thistlemilk press

independent nonprofit micropress in brooklyn, ny –

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POETICS@pratt in the Pratt Library 4/16/15. Thistlemilk Press overseen by our poet Theo Brown on the first floor!

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besties at cuny festival supporting the press

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UL50RaU2wk8 Nate “nat” Ingham, a poet at his finest, in a series he cowrote and acted in. Cassie VS Chaos every thursday. His chapbook, Fountain Gun, can be bought here.

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thistlemilk press @ the CUNY chapbook festival last thursday, with poets shelby cook (jean jacket), a.a. (bowler hat), and ryan thoresen carson (he took the photo) in attendance. 

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Gabe Barva reads from his thesis work and upcoming chapbook, Emo†Death @ Zinc Bar, presented by Lungfull Magazine n the suave Jack Nachmanovitch A sampling of his chapbook, Winter Demo, can be found in our store.

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two poems from Can’t Even, by Grace Dilger

I am wicker

bcuz it burns

very

   slowly

photogenic

though

decrepit

I fast for 10 days

to go up

down

up

down

a high five for every

entity in white

up

    down

up

down

where you can’t see

that’s where

the knowledge is

thousands of floating spirit

making duck face

taking selfies

clawing each other

like baby tigers

 splashing around in kerosine

one says I am God

I say I know

I am too

there no control

just command

I am only as powerful

as my connection

I don’t feel my body

but I see

it is that pretty green

copper turns

from years of storms

I come here to get things

explained to me

I ask questions

who should we sacrifice

why do I burn in the sun

can love really save anyone

spirit crowd surfs me

they’re fingertips a bed of nails

I am a hollywood movie

the reel

it flickers

the theatre

it is empty

everything I thought I believed

I shat out on this journey

Gatorade no matter what color

cannot replenish me

-

Figure out your spirit animal

by looking into my nipples n clucking your tongue one thousand times or you can google spirit animal n pick the cutest picture I myself am a jaguar I see through roads of chaos move without fear in darkness I empower with psychic sight I undress feral cats with my mind do not choose hippo they have terrible juju from knocking over canoes and eating people I am the hidden sun the spots on my face are stars n my wisdom is limitless but I do not have opposable thumbs therefore I cannot flush the toilet for you

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Thistlemilk Press is very excited to announce its presence at this year's CUNY Chapbook Festival April 2nd, 2015! HOW GREAT IS THAT.

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Our chapbooks are now available at Berl's Poetry Shop in Dumbo!

What a privilege it is to have such a staple of the Brooklyn poetry community support this micropress. Thank you!

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why do people make such a big deal about mercury being between the sun and the earth i am between the sun and the earth i am miserable what will be my excuse?

Gabe Barva, Winter Demo

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They all live at home with me now

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two poems by Gabe Barva

Investigating Punk

how many ska kids does it take to screw in a light bulb?

two

one to drop it

one to pick it up pick it up pick it up

pop punk needs to be defended because it’s weak

i like educating people about powerviolence

it’s a hobby of mine

once i overheard a professor make fun of emos for being feeble and lame

it hurt my feelings

so i guess i proved her point

i accidentally refer to nyhc as lchc because of grand theft auto iv

my relationship with fear is more confusing and complicated than any relationship i’ve had with another human being

why did the farmer start listening to punk rock?

he was sick of hall n’ oates

midwest post-hardcore is distinctly different from dc post-hardcore, so it’s important when i specify which one i’m talking about, mom

all i wanted was an apartment in bedstuy, to sleep comfortably, the entire criterion collection, the complete works of roberto bolaño, to live in the universe where metallica got faster instead of slowing down, to be able to drink evan williams like i used to, to have a book published by wave or fence, a pepsi

sometimes i go to shows just to smoke outside

i bought a pair of cheap earbuds that make everything sound like i’m listening to it outside of a venue

they’re my most prized possession

all moshpits are quiet

i’m sick of people saying that grindcore is metal not punk

let’s slap the bag

talk about poetry

the modern lovers

and pretend the bar we’re in is cbgb’s in the seventies not purgatory in 2014

Investigating Mercury in Retrograde

mercury is in between the earth and the sun

it looks like it’s moving backwards

the iron in mercury fucks with magnets

(fucking magnets, how do they work?)

this makes technology

and people not function properly

(is this why i can’t send iMessages?)

i don’t really know what any of this means

i don’t get science

(is astrology science?)

it’s nice to have an excuse

for being a sad, insecure asshole

now that i don’t have “alcoholism” to blame

i saw american football at saint vitus

on october 12

when they played “the summer ends”

every sad moment of my life flashed before my eyes

i call it emo death

i’d like to apologize to my roommates

for having to listen to my playlist

“i don’t even know what to do”

that’s 90% sadcore and emo

every night for the past few weeks

i’m so sorry you have to endure this with me

why do people make such a big deal

about mercury being between the sun and the earth

i am between the sun and the earth

i am miserable

what will be my excuse?

Chapbook available for purchase here

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A.A. reading from Cage @ Zinc bar Thistlemilk’s first reading also featuring Nathan Ingham with Fountain Gun, Ryan Thoresen Carson with Bullhorns in Bed

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Bullhorns in Bed is on its way

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25 books in the first edition of Nathan Ingham's chapbook, Fountain Gun, will be on sale at Thistlemilk Press's first reading at the end of January.

Stay tuned!

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merry xmas and holidays and don't forget kwanzaa yeahhh

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People are trying to touch each other. We believe ribs have the same potential of fingers interlacing because we know our bodies were made to lock into each other and that humans were made to touch each other. We were assembled in three parts; the father, the son, and the holy ghost. The father is the language we speak in our minds, the son is the flesh, and the holy ghost is the love we can feel swelling in our main cavities, the skull and the chest. But the ghost is dead, we killed it when we forgot how to reach into each other, when we forgot the code unlocking the soul, and when we made nonsense words like soul and skin and fear and god and love. We stopped understanding the father and started hating the son. We separated ourselves from one another when we separated these parts within ourselves. If you leave me it’s because I failed to touch you.

a.a, Cage

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WIP