#nickalus rupert

[therumpus]

Pendarvis’ heroes are often aloof, or downright oblivious. He shies away from elevating his characters’ IQs, or investing them with a whole lot of self-respect. Dimly aware of their flawed circumstances, they rarely possess the capacity to improve their fortunes. Because characters in Movie Stars feel so down to earth, it’s jarring when Pendarvis lets a protagonist to drop a word like “achondroplastic.” It’s as if they’re channeling either The Simpsons or Frasier, and there’s not a whole of wiggle-room in between.

Nickalus Rupert reviews Movie Stars by Jack Pendarvis.

[therumpus]

In her recent book The Human Age: The World Shaped by Us, Diane Ackerman argues that “our relationship with nature has changed . . . radically, irreversibly, but by no means all for the bad. Our new epoch is laced with invention. Our mistakes are legion, but our talent is immeasurable.” This particular tension, one that positions people as beings who stand both inside and outside of the “natural,” seems to serve as a thematic motor for Everyone Was a Bird, the most recent LP from Grasscut, a Brighton duo comprised of Andrew Phillips and Marcus O’Dair. Between them, these guys already boast a number of high-profile achievements. Their music has been nominated for an Emmy, and used by big names like HBO, the BBC, and Mazda. Grasscut’s new album wants to be dense, polyphonic, and, to be sure, ambitious. Mostly, it delivers.

Sound Takes: Everyone Was A Bird by Nickalus Rupert.

[quicklit]

We never caught her name, but rumor has it that you were helping her escape the rocks, and well, you know the rest. A tired irony, if it’s true. Who are you really, Meredith? Do you regret that selfless gesture? Is it embarrassing, having surrendered to water so shallow that sunbeams dazzle the glittery green polish on your toenails? Maybe you’re feeling good and mellow down there, watching flow patterns warp the surface, buoyant summer clouds riding egglike overhead. There must’ve been final words, but they belong to the river. Maybe you bubbled out something stoic, like, Here’s a fitting place to die, or maybe something more citric, like, Truly no good deed goes unpunished, you selfish fuckers.

Nickalus Rupert, “If the River Drops,” 2015

[whiskeypaper]

"They enunciate clearly when ordering from the menu. They drink wine by the bottle, pronouncing their selections with the proper nasal flourishes. They share with the whole table, drinking just enough so that their cheeks will glow when they appear on the evening news to explain their charts and graphs and tectonic theories. Many of the -ists compliment the café owner’s menu, which pays reference to the surrounding landscape: Crater Lake Salmon Bowls, Mashed Shasta Potato Medleys, and Oxtail Soup of the Oregon Trail, a salty favorite.

NEW STORY POSTED: “Migratory Habits of the Western Cascades” by Nickalus Rupert.