Hemingway on Ice–and new prose poems published

  I’ve put Hemingway in the fridge. I did it as part of a gruesome but necessary step. I did it for my own artistic development. Next to killing off your darlings, killing off your fathers is right and good. It isn’t personal. Then again, I don’t think the politics of masculinity he represents does anyone much good. But as writers go, few match his devotion to craft. For that reason alone, he is a worthy forebear eligible for a sound beat down now and again.  Plus, I painted that miniature oil portrait of him. So, for all of these reasons, I put Papa on ice… in digital effigy. It’s a cybernetic chamber made of old freon, which is to say, a feebly harnessed 1920’s system for delivering freon. This means that although our fatherly Ernie might crumble awake some day next to Walt (not the good gray one but the mouse mogul), he’ll probably still look terribly aged, an old man scaled as from the sea.

In celebration of nourishing forms of patricide I’ve written two short shorts. They are published today, up and ready for your viewing pleasure over at Whiskey Paper. Please go check them out:  “Jumping our Fathers” and “Bowling Night at the Office.”