Samizdat Blog

What's that you say? You can't make it down to Tulsa, Oklamoma next week to hear me talk about the New Criticism and read my poems ...

That's Avant-Post people, not to be confused with the post-avant. The latter is either a school of poetry or a hopelessly vague abstra...

So there I was, circa 1991, sitting with my fellow grad students around a certain self-styled radical feminist professor's dining room t...

K. Silem Mohammad is onto something over at his blog, with his Sept. 1 post, Notes on (Dis)quietude and the "Post-Avant" . So ont...

Okay, peeps, here's the globe-trekking my agent put together for this fall. Fire up the Volkswagen microbus and get your tie-die on! N...

Fret not! The title of this post notwithstanding, I'm not about to lay some heavy jive on you about the dream-world of Leo Strauss and...

From the deep, muggy swamps of Florida, from beneath the very shadow of Katherine Harris, and from the lingering pile of hanging chads and b...

This just in from Jeffrey Bershaw, whose sentiments echo those in a number of messages I received about "The Worst Living Irish Writer...

Snappy titles, eh? But why two titles for a post consisting of only a few sentences, you ask? Well, the titles are actually alternate vers...

Since you insist, well, alright: here's the letter I'm sending to The New York Times in response to Christopher Caldwell's arti...

Having stuffed a fourteen-year-old issue of Global City Review in his pocket (it being the only truly pocket-sized journal), that he may ha...

1. In Which I Consider the Words of Johnny Rotten Would I sound too much like the kind of guy who spends several hours each week cross-inde...