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[caption id="attachment_1414" align="alignleft" width="504"] clockwise from top left: Exit Strata PRINT! vol. 1 "brownie", PRINT! vol. 1 limited edition, blood atlas (DeSilva-Johnson), obsolete objects in the literary imagination (Pinder), limited edition vol.1 broadside[/caption] You know how, just when you think that everything is about to slow down, and you're going to have time for all the things on your To-Do-list, which is looking more and more like an epic poem? And then, you know, it doesn't slow down at all? Yeah. Then. Well, that's kind of how it's been since the print launch...

We stopped going to school after our parents died.  Grieving would distract us from our lessons, we reasoned.  Who could be expected to learn cursive while under such duress?  And because evading the army of replacement parents occupied much of our time, no one could reach us to prove otherwise.
Friends were the new enemies.  We spent our evenings locking the deadbolt, checking the peephole, latching the chain. People came by often, and when they did we pretended we were sick or dying or dead or gone. The house we lived in smelled like moist shag carpeting, and we scrubbed it without mercy.  Sponges shined up the cakey floors.  Our wrinkly fingers paled from the soak of bleach water.  The old and moldy furniture smelled like itself, so we moved all of it onto the front lawn, where it looked lovely.  And after eating in our new sunlit dining room, we stepped inside to sniff out our work.  Nothing had changed.  The smell remained, full-fledged and fetid, and it grew stronger as we walked from room to room.

In November 2011 H_NGM_N Books reissued In Baltic CirclesPaul Violi's first book of poems, originally published in 1973 by The Kulchur Foundation. This resulted out of funny circumstances: after seeing a review by Matt Hart of his last book, Overnight, in Coldfront Magazine, Violi sent Hart a photocopy of the original book with a handwritten note saying, "I like to think it's not all juvenilia!" In Baltic Circles is hardly that – even as an early book it encompasses so much of Violi's essence. What does that mean? For one, if there were ever code of ethics for the poetic form, you also could count on him to violate it in a poem – and he did so in such an elegant and charming way that you could never hold it against him. This is his edgy cleverness, accompanied by a romantic streak and a surreal awareness of the everyday... They are qualities that also radiated like the sun from his personality.

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