Monday, February 07, 2005

Lock-Down at 666 Broadway

Strangest phenomenon of them all is the total silence coming out of Harper's headquarters at 666 Broadway in New York. Not one staffer, anonymous or otherwise, has come forward to condemn or defend the plagiarism charges. Is it conceivable that not one of them has an opinion?

Speculation is that the entire Harper's staff is being silenced by Editor Lewis Lapham and evil hanchman Roger D. Hodge. The workers are held prisoner, chained to their desks with gags over their mouths; their computer screens closely monitored so that no communication with the Underground Literary Alliance can take place. In this environment not one thought critical of Hodge's curious elevation to heir-apparent, or about the magazine's use of Bissell the Bumbler, can happen.


Should ULA commando teams be organized to free the Harper's hostages-- to allow them to once again exercise their right of free speech? The situation is being closely watched. If one brave Harper's staffer is able to remove the gag and make contact, this blog will be the first to report it. Stay tuned for updates.


Anonymous said...

"There is more money to be made in organizing miserable, mediocre writers than there is to be made writing." --Dave Eggers, NYT 2/6/2005

Noah Cicero said...

In Youngstown, I don't know about other areas, but if anybody from an other area sees the same snobbery tell me.
In Youngstown to be a poet or fiction writer or bard as some like to say, you have to wear a certain outfit: a scarf, an older looking jacket either 70s disco jacket or something that looks like a navy sailor's jacket from the 1940s, and leather shoes. The scarf is most important, without the scarf you are not a writer, you've never even read a book if you don't have a scarf.
If you are wearing sneakers that aren't chucks, a regular winter coat, and blue jeans and you don't have a scarf you are, well, nothing. Amongst the writers of Youngstown including the professors the better the scarf the better the writing.
and you have to drink Guinness beer too, if you don't drink Guinness, you can't write and don't know what you're talking about. and you have to be an expert on Greek Mythology.
So to anyone who wants to be considered a great writer all you need is a sailor's jacket, some Guinness, Bulfinch's mythology, and most important of all, a scarf.

Anonymous said...

Evil Journalista used to wear Orange Scarf, but now it disgusts him.

He enjoyed reading of Scarf, and Bulfinch Mythology, on Demi-Puppet.

He would give Noah Cicero an Evil Journalista Award for this scarf post.

Sadly, an Evil Journalista Award does not exist.

Evil Journalista was puzzled by this American Footbowl Game.

He drank beer that was weak like water: Miller High Life.

He enjoyed the antics of this Eagle, Owens.

The commercials gave him great pain, as did Half-Show, with Beatles.

Where was this Dark Horse, where was this Lenin, and Sutcliffe?

Without Beatles, Pete McCarthy should be sent to Retired Home.

He is pathetic old man, an empty symbol, with overwealth.

Evil Journalista would have exposed his breast to the Super World.

He was invited to perform, to sing Anthem, and expose himself.

His many enemies are cunning, in their tactics.

Evil Journalista will outlive them all.

He will spill High Life on their forgotten graves.

Jeff Potter said...

I remember when Suzy Poe and I brought Jack Saunders and John M. Bennett to East Lansing from down south. We just did it. We set up 3 days of readings. We paid for one classy venue ourselves and got two other unusual, distinctive venues as well. Our authors covered all the social bases: concert hall, bar and arena! Suzy and I plastered the town with posters for the Triple ReadFest for over a month. She sent out PRs to all relevant media and clubs and let everyone know what was happening. It was during Banned Books Week. Our poster played up the banned aspect of our writers' underground work. So here are legendary banned writers coming from a long way to do readings during banned books week at the 3 main venues in town. It's a natural! (One of the main hippy profs in town is actually a longtime friend of our writers and must've known.) We let all the bookstores know. One let us put up a big display. Every other Banned Book display in town was so DILUTE in comparison: a pious remembrance of what happened long ago and far away. There was no LIFE to a single one of them. --Except for ours! Here's banned writers NOW! They've been working their whole lives producing worldclass material that's been SHUT OUT. They have fans around the world: none allowed to speak. All is suppressed. What a ripe topic!

Not a single literati showed up. This is a huge University town with a huge English department. Hundreds of MFAs running around, idling in cafes.

We did get lots of regular people, though. And lots of transvestites, too, for some reason. It was a riot. Various people drove to the events from out of town. But no locals deigned to attend.

Being longtime zeensters, Poe and I had totally forgotten about the snobbery! The reflex peevishness. It was a 0% part of the zeen world she and I had been thriving in for over a decade. She and I were nationally known for DIY work. We thought it was a 'come one come all' world for art. Find art, enjoy it if it works. What more is there? Oh, there's PERMISSION! Ha! There really is no permission with life or art. But when you're dealing with bitter little packs of the deluded, well, then there IS permission. There's a pecking order. How dare we not go thru CHANNELS! How dare we reach out to the river and neglect the poisonous little trickle underfoot? It was hilarious.

So, I have most of OYB Press loaded into my Catazeen now. Plenty of big cool things left to input, I tell you! Now I have to catch up on my shipping. Whew.

Jack Saunders writes about a couple different famous lady writers who emphasize that they need time alone to get their writing done. "A room of one's own and 500 pounds," is how Wolff put it. Jack wonders if they would've written at all if they had to work a job and deal with the kids in addition to write.

DIY work ain't easy, man! Try making a very weird huge mag, shipping books, keeping kids...and cleaning up dog vomit like I just had to. Ha! But would I trade it? --For a boring mag, hired help, nanny for the kids a handler for the dog? Ha! Might as well write novels about attending funerals!

Anonymous said...

Adam Hardin's Monday Report on the ULA site ( is absolutely amazing.

I've always been impressed by Adam's writing, but this expose of possible mail fraud by Brown insiders, in the desperate quest to promote their own at whatever cost, while brazenly bilking fee-paying hopefuls, is utterly devastating.

Take it straight to the chancellor of Brown University, Adam, sink your teeth in and don't let go. I'll help back you up with whatever support I can. If your allegations are true, these fuckers should swing.


King Wenclas said...

I agree that Adam's is an amazing Report, and gets to the crux of how the lit-world operates.
It has echoes for me of a story I did in New Philistine in 1995 about how board members of AWP were serving on NEA awards panels and awarding grants to one another-- taking turns, where writer A one year would sit on a panel and give money to writer B, and the next year writer B would give money to writer A.
(A few years after this the AWP just happened to "lose" most of their members donations.)
This issue of NP was the one infamously yanked out of mailboxes by Liam Rector, legally posted mail publicly destroyed. (This happened at Bennington's summer writing seminar. Bennington is the place where Sven Birkerts, Tom Bissell, and Rick Moody just happen to teach. Small world, huh?) Several writers dropped me notes about the incident-- I never dropped the dime on them to their friends. It was just a big joke to them anyway.
A little more investigation of C.D. Wright might be warranted. I recall a few years ago Wright in the same tango with another poet (Donald Justice?) where they took turns awarding themselves money.
Characters like Wright and Liam Rector aren't poets of course-- their work is ridiculously insipid-- but merely lit-world whores astute at scamming the system for their own benefit.
Great job, Adam!

King Wenclas said...

Evil Journalista, your routine is starting to get old. Change it up a bit at least, or try another alter-ego.