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Thank you for coming through. When the idea of a “reading” was happening, I was picturing Ed Lin reading out of his book, or perhaps notes or anecdotes, but it turned into something else. A reading event with poets. At first it was a strange thought. In reality, it’s merely art form. You only have to listen and try and absorb the sounds, the words, and the tones of what’s being said. There’s a dynamic range of the many styles and this night showed it all. It started with Franny Choi (below), who’s a slam poet. She’s a competitor and brings an animated and strong performance to her words. She’ll grab everyone’s attention every second.

 

Chiwan Choi’s work is touching, subtle compared to Franny Choi (no relation), and his works are introspective yet mainting a hard hitting quietness, like a silent assassin.

 

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(Art by spoon+fork.) Chuck worked out a deal for me and they released me to my overheated apartment.  The first thing I did was go into the bathroom and feed my fish. I had been gone almost a week and was mildly worried I’d find him floating at the top.  He seemed hungry but normal.  I ran the water in the tub as I watched him eat.  I turned the fish food can over in my hand and read it for the first time.  I was shocked to see that the top ingredient was “fish meal.” I knew fish in the ocean ate each other, but I thought tame fish were too civilized to do the same.  Would goldfish eat the flakes if they knew what was in them? When the water was high enough, I undressed and got into the tub. The reason I couldn’t eat the veal sandwich, and why I felt a little sick seeing Mr. Johnson eat it, was that my fourth-grade teacher Ms. Daley showed us some pictures from a veal farm.  She had pictures of cramped stalls with no windows and said veal was the meat of baby cows who were fed very little and had their legs chained or broken so they couldn’t develop muscle and their meat stayed white and tender. She also had a picture of a dumpster that looked like it was filled with Corn Pops cereal.  But when you looked close, you saw that it was a pile of dead baby chickens.  The male chicks were thrown in the garbage and suffocated soon after they were born because they wouldn’t grow up to give as much meat as female chicks. About once a week, she’d give us another reason to be a vegetarian.  Some kids were throwing their bologna sandwiches in the trash. Then one day, instead of telling us about how bad our food was, she gave us all copies of “The Corduroy Road.”  After that, lunchmeat was okay again.  It hadn’t been a problem for me because I only had peanut butter, or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Mrs. Daley went on quietly drinking a can of V8 with nuts and dried fruits on the side.  She didn’t even say anything when the boy in the back killed his first deer and brought in some venison for the whole class to try.  I remembered that the meat was tough and tasted like sweat. After a while the water in the tub grew cold and filmy.  I had to piss so I climbed out. I lay in bed naked for a while.  I wasn’t sure what to do.  It was going to be some time before the trial and my big show.  Until then I had to fight the urge to go to the hotel.  Mrs. Aggarwal wasn’t there anymore, but I wanted to walk around on the motel roof again.  We had had some good times together and it wasn’t just the pot, either.  I had never...
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  Giant Robot online exclusive!  Ed Lin is in town and promoting his thrilling new book One Red Bastard.  This is your chance to order it signed by the author himself!  For a limited time, request your copy personalized to yourself or a cool friend in the comments section of the ordering process.  Offer ends at 6pm Pacific Time on Friday May 25th.   Get it Now!
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Ed Lin’s new book, One Red Bastard is out and he’s touring Southern California doing readings. Gladly, his first of two stops at Giant Robot included a workshop. In dubious form, he didn’t release any information on how it would work. It was a fun time. If you’re at home and want to write a book, here’s his exercise. A) Write about the room you’re in. B) Write about a person with a problem C) write about how he tries to solve the problem but it only gets worse. D) Write about an entity that comes in and helps solve the problem. E) Then back to yet a new problem that arises. That’s the building block of creating a story. It was also Ed Lin’s Birthday. He turned “7″. He’ll be back at GR on friday at the Tongue and Groove event. What will Ed read? It’s another great question.

 

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(Art by spoon+fork.) The Jersey newspapers usually run national news in the front sections.  Apart from high-school sports and construction kickback busts, there was almost never any local news. Mr. Angrywall made the front covers of every newspaper that they let me have in my holding cell.  Only his name wasn’t “Angrywall.”  It was “Aggarwal.” He had been growing several different kinds of marijuana in a few of the rooms on the top floor.  Some varieties were new to the law-enforcement community. Which included James O’Keefe.  Turns out that wasn’t his real name.  His real name was Shawn Johnson.  He was a detective with the Narcotics Central Unit of the state.  I found out later that they had put Johnson on me because I was evaluated to be the most at risk of recidivism.  They wanted to see whom I would go to for more pot. My court-appointed lawyer was a joke.  He was a nervous Oriental guy named Chuck Shu. Yeah, I’m not kidding. He encouraged me to “remember” some sort of story of how I saw Howard regularly get pot from Mr. Angrywall. “Better yet,” he said, “say you went with Howard to buy pot from Mr. Aggarwal.” “Chuck,” I told him, “I didn’t see shit.  I have no idea where Howard got his pot from.” “You’ve been apprehended in another drug-related crime, Sean.  Under your prior conviction, that’s an, ah, automatic three-year sentence.” “So you want me to lie?” “Oh, no, no, no — don’t lie.  But think harder.  You might have forgotten.  It could be suppressed deep down.  If you can remember a certain scenario, and testify against Mr. Aggarwal, I can probably get you an immunity deal.” “That means no time at all for me?” “Yes.  It could even make you a local hero.  Mr. Aggarwal was found to have an extraordinary amount of marijuana plants and, ah, associated paraphernalia.” “What kind of sentence is Mr. Angrywall looking at?” “Probably 20 to 25 years.  Ultimately, it could be reduced to 10, I think.” “They wouldn’t deport him to India?” “He’s a naturalized American citizen.  They won’t deport him.  Can’t, in fact.” “What about Mrs. Angrywall?” “Mrs. Aggarwal hasn’t been charged.” “What’s going to happen to her?” “I guess she’ll be visiting her husband on the weekends, heh.”   In my holding cell, I got back into reading, but not books.  They let me have newspapers every day with the classified sections and personal ads left out. They were saying Mr. Aggarwal may have been the sole source of the strong marijuana that was going around grade schools in Monmouth and Ocean Counties. An editorial in the Asbury Park Press said that “Raj Aggarwal should have used his knowledge and intelligence for good, not evil.” Some Indian kids had been beaten in school.  One badly enough to be hospitalized. The hotel and hamburger stand were both closed by the Shore Points sheriff. They said that my role in the whole thing was as of yet unclear....
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