engine room.
Editor D
current
mood: moody
current
mood: trifle
current
mood: brooding rifle
current
mood: rooting for you
current
mood: in your corner
current
mood: cornered
current
mood: technically
current
mood: zing
current
mood: do you hear something ringing? I think the neighbors are
ar it again. Seriously, do they ever stop? I mean, that's
loud, right? Can you hear that? Unbelievable.
current
mood: sleeping naked
current
mood: ashamed
current
mood: in need of permission to not feel ashamed
current
mood: in debt
current
mood: many diplomas
current
mood: mini diplomatic moments
current
mood: a new daddy
current
mood: can I possibly embarass a fetus?
current
mood: waited too long to see Pan's Labrynth, was good but not
current
mood: never want to give my opinion on music again
current
mood: never want to post a blog, never want to defend myself on-line,
tired of 16 year olds logging on to call me fat, tired
of forty year olds assuming I'm in some cabal of popularity,
wait, John Ashbery's on the phone, he's a big March
Madness fan, we're going to do a big wang thang
(his words) with jalapeno poppers and ranch dip. Go Minutemen!
Wait, what do you mean they had a good football
team this year? John, say it ain't true! Hold
on, I've got Lyn Hejinian on the other line.
current
mood: never
current
mood: coining the phrase "Twistery" for any movie thriller
or TV
show during sweeps
current mood: willing
current
mood: me:brooding boy on L platform
you:
breakdancer performing to Can's "Vitamin C"
we
shared a moment, let's share a lifetime?
Editor
J
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