The Sister Act franchise

Sister Act
Sister Act 2: “Back in the Habit”
Sister Act 3: Devil Music "It's Pray Back Time"
Sister Act 4: European Nunsense "Lord Have Merci!"
Sister Act 5: The Missionary Imposition "It's a Third World Road Trip and Jesus is Driving."
Sister Act 6: Sister 'Hood "Mean Streets Will Test the Blessed"
Sister Act 7: Utah Nights "The Mormon, The Merrier"

Yesterscopes are here!


We made a book like we're prone to do
and with an author who's brand new
so buy the budget brand of soaps
and afford yourself some yesterscopes

We will tell your fortune true
or bloom some room for a mystic clue
a gorgeous cast of fears and hopes
ride the train in yesterscopes

Composed of a tasteful economy of words
the content divides itself in thirds
a title, a fortune, and a misanthrope
are all you need for a yesterscope

There are parts where you might have a laugh
at the expense of the telegraph
and one more thing, (yes i thank you for your time)
only one yesterscope is written in rhyme

For more info / to order Click Here

Take a knee for Jackie B

Hey Folks,

It's your old pal Jack Burton here. Now listen, there's a topic that's really been grindin' my gaskets lately and I'm just gonna have to rap about it for a moment so take a knee, will ya? I promise this won't take long, and you'll be back to your regularly scheduled program.

The topic for today is Halloween Safety. Now, unless you're some invalid living under a barn in Pooskatuska, you know Halloween is a kick ass time for babes to show off the goods, the perfect opportunity for a wimp to indulge fantasies of being a ninja or a truck driver, and it's the ultimate day for children to rot their chicken chompers with all the variety of sugary what-have-you's under the lord's butterscotch sunball in the sky. 'Nuff said, right?

Wrong!

Now kickin' back and having a blast is why The Man Upstairs put us here, but you always gotta keep a keen mind and an eye out for dirt bags who want to serve up an extra large family style portion of trouble, free delivery. Think I sound over-precautious? Let me tell you about 'ol Jack Burton's 10-thirty one...

I dressed up as myself 'cause when you wake up every morning and look at Jack Burton in the mirror, you eventually lay off the employees in the fantasy department of the old noggin' if you know what I'm saying.

So there I was, finally cruisin' the sidewalk without getting the Santa Monica rubber neck from each and every nose picker's nanny and nephew on the gosh forsaken street. I was enjoying the anonymity so much that I didn't realize I was throwing back the pint glasses like the ocean throws back seashells! In fact, last thing I remember is walking around some church yard seriously contemplating climbing a tree.

Long story short, I don't even remember meeting up with Wang Chi. Hell, I don't remember anything at all. My pals tell me I brandished my conversation-stopper at a taxi cab, fell over a parked bicycle, was extremely affectionate, and spoke like a damn Mexican. Harmless enough, right? Sure... until I woke up the next morning and discovered some scum sucker had cut a huge hole in my pants pocket in an attempt to lift Jack Burton's wallet!

That's no joke, folks. Jack Burton is all for a good time but when we get careless we make ourselves targets. I'm just lucky my skin tight pants refused to drop the wallet, which was glued to my gluteus like a starfish in love. Bottom line is this: the city is a hotbed for goons, spookers, and crud weasels -- and Halloween is precisely the time when they are most at liberty to inflict their sin spectacle upon unsuspecting revelers. It takes crackerjack concentration to spot low lifes when they're dressed up like a giant hot dog or a fire fighter. Once you've had a coupla Four Lokos and a dozen other indulgences, you ain't gonna know Bethlehem from Bedlam.

So don't be a dumb ass, everybody. Next Halloween remember what ol' Jack Burton always says, "When the full moon is shining like a brand new silver dollar, and the girls are all doing their best Pam Anderson, when the fish are all swimmin' sideways in the middle of a bottomless amber ocean..." you know what Jack Burton says, don't 'cha? Yea, he says, "Enjoy that ice cream, folks! Just see to it that it don't melt all over your pants. Oh, and brush your teeth before that final curtain call!"

this is an editorial by Jack Burton from Big Trouble In Little China and may not reflect the views of ILOANBooks

May Day at Ding Dong

An uptown zine and small press fair—May Day at the Ding Dong—will be held on May 1, 2010, from 1 to 7pm at Ding Dong Lounge, 929 Columbus Avenue (between 105th and 106th). It's being organized by a loose coalition of zinesters, small press folk, musicians, artists, and oral history enthusiasts, and will most benefit from the participation of YOU.

More info: maydaydingdong.blogspot.com

Vendor tables are $15. Check our website to pay by PayPal, or email dingdongtables@gmail.com for alternate payment options.

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o p e n m i c !
p l u s s c h e d u l e d p e r f o r m a n c e s b y :

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R E A D I N G S

Buzz Poole (fiction reading) (madonnaofthetoast.blogspot.com)

Fiction Circus (w/ laser harp) (fictioncircus.com)

Sam Cohen (poetry reading) (arcticthirdworld.blogspot.com)

Samantha Chanse (an anecdote) (samanthachanse.com)

Sarah Dziedzic (on Grant's Tomb) (oralhistoryliterature.blogspot.com)

Steve Hann (poetry reading)

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B O O K M A K I N G

Esther K Smith (purgatorypiepress.com)

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F I L M P O E T R Y / P R O J E C T I O N S

Dimmer (film poetry) (kaboompress.com/frontfrontPage.html)

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M U S I C

C-Town (finally!) (myspace.com/wearectown)

Ed Askew (a cappella) (myspace.com/ecaskew)

Jeffrey Lewis (thejeffreylewissite.com)

The March Fourth! (surreal pop) (myspace.com/themarchfourth)

Oh be joyful (http://www.myspace.com/nothingseparate)

Phil and the Osophers (tropical punk) (philandtheosophers.com)

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P U P P E T S H O W

Cassie J. Sneider (puppet show) (facebook.com/cassiejsneider)



See you on May Day!

Winter Doesn't Care What Your Name Is




Mumble it to strangers at parties, make it your facebook status, tell it to anyone wearing a name tag. Winter doesn't care what your name is. Yea, you want to steal that line don't you? Go ahead. Merry Christmas. There are perfect lines to spare in Kevin Estrada's new poetry collection of said title.

And this is winter. What timing! The snow has returned. If winter doesn't care what your name is it especially doesn't care in New York City. The city in which these poems occupy chilly bedrooms and dog boarding facilities. Kevin's New York is one of mid-town cup shakers and love starved strap-hangers window shopping for the human touch. They honor the indifferent season, paying quiet tribute to it through the tense shoulders and knitted caps of a solitary walk against the wind.

Kevin hadn't shown us much since 2007's Cocktail Salute and some of us began to assume he had sort of given up the ghost. In a way this was true. He seems to have retired an old voice, turned the page on himself. He has retired the 'little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously' persona (thanks Dylan) that once trademarked his work and has replaced it with something sturdier; a voice less threatened, less certain of it's own demise. In as great an affirmation of the beating heart as you're likely to find, Kevin challenges, "anyone who says we are already dead, or dying, / i dare them to stand atop a grave / at night / alone"

What else is there to say? I was less than half way through this manuscript before I realized it was the greatest thing my buddy Kevin had ever compiled... and that's saying something, cuz the bulk of my favorite poems are in the second half.

Buy it. Now.
T. Rodriguez

Shep Campbell's Eyebrows

Alright, I've been thinking about this for a while. It's time I lay it on you... Everybody knows the phrase "a picture is worth a thousand words." Richard Yates, in his masterpiece Revolutionary Road, dedicates paragraph upon paragraph to describing Shep Campbell's secret love for April Wheeler. His envy of her husband, his contempt for his own wife... In the movie however, it's more or less summed up in the eyebrows...

There are cinematic tricks to compensate for the lack of narration. Camera angles, music options... implications... but what if there weren't? What if it was just the actor - like in a play? Or just a still frame of Shep Campbell and his jealous, anguished eyebrows? What is the feeling in there? If we had 1,000 empirically accurate words to sum up every frame of film from our own memories of our own lives then this would be a very different world, but of course that is not the way it is. As it stands our lives are confusing messes full of misunderstandings and contradictions. We don't have Richard Yates whispering at 5,000 words per second precisely what is going on and why.

Here's what we're gonna do. We will pick a photograph, or a painting or something -- anything contained, complete and 2D. Then everybody independently sums it up in 1,000 words. Maybe we could compile the results and make a compilation. Does this sound fun?

1975

hey, i was looking for you
chalky black weeds
tangle of ankle
shadows of apple blonde hair
on redondo beach
with sand in the elastic
of my underwear
my arms asleep beneath your bones

the sun is coming
spinning as a chandelier
it still isn't scary
your obituary

my arms are none of this business
my arms, so full of hearts

sun -- bleeding like a blade
hey, i was looking for you