Civil Coping Mechanisms

Civil Coping Mechanisms (CCM) is a DIY kind of press. We take the same level of angst as our brethren in shunning those that would be in the immediate position of neglecting our efforts as artisans. We take the sentiment of doing it ourselves while stating to the tired publishing process, “To hell with it.” Why not do it our way? What only matters: Offering a space for the innovation so sorely shamed and disregarded as unmarketable by the major and indie presses too busy selling the next celebrity memoir, paper-thin creative nonfiction spine of lies, the wax-intellectual pursuits of yet-again the same vision wrapped in newer trim, or the same regurgitated genre-fiction and prose you’d expect would have become stale by now. Oh yes, we rant. This is our place. We’ll do as we damn well please. CCM is made possible by the hard work of the following eccentric individuals… Michael J Seidlinger, Publisher-in-Chief Kalliopi Mathios, Executive Editor, CCM White Rabbit Manuel Abreu, Managing Editor And our invaluable deputy editors: Vanessa Rossetto Luis Silva Adrienne Crezo Robert Vaughan … as well as the readers and supporters that comprise our community of literary coping. Our words are ours to share; our world is worth tearing apart if it means getting a chance to rebuild it from scratch. We're coping. Contact us at [email protected]

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I am a Catholic. I was baptized Catholic as a baby, and mom raised me as such. Dad converted, and became Catholic. My brother and sister are Catholics. Grandma and Grandpa were Catholics. My uncles are Catholic. My uncles’ wives are Catholic. My cousins are Catholics. My aunt’s husband’s family is Catholic. His sister’s names are Faith, Hope, and Charity. I used to feel guilty after I masturbated. I am Catholic.

From Last Mass by Jamie Iredell, which Meghan Lamb reviews in The Rumpus. (via therumpus)

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Cover spread for Careful Mountain (Civil Coping Mechanisms, 2016)

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IN FEAR OF A TRANS PLANET II: Excerpts from "WARM MORNING" by Sara June Woods

WARM MORNING This morning looked like a sad blanket made of my opinions on things. It wasn’t warm & you shivered so hard under it that it looked like you were being shaken by a strong man intent on letting you know the building was on fire. The building was not on fire but I pretended it was & pretended to try & put it out & pretended to put water on everything & pretended to escape except I couldn’t because the pretend ceiling had fallen in in the next room & our pretend door was barricaded shut & I was inhaling so much pretend smoke & my pretend shirt was on fire & so I pretended to lay down & roll on the ground until I pretended to pass out & pretended to die next to you, still asleep in bed & my whole family had a pretend funeral for both of us where they pretended to cry & pretended to say nice things about how they would pretend to miss us. Once we were in the pretend ground I finally woke you up for real & said we are finally alone & you got this look on your face like a thousand suns in a thousand skies. We pretended to dig ourselves out & eloped to pretend France where we had a pretend goat farm with real goats that gave us looks like we didn’t know what we were doing. The farm was a success & was soon made into a major motion picture that no one saw & three sequels that everyone did see but no one liked. In the third sequel a beautiful Hollywood actress played you & you played me & I played the part of an injured goat & our parents were played by sunsets who had gotten their start doing Shakespeare somewhere. It ended with a magnificent shot of the both of us dragged by a team of horses across the French countryside until our faces were covered with dirt & blood & we were grinning from ear to ear & holding each other & kissing our necks as our heads banged against rock after rock after rock after rock. The soundtrack was full of wistful piano music, a song from which I tried to play at your real funeral, 50 years later, but couldn’t make it through. Your parents were gone, but the sunsets came & told me it would be okay, & I made the mistake of believing them. WARM MORNING This warm morning was a rock in the mouth of a cave I came across fly fishing. It had a word written on it I couldn’t figure out, except that it made my mouth move something like azimuth or coriolis or some other word I can’t hold at once & I said it softly while inhaling, like an apartment fire you keep in your chest when your town is too dark. The fish I caught were scaleless & sang I’m Still in Love with You like a choir you hold in a box next to your ear when you’re shaking too hard to stand & the altos lit matches all at once in unison & that cave lit up like a bronze statue caught in a floodlight & all our parents were there with knives in their teeth, looking hard at me & asked where you were & I said you were in surgery & they asked what was wrong & I said you were in surgery & they said no what was wrong that you needed surgery & I explained how the doctors don’t know how it got there but on the x-ray there is a tiny not-you that is just like you but dead & it is growing & pushing the you-you out & they have to act fast or there will be only not-you, dead-you left in you & the fish started crying & their matches went out & alone there I said that word again & again like it was your name, like I was a nurse in the wrong waiting room.

Sara June Woods ( saramountain ) is a human mess. She is the author of the books Sara or the Existence of Fire (Horse Less Press, 2014), Wolf Doctors (Artifice Books, 2014) and the forthcoming chapbook Don’t Smoke in Bed (Saucepot Publishing). She is a trans woman and a scorpio. Http://healthydogpoem.info

Look out for the next feature tomorrow & pls keep our organizations in mind:  the Sylvia Rivera Law Project, the Audre Lorde Project, and Black & Pink.

I’m also happy to announce that we are planning a trans tour featuring some artists from both TRANS PLANET I and II. A more specific announcement will be forthcoming, but if you’d like to donate to that cause, feel free to paypal [email protected]. All proceeds will go toward our budget or the SRLP/ALP/B&P. 

Check out more posts from IN FEAR OF A TRANS PLANET II here:

-“Cornflake Girl” by John Mortara

-2 Poems by Beyza Ozer

-“Girls Wear Blue, Boys Wear Pinkwashing” by Alok Vaid-Menon

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“Every Day I Want to Quit Social Media,” by Michael Seidlinger

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Society is a filthy bitch

Michael J Seidlinger (My Pet Serial Killer)

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“Chilling…ruthless as a diamond with a broken heart. For myself, I’m as nauseated as I am lifted, as redeemed as appalled.” —D. Foy, author of Made to Break

THE STRANGEST by Michael J. Seidlinger

Now Available from OR Books

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Michael J. Seidlinger

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The writer hunts for those rare moments when everything they’ve fought for on the page begins to feel as real as life itself.

Michael J. Seidlinger (via thatlitsite)

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MAINLINE is a bit different this time. Civil Coping Mechanisms is happy to announce ‪#‎IAMCOPING‬: Can you write a book called "Civil Coping Mechanisms?"

From now until March 4th, CCM is accepting entries for full-length single-author and collaborative manuscripts that encapsulate the CCM aesthetic.

The winning manuscript will be announced at ‪#‎AWP16‬ and will be published as part of the 2016 CCM Catalogue.

We know we're coping, but are you?

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Nick Sweeney reviews LAST MASS. We’re coping.

To purchase LAST MASS, click here.

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Check out David Wells’ great cover for I/O: A MEMOIR by Brian Oliu, forthcoming December 2 as part of Quarter 4 of CCM’s 2015 catalogue. I/O is an epic poem in the form of an MS-DOS computer virus. We’re coping.

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Wendy C. Ortiz: “...a more mature narrator with shadows and ghosts that still intrude.”

Interviewed by Elissa Washuta The first time I met Wendy C. Ortiz, she challenged me to a public arm-wrestling match. She won. It wasn’t hard to be a good sport about it: we entered into the match...

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Poem: Helen McClory - Queen Mob's Tea House

'But I drank whisky and I sat by the lake and I told.'

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Check out the cover for EVERYONE GETS EATEN by Ben Brooks, forthcoming December 2, 2015 from CCM. Cover design my Michael J seidlinger. We’re coping.