print issue of otoliths #46

Otoliths issue forty-six turned into print. The three parts are all available from the Otoliths Storefront.

Part one contains 275 b&w pages of text & visual poetry, essay, & short stories from Charles Wilkinson, Seth Jani, Cameron Lowe, Obododimma Oha, Dennis Vannatta, Penelope Weiss, Graeme Miles, Tony Beyer, Steve Dalachinsky, Sanjeev Sethi, John Crouse & Jim Leftwich, Tyler Pruett, Pete Spence, Steven Earnshaw, Michael Prihoda, Anne Gorrick, Anwer Ghani, Lakey Comess, Jill Chan, Michael Flatt, Lana Bella, Jake Berry, Jonel Abellanosa, Darren C. Demaree, Martin Christmas, Kyle Hemmings, Lachy McKenzie, Demosthenes Agrafiotis, Ian Ganassi, John M. Bennett, Clara B. Jones, Howie Good, Leigh Herrick, Matthew Woodman, Javant Biarujia, Raymond Farr, Philip Byron Oakes, Seth Howard, Claudia Serea, Stanford Cheung, AG Davis, Felino A. Soriano, Veronica Mattaboni, David A Welch, David Lohrey, Jim Meirose, Willie Smith, M. J. Iuppa, Susan Gangel, Kevin Tosca, Tom Montag, Jack Little, Chris Brown, Corey Messler, Jeff Harrison, Keith Kumasen Abbott, Eric Hoffman, John Vieira, Bob Heman, A. A. Reinecke, Caoimhe McKeogh, Mark Cunningham, Andrew Darling, Holly Friedlander Liddicoat, Lee Nash, Jesse Glass, Eileen R. Tabios, Johannes S. H. Bjerg, Indigo Perry, Timothy Pilgrim, John Pursch, John Levy, J. D. Nelson, Gale Acuff, Adam Levon Brown, Shloka Shankar, Owen Bullock, Ryan Clark, David Baptiste Chirot, & Olchar E. Lindsann.

Part two contains 273 pages of full color text & visual poetry, photography, collages & other visual work by Paul T. Lambert, Cheryl Penn, Sacha Archer, Fotis Begetis & Jack Galmitz, J. Ray Paradiso, Karl Kempton, Brandstifter, Texas Fontanella, Cecelia Chapman, Federico Federici, Laurent Grison, Jim Leftwich, Drew B. David, Meeah Williams, Steve Dalachinsky, differx, Daniel de Culla, Olivier Schopfer, gobscure, Tony Rickaby, John M. Bennett, Thomas M. Cassidy, Diane Keys, hiromi suzuki, Jeff Bagato, Iliana Theodoropoulou, M A McDonald, Joe Balaz, Carol Stetser, Stephen Nelson, C. R. E. Wells, horace sternwall, R. Keith, Sabine Miller & Carole Kim, Márton Koppány, Leigh Williams & Melanie Klein, Brendan Slater, Alain Joncheray, Mark Staniforth, Marcia Arrieta, Rupert Loydell, Danny Blackwell, Jesse Glass, Johannes S. H. Bjerg, Edward Kulemin, Marilyn Stablein, Katrinka Moore, Shloka Shankar & Kyle Hemmings, & Michael Brandonisio.

Part three is the full text of Tom Beckett’s Notes Between Notes as a chapbook. Another great poem from a masterful poet.

jim leftwich on mg’s “glitchasemic2” (in diaphanous press, fall 2017)

glitchasemic 2
Marco Giovenale
glitched asemic writing 7.17 x 9.98 cm.


“climbing high mountains / tryin to get home” — repeated four times, in Blind ​Willie McTell’s voice, as my first thought when looking at this glitchasemic (later in the same song McTell sings “I am bearin’ the names of many, tryin to get home”)​.​
i have to force myself to think of Bill Beamer’s “​​dritings”
and of Marco’s “​​drawritings”​.​
both of these configurations seem foced in the extreme,
radically constructed, so much so that i would prefer something
that didn’t even attempt a seamless hybrid​,​
maybe “writrawings”​.​
i know exactly where i am here, and it is in the midst of a swarming
excess of meanings, as far from the experience of something “having
no semantic content” as i could possibly be.
the late re-definition of the term “asemic” to mean “having no specific
semantic content” doesn’t solve this problem, it merely redefines the
prefix “a-” as synonymous with “poly-“.​ that simply doesn’t work.​
McTell’s voice in my mind makes me think of Ginsberg/Trungpa’s axiom
“first thought, best thought”. “was it even my thought?” is what i am thinking now?
i don’t think so.
it wasn’t even my second mind, to offer a nod to Howlin Wolf, it was
a spontaneous association while looking at Marco’s tiered glitchasemic.
the image is beautiful, stratified and slowly receding, blips and
scratches of the once-written, now a scree and a talus of broken
I am bearin’ the names of many, tryin to get home.
​it has been suggested by some that the​ asemic is a return to or a glimpse of the pre-written, but i don’t experience it that way and i find it disingenuous to attempt to persuade myself that the asemic is the pre-written whether i experience it that way or not.
i experience it, always, as a failed attempt at achieving the post-written. it is not driven by nostalgia or regret, it is driven by anxiety and aspiration. it is a writing against itself, not a writing prior to itself. as such, it exists precisely as a variety of writing, and the mind responds to it by reading, i.e., by giving off meanings like a fire gives off smoke.

i have been working with and against the idea of asemic writing for 20 years now, using the term asemic writing for all of those years. in January of 1998 i ​said in an email to Tim Gaze that ​”the asemic text would seem to be an ideal, an impossibility, but​ ​possibly worth pursuing for just that reason.​” ​ that’s what makes the idea of asemic writing interesting. it is a specific failure of writing, and will always be so, and we have known that all along, from the outset of our activities. asemic writing is the embrace of a potentially beautiful failure in writing. it will not ever be what it says it is. that’s the only reason to ever want it.

— Jim Leftwich

jim leftwich on mg’s “glitchasemic1” (in diaphanous press, fall 2017)

glitchasemic 1
Marco Giovenale
glitched asemic writing, 7.17 x 9.98 cm.


not quite oceanic (i am only exactly this willing to invent and simultaneously discard the self-consciously awkward neologism “beachic” to situate an author just slightly outside of the desire for a post-initial condition once upon a time labeled the “oceanic”), from across the greenway and the grey street we are given a view of the beach sloping gently down to the sea. where would the mind like to be? perhaps across the grey street, on a second floor balcony, sipping a deliciously warm American beer and gazing out over the lesser forms of tourist below. where is the mind likely to find itself? this is the question always asked of us by the asemic: where exactly are we, as individual humans reading and refusing to read, immersed at any given moment in the mediating mannerisms of our incessantly languaging selves? we are probably on the beach, looking at the ocean and thinking about the balcony. asemia is the empty street just slightly behind us.

–Jim Leftwich