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Excerpt from Still Life with Razor

In November 1996, Toronto art student Jubal Brown vomited blueberry yogurt, blue Jell-O, and blue icing onto Piet Mondrian’s Composition in Red, White and Blue at New York’s Museum of Modern Art. Under interrogation in the MoMA basement, Brown told police detectives and museum officers that his act was the second installment in a three-part protest against “oppressively trite and painfully banal art.”

Mad Love

Translated from the French by Donald Nicholson-Smith.

RERUNS REZOOMED: a serial novel

Part One ended Jack’s epic search for his kidnapped ex-wife Molly—in a hail of gunfire—after taking up with two thieving vixens on the run and crossing paths with some trigger-happy FBI agents.

Tragic Strip

Try Our Big Ass Burrito

Twin Towers

Since 1998, Ian Monk has been a member of the Oulipo. Among his works in English are Family Archaeology and Other Poems and Writings for the Oulipo. His translations include several novels by Daniel Pennac, several works by Georges Perec, and a rhymed translation of Raymond Roussel’s New Impressions of Africa. A version of Twin Towers appeared in Writings for the Oulipo.

Shitty Mickey

The Black Rabbit, a little known writer and journalist, interviews Mickey Mouse on the subject of his new series of paintings "The Crapper Is Dapper." (The artist's fecal matter, canvas, is the primary medium.) The interview is interrupted by the financial crisis of October 2008, when Mickey fields a phone call from President Bush. Mickey, facing insolvency, threatens to influence the November election...

Rendezvous from Cruels, 13, short stories

Translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith.

The Pinball King

There were four of us in the Fiat, the Italians, my brother and I. We had set out for Delphi in the early afternoon, driving that wreck of a car for hours along a rural road that wove this way and that through the mountains, the asphalt gaping with potholes. I don’t remember what year it was.

Grand Days: The Worst Book I Ever Wrote

The worst book I ever read was one I wrote myself. I’m not trying to be cute, or ironic or anything, and I’m not just talking about lousy prose or a lack of comprehensible plot -- though my book had no real plot.


The Brooklyn Rail

SEPT 2009

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