Sunday, January 25, 2015

Zombie Logic Press Poet Jesus Correa Named To NPR's Winter Reading Series

Jesus Abraham Correa VII's book, Iced Cream, published in 2014 by Zombie Logic Press , has been named to NPR's 2015 Winter Book Series

The 2015 WNIJ Winter Book Series, which begins Monday, Feb. 2, features authors from throughout northern Illinois.

At 6:50 and 8:50 a.m. each Monday in February, Dan Klefstad speaks with an author about his or her book as well as his or her motivation and inspirations and invites the authors to read selections of their published pieces.

Too bad you can't see the art on the radio, because...

Zombie Logic Press published one of the best art books in America in 2014.

So, please tune in for Pushcart Prize finalist Jesus Abraham Correa VII as he discusses his book Iced Cream on NPR. The bookis the first in the Zombie Logic Press Rock River Valley Literature series. The second book, The Zen of Beard Trimming, by C.J. Campbell, is due out in February 2015.

Buy Iced Cream by Jesus Correa


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You Are NOT The Proud Owner of a Friedrich Schroder Sonnenstern

Last fall Jenny got a call from her dad that he had gotten a contract to clean out a 10,000 square foot warehouse, and wanted to give her the first chance to see if there was anything there she wanted. I've learned never to ignore the possibility that anything this man does might not turn into an adventure, so I was in. When we got there it was 10,000 square feet. Of ammonia jugs, bleach, curtain rods, water bottles, light bulbs, wire hangers... you see, the man had owned a surplus department store called Insurance Liquidators, and had a couple of decades of junk stockpiled. Now, I like bleach as much as the next guy, so I did grab a few jugs, but after all it only costs a dollar a gallon, so we wondered if it was even going to be worth the drive out there. Jenny's dad was trying to convince her to take all kinds of useless items, and I could see she was getting annoyed with him, so I used the opportunity to sneak off into another part of the warehouse, where I discovered an office. Finally, I thought, if any treasure has been left behind it would surely have been deposited here. Unfortunately, after a few minutes I was unable to unearth anything more interesting than a stack of old country music records. Oak Ridge Boys, Slim Whitman, the obligatory Engelbert Humperdink. Also, it was cold, and the kids were in the car. The treasure hunt had turned into an ordeal. I needed to find something, anything, to justify the drive out there. Then I saw this ...

The art you're looking at at first appears to be polyurethane, or plexiglass. I just thought it was tacky as hell and wanted it immediately for the 70's themed den we are planning downstairs. It also does have a sort of strange appeal, and is not without any artistic merit. But my first assessment was that it was a cheap piece of mass-produced decoration from the 1970's that he had ordered for the store. And it may very well be that. But it is signed. By an artist named Schroder. I put this out of mind for several months, but looking at it again a few weeks ago I vowed  to make a concentrated effort to discover the identity of the artist.

I was initially excited by the possibility that the piece might have been done by Friedrich Schroder Sonnenstern, a German Outsider artist who did work I find very unique and appealing. It fits roughly into his style, but it just wasn't right. I was NOT the proud owner of an original Friedrich Schroder Sonnenstern


Friedrich Schröder-Sonnenstern
Vitanovaseturine
1951/52
Michael Werner Gallery

Which left only one other Schroder in my Google search results... Henner Schroder. A glass artist. A glass artist? Surely this is a promising lead, I thought to myself. And since Henner Schroder is alive and working in the Northwest, I thought I had a good lead, and contacted him with a picture of my art. 

And he disavowed the piece. Said it wasn't his.

What choice do I have but to believe him? I was unable to find the signature of either artist to make a comparison, but here's a piece by Henner Schroder...

Now that Henner Schroder asserts the piece is not his, I can only go back to my original hypothesis that it's a rather cheap and tacky decorative piece ala 1980, the sort of piece someone who owned a discount retail store might acquire in volume. I asked around, and Insurance Liquidators did indeed on occasion sell home decorations and such. Is it possible there are a couple copies of  my Schroder floating around? Is it an original Schroder. Who is Schroder? I doubt now I will ever get an answer to any of these questions, but I like the work of both Schroders I discovered and would have been proud to possess one of their pieces. 




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You Are What Your Record Says You Are

In the National Football League there is a saying that goes after a certain amount of games "You are what your record says you are."

I suppose in the writing profession after a certain time you are what your record says you are. Maybe there are exceptions of undiscovered genius, like Kafka or Confederacy of Dunces, but in general if people aren't taking to your work it's probably because it doesn't warrant very much attention.

I haven't enjoyed writing in almost twenty years. Nobody much liked my first book, Concave Buddha, and I still have boxes of my second book, Detached Retinas, in my closet. I did have some early success in placing my poems in small press zines, but I think that was largely due to imitating the style of the day. The Bukowski style. 

I really stopped writing as a serious endeavor in the early 1990's, and stopped submitting my work for the approval of others then. All my subsequent books are self-published, and all my poetry appears only here or at Zombie Logic Review. Occasionally I'll write something late at night and share it to Facebook.

I really like to leave some sort of permanent record here at Zombie Logic about what I watched, what I saw. I rarely have anything to say about my private life or interactions. I'm trying to keep it vaguely literary. Actually right now I'm just trying to get to 500 words to appease Google, because I haven't written in days. 

Google, like the rest of the world, isn't particularly interested in what I write, either.  I am reminded of that occasionally when I see a tripod page, long scuttled, and of poor quality of the first place, outranking one of my blogs on the same topic, written only weeks before. It's alright, though, because invisibility is a superpower. 

Largely, when anyone bothers to comment on anything I have written, it is because they are angry and disagree with me. It's rare for me to ever make a statement out of sheer desire to incite the anger of others. I write what I want, and I say what I believe. Is this 500 words yet? Should I post a picture also...


Ghouls, Ghouls, Ghouls.


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Thursday, January 15, 2015

Zombie Logic Press Titles

The Zen of Beard Trimming: Stories of Punk Rock, Poverty, and the Search for Peace 
by C.J. Campbell
$20.00
Pre-order - ships Feb 2015


***

Iced Cream by Jesus Abraham Correa VII 
$15.00




$2.99

***

The Toughskin Rhinoceros Wrangler Company 
By Thomas L. Vaultonburg Illustrated by Jenny Mathews

$2.99




Out of print


$2.99



***


Submerged Structure by Thomas L. Vaultonburg
$10.00







***
Flesh Wounds by Thomas L. Vaultonburg
$10.00 





1.99


***
Detached Retinas by Thomas L. Vaultonburg
$10.00




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Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Charlie Boy on Thriller Video, Hosted By Elvira, Mistress of the Dark

These two rascals arrived in the mail today, and for a while it seemed they were going to remain stranded at the USPS processing center in Gulfport, Mississippi forever. Some eccentric packaging on these that reminded me of our fifth grade science class contest to see who could design a device to keep an egg from dropping when dropped off the roof of the school, which was approximately twelve feet high. I discovered two separate cardboard boxes on the stairs, both big enough for a bowling ball in a bag, stuffed with newspaper, each containing a Thriller Video at the bottom. What me and my partner, Adam, did in fifth grade was completely blow off the project until the last day, then decide we'd just put the egg at the bottom of a cardboard box. The kids who spent weeks designing these very elaborate and sciency contraptions were furious when our egg refused to break in trial after trial. Turns out me and Adam were sort of idiot savants when it comes to science. But that's not what I came here to tell you about. I didn't even come here to tell you about these two new Thriller Video tapes I just added to my collection. I don't have any other way to say this. I buried the lead as much as I could, but...

Charlie Boy and Frankenstein on Thriller Video in Beta, hosted by Elvira, Mistress of the Dark


I now have Jenny's permission to have sex with Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. We were watching The Legend of Mick Dodge last week and in response to nothing particular she said Elvira, Mistress of the Dark was the only other person on the planet I could get away with having sex with, and that's because there's no way she could blame me if I did so. I'm not sure if it was some elaborate plan to sleep with Jude Law, who was her hall pass famous person. Perhaps her and Jude Law have already struck up an acquaintance. You always have to be careful whereas women are concerned, because they're much smarter than you.

Anyway, I've been sort of excited about the prospect of having sex with Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, for some time now. Probably thirty years or so. It's unlikely I'll spend much of my time left here on the planet making any serious attempt to follow through on my new found freedom, but perhaps if there's ever a Comicon that comes through town, or maybe the next one, I could show up dressed up kind of nice and ask her if she's interested.  Aside from that, I intend to finish my collection of Thriller Video tapes hosted by Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. 

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Friday, January 9, 2015

Why I'm Glad I'm Not Charlie Hebdo

Aside from being dead, there are other reasons I'm glad I'm not Charlie Hebdo. The primary one is anonymity. Obscurity. It's perhaps one of the greatest gifts an artist can enjoy. Just being left the fuck alone. I have been toiling, largely in vain, for over twenty-five years to create something people were interested in enough to kill me. In the past five years I have created visual art, appeared in movies, written children's books, poetry books, propaganda, role playing books, screenplays, published other peoples' books, and some things I've probably forgotten about, and if I want anyone to as much as call me an asshole I have to write about something people actually care about here in America, like football. 

Sure, over a million people have read this blog, but none of them have tried to kill me, as far as I know. And that seems like a good thing. If I were going to die, having drawn a cartoon where Allah gets fucked in the ass would be pretty low on my reasons for biting it. 

Mostly I'm just on about Dada. I used to make myself available once a year to fight anyone who had an issue with me in the alley behind the restaurants where I live. I never had any takers. I stopped doing that because I'm on blood thinners now, and even though I'd kick your ass, you might manage to punch me in the nose and I'd probably bleed out like Prince Charles. My point, and I do have one, is I was always aware I had probably pissed someone, somewhere off, and it was possible they might want to seek some form of retribution. You pays your dollar and you takes your chances. I never lived in any fear of that, but I also feel it would have been tone deaf not to realize someone might have felt that way. I don't like Wikipedia editors. 

I guess I wouldn't be too a-scart if a bunch of Wikipedia editors wanted to kill me. For one thing, I doubt they have the mobility to leave their parents' basement in order to track me down. Secondly, I doubt they'd like what they found if they were able to find me. 



But the fact has remained all this time that no one really gives much of a shit what I write, create, say, or do. And that's about as good as it gets. The only time anyone ever gets riled up is when I write about sports. You don't like me, and I don't like you, but you got your blog, I got mine, and I don't have to read yours, and you don't have to read mine. Seems like if everyone could just leave it at that we'd be much better off in this world. Thank you so much for not making me famous and getting me killed. 



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Thursday, January 8, 2015

You're Nobody Till Dean Martin Loves You

I'm going to take a break from trying to sell our latest book, The Zen of Beard Trimming, and just write about these 40 Dean Martin 45's we found at The Salvation Army last night. To be precise, 39 Dean Martin 45's and one by Buck Owens. Apparently someone had amassed an enormous Dean Martin collection while they were alive, and someone else had decided it wasn't important enough to keep, sell, or pass on to someone who might have wanted it. They dropped it all off at The Salvation Army. Matt Helm movie posters, LP albums, framed artwork, and this box of 45's. The 45's were the only items that hadn't been priced yet, and roughly half of them were in the original picture sleeves. Since the items that already been priced were above retail, I didn't have much hope we'd be taking any of these home, but when the store manager came over frazzled and distracted, and said .35 cents each I knew we had stumbled into a little bit of good luck. So we picked out the 39 that were in picture sleeves, plus the Buck Owens "I Got a Tiger By the Tail/Crying Time" 45, and got out of there while the getting was good. 

These Dean Martin 45's are so cool I couldn't think of selling them, even though they're worth ten times what I paid for them. Many are French or German imports, and almost all of them are in near mint condition. Will I ever play them on an actual phonograph? Probably not. 

l

But the monty Hall wasn't over. We found this Bill Cosby book about the sanctity of love and marriage under some shoes. Apparently someone had either decided they wanted it and was trying to bury it for later, or was trying to hide it from other humans. Nonetheless, we found it, and this groovy Rambo 3 book to boot.

Then we went over to Valli Produce and bought cream puffs and blue cheese olives. And watched The Legend of Mick Dodge. I'm always happy when I watch that show to have modern conveniences.

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