Adam Fieled is a poet, musician & critic. He has released three albums: "Ardent" (Webster Street Gang Productions, 2004), "Darkyr Sooner" (mp3.com, 2000), and "Raw Rainy Fog" (Radio Eris Records, 2002). He edits the blog-journals PFS Post & Stoning the Devil, & has work in Jacket, Rain Taxi, Word for Word, Nth Position, Cordite, Blazevox, and Cake Train.

Lars Palm lives on a roof in Las Palmas, where he's training to become a luddite terrorist, writes, translates and edits the blog 'zine luzmag. He's the author of mindfulness (moria, 2006). Some other recent writings and translations can be found in Dusie, PFS Post, Ars Interpres & Flashing in the Gutter (his first submitted fiction). He likes the notion of sun-drenched noir.

somewhere between summer &
eternity anesthesiologists
wonder, where, the whitewash, went.
There is certainly need enough
for that, they further, muse. In
wee hours of morning he claims to
speak seven languages; says one of the
municipal buses, runs, to a place called

isla perdida which may be where the
horror writers sit & type all day or
maybe in some, instances (insomniac
anyone?), night-watched.
& somewhere between lairs of
the liars that be, a little, while, longer

“what about, uh, what about a guy w/ an attitude?”
“oh yeah, we got guys like that”
I had problems;
I was arrested for jay-walking in Los Angeles;
I felt, OK, this was this type of character,
in fact
I met people that were just trying to make a living
paradox;
“for thirty years you walk side by side, overnight
lose everything, but not once do you blame
people, so people like yourself can reap the...”
filtered through my own perspective, hate-mail, a story...

“I’m a big fan of close-ups”, interested in the human
face, there were some beautiful, like, crane-shots,
I mean, obviously, the greatest location of the human
face, the eyes, the soul of the character,

“I feel it but I don’t pay it any mind”
 

I don't mind you mining
for cheap, Google hits, it’s
par, for, the, purse. “just give
me, my chair,
get me out of
my, hair”. parse sparse blog-
hogs. leave, a trail of,
hosts— no metaphor.

this ain’t no Moulin Rouge. or,
you know how I read, it’s cool
w/ me. (I was Di’s
favorite waste of time)(I’m
embedding a god-damned
narrative, OK?) “one is over
there, one’s over here, it works.”

Bertold Brecht,
Nicanor Parra,
Jimmy Page,
Yossarian,
Hans Castorp,
Rumi (abused by translator),
Hmphr Bgrt.

Di’s (I’ve never
seen) right there. We
snuck in her back
door, you can fake
cough— we declare an
era of

        virtual               (fucking)             pinball

© Adam Fieled and Lars Palm 2006

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