#ben fama

[mooneyedandglowing]

- Ben Fama, from "Fantasy"

[bostonpoetryslam]

The horizon stays there money proliferates someone is dying in Miami, near a pool to endure is to endure among loss or lack I’ve never felt exhausted by beauty but I’m tired of describing it

Ben Fama, “Ashes,” published in b l u s h

[bibliomancyoracle]

Everything you see

is an ad for something

*

from “ON HIGH IN BLUE TOMORROWS” by Ben Fama 

[kamreadsandrecs]

The Allure and Toxicity of Fantasy: A Conversation with Ben Fama | Los Angeles Review of Books

Dan Magers speaks with Ben Fama about his debut novel, “If I Close My Eyes.”...

[kammartinez]

The Allure and Toxicity of Fantasy: A Conversation with Ben Fama | Los Angeles Review of Books

Dan Magers speaks with Ben Fama about his debut novel, “If I Close My Eyes.”...

[invisiblemotor]

Peasant Poems - Ben Fama — Forever Magazine

OFFICIAL SELECTION OF RACHEL RABBIT WHITE Peasant Poems Peasant’s song Little fallen flower in the shadow of chain link Peasant Girl...

Peasant Poems

Peasant’s song

Little fallen flower

in the shadow

of chain link

Peasant Girl Lost

False lashes

glued to the floor

I could pray

Peasant in Stocks

I’m a tear drop

I’m a soap sliver

A silk slipper

I’m a trash bag

a ball gag

I am not myself

the ducks in the park

get down after dark

and fall asleep ass up

and fall asleep ass up

Peasant

Prayer is whatever you say on your knees

[jshoulson]

Today’s Poem

Girlwithcat2.jpg --Ben Fama

I found you on Gothtrash.com and saved your picture to my computer desktop it gives me the feeling of something terrible and familiar a space between lives like seeing Marcel seeing Gilberte for the first time how the fact of life itself becomes a thing languished and melancholy I think I would like to lie among southern magnolias in snowfall dark skies above into which I will never enter I'm watching Maya Deren maybe I will smoke weed I called out sick it's the afternoon

[thelonguepuree]

Boo

When a stereo goes by playing Real Love that’s when the revolution begins. The whole boatload of sensitive bullshit. When I lost my virginity I was thinking about Wednesday Addams, from the Addams family. No one probably ever called her boo. That’s sad. My boss keeps saying ICP to someone on the phone. Indian summer sun falls inside this perfect soda. Filmmaker Kenneth Anger … not in the 1%? Jeff Koons? My friends are in this band called Damien Hearst. I love reality but there’s no money in it—I wrote that cause its true. Remember 2011? The year Amy Winehouse died of a broken heart. And Four Loko became illegal. Somehow my childhood cat died. One of the first images of utopia I saw was the MTV video for Today by the Smashing Pumpkins. It’s inconclusive whether the bread truck they drive around is running on vegetable oil, though the whole video is basically a depiction of the art-as-play narrative post-modernity rescued through Nietzsche, or Adorno’s impossible-but-necessary image of liberation. If Snooki were my daughter, I would not be proud of her. Let me give you a second to tweet that. When I die I want my ashes scattered into the twin waterfalls of a hotel named The Salish. I’ve left the details with Jesse because I trust her to deal with this in a way so as not to profane grace. That sounds like something Larry Levis might have written. Larry Levis died in Virginia, age 44, where I was born. When I was 25 I was going to move to Portland to join this bike gang I read about online. Also I thought my 'zine could really thrive there. Jesse lives in Portland and has a more sophisticated phone than even I do. All phones are basically smart because they continue to function while I am ridiculous. When I’m terrible, that’s when Jesse’s cool. It’s 85 degrees today in October a Sunday, much hotter than Fall felt in the catalog. A day after Christopher gave the eulogy at his mother’s funeral, which I have forgotten about. I only remember because I called him for something too small or unimportant to write here. He was about to get on a bus upstate. Later I saw a picture he posted of this lake—it was seemingly endless. The sky looked golden brown and pink, a gradient of makeup like you could see at the ballet I don’t know what to say of the works and women I loved when I knew less. Some I still do. There’s not much I believe in. Things I can be present inside. A sample sale. What's new for Fall? Maybe “sample sale” is the best phrase, not “cellar door,” which is supposed to be phonoaesthetically perfect. The sharp “a” in "sample sale" breaks the space making capital's entrance in this otherwise innocent moment. I’m aware I am using the rhetoric of Christianity to attack an economic philosophy. Where is Feminism now? Feminism is so fucked right now. I want Rei Kawakubo to be my mother. Her eternal black pitch. As if the cedilla hanging from Comme de Garçons (it looks of course like an asterisk or the anus) is the black hole, or degree zero I was born of wherefrom passes the structure of avant-garde capitalism and its concomitant critique. When people talk about Fashion it seems so gauche. — Ben Fama, from Fantasy (2015)