Thursday, November 29, 2007


I've never felt truly alive unless I'm facing a challenge. Back against the wall.

Too many writers-- zine people for instance-- allow themselves to become stuck in a mental box or niche, a cozy place from which they never progress. The years pass and they keep cranking out more issues of "Macaroni," #812. Which is fine if that's all you want.

To leave a mark your projects have to constantly mutate and grow, artistically. This is the task of the Underground Literary Alliance-- to keep our core attitude and message yet keep moving and changing. This is our challenge.

We have a great history but it's only that. New moves are required.

I look out from our tiny outpost of Truth and Integrity on the literary map and see us surrounded by opponents on all sides. Massed armies. Yet at the same time I see their weakness; paths through them to their cardboard fortresses standing like stage scenery within sight. I feel in some small way how Cortez nust've felt with his band of brigands in a golden city in an alien land, surrounded by a magnificent opposing army of many thousands yet knowing victory was his if he kept his head and met the awe-inspiring challenge.


el said...

actually, cortez felt like: holy shit this fucking armor is hot and i can't wait to steal this gold and rape these women cause the stupid savages deserve it, since they do not follow christ, and cabron, pedro, look at how plentiful are the riches here in this land, what they are offering me human sacrifices and maidens, what, they think i am a god? still though i know they are not my enemy i am determined to vanquish them, becase how else would i get their booty in both senses. hijos de puta!

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