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THE CROWD GOES WILD... Aaron Miller Mondays 31

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😍😭 uncorrected proof of God Box by Mallory Whitten  ✨ coming 3.11.17  〰

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God Box by Mallory Whitten, forthcoming 3/11/17!

God Box is a sacred container replete with self & other, brimming with dazzling & touching clarity, language, emotion, confidence, & self-love. In these poems & stories—pleasantly varied in style, form, subject, & place—Mallory Whiten lucidly transmutes the complex magic, joy & trials of a healing process from trauma, from within the quotidian performance & experience of being & existing as a woman. God Box, Whitten’s second book, is bright with offerings, dreams, blessings, boundaries, affirmations, prayers, synchronicities, & her signature, meticulous & necessary noticing—all of which constellate in a radiating affirmation of life that returns a self to its provenance: the holy box that holds the entire universe and—most importantly & miraculously—ourselves. PRAISE I highly enjoyed God Box—a moving, surprising, powerful, inspiring book about suffering, struggling, sexism, creativity, art, work, dreams, recovery, healing, synchronicity, friendship, and change.    — Tao Lin Mallory Whitten exists in the delicate and precious space of writing as someone who says so much in the simplest and most up-front way possible. Her choice in and attention to recalling specific stories that happen in physical reality are always aligned with the Highest Good in the way that they lead you to remember what truly matters to you, in a way that reminds you of your own truth—no matter how different or similar it is to hers. God Box is a beautiful work of art that reflects the simultaneous incredibly light and incredible dense world back to us. Anyone will be blessed and reconnected to everything holy after reading this book.    — Erin Elizabeth Wehrenberg God Box is an unflinching account of mental illness, but it's not one that resorts to familiar tropes of sympathy and victimization. It treats its pain as a rare gift, to be plumbed, excoriated, and conquered. "i want to be free from all the ideas other people have about me that help them feel stronger in themselves," Mal writes. There is perhaps no truer desire.    — Andrew Weatherhead

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WE HAVE A NEW WEBSITE & WE ARE VERY EXCITED & WANT YOU TO SEE <3 <3 http://monsterhousepress.com/ http://monsterhousepress.com/ http://monsterhousepress.com/

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Yeah, the world is pain, but attention is rich and connection changes everything when we allow it to sing us, the sun going down so light and enormous, the pink and orange waves, their marvelous chorus.

Matt Hart

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“The word is pain, and the world is pain, but the sun on our skin is enormous and light.” "Poem With A Chorus By Jawbreaker” by Matt Hart (from Radiant Companion)

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Preorder Matt Hart’s new collections of poems Radiant Companion & Radiant Action (H_NGM_N Books) !!!

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Covers for Matt Hart's new poetry collections forthcoming from H_NGM_N Books & us 15 September! Design by Richard Wehrenberg, Jr.

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Go to a field and lay in the middle of it. Think about dying. Remember, “I am alive.” Remember, “Memory is fleeting.” You are wrapped in black furs and now remnants of plants. You are wrapped in memory and it is soft, warm, sometimes has sharp edges. I could stare for hours. Like the night you picked me up and I sat in your car, my face pressed against the glass of the passenger seat window. I could not grasp the words, “It is good to see you.” I am the sheer white curtain draped above my bed letting blurred sunlight in in the morning. And it is enough. Four days before you die, you touch my hair softly. Go to a parking lot and watch a moth die. Watch it flutter and scrape across the asphalt slowly. Even though you are scared, lay on the asphalt next to it, as if that will do something. Lay around the trunk of the tree next to the parking lot crying because you couldn’t do something. Hands pressed against dirt, face wet, my body warm and heavy.

V

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My mother still plays poker for money. She still goes to the bar. She still tells me about her nights drunk fucking some guy who fixed her van. My father leaves for work at 1AM. His face looks older than when I last saw him. He still smokes Marlboros in the house. He still takes me to Golden Corral for my birthday. On our way home, he calls me a bitch and drops me off on the side of the highway. My youngest brother smokes through a vaporizer in his room. It’s broken and he’s going to return it. “You started smoking?” “No. I don’t smoke. I’m quitting.” A friend picks him up at 4AM. They run a stop sign on their way to Denny’s. Flashing lights, police sirens, 120 MPH trying to get away. Always trying to get away. They hit a fire hydrant and water shoots directly up. “Run! You better run! I don’t have a license. This is a stolen car.” So my brother runs down the same highway. At the beauty salon I grew up in, my grandmother touches my hair like she did when I was a child. The other women around us in tight curlers. My aunt, strung out on pain pills and heroin, collecting dirty towels while my cousin steals money from the register and walks to the corner store. These women raised me. At home, I embrace you in the kitchen after seeing the track marks on your arms for the first time. For weeks you wore long sleeves and I don’t know if this time you intended for me to see them or you were just too hot. Home is humid. Home is running away. Home is wishing you could have ran too.

V

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i know what it feels like to feel like you could eat a groundhog on christmas i drove by the house i grew up in and nobody was home but a commercial-sized dumpster was in the yard

Emma Shepard, “b-side version of that alanis morissette song”

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FORTHCOMING 15 September! Matt Hart’s RADIANT COMPANION.

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Snag a copy of Kaveh Akbar’s  limited edition, single poem pamphlet, Portrait Of The Alcoholic With Shattered Pelvis, the newest MHP(PS) release, out 30 August!

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the amount of conversations i have that involve ‘sarcastic / absurd joking around in, what i perceive as, an attempt to pass through time without constantly considering inexorable loss, sadness, & ephemerality’ have been decreasing with time, which seems, essentially, good

Richard Wehrenberg, Jr., Reset North America To Default Settings

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Whose tongue slices up my song to make its laughter unnatural?

Jeffrey Sherfey, “The Object Of”

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a single reflected cloud scuds where a blue heron stands wooden stabs at duff only this I trust this memory of marshland and the fox fleet through eelgrass I almost forgot to tell you about

Dave Torneo, Intimations of Happiness Deferred

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Born into the world on this beautiful day: this magnificent meditation on Happiness by Bloomington poetry aficionado Dave Torneo! INTIMATIONS OF HAPPINESS DEFERRED is the second release in our new pamphlet series, illuminating exceptional longer poems and shorter stories, MHP(PS)!