I recently had a chance last week to read Emmy Pérez’s poetry collection With the River on Our Face. Poetry is a salve. I also received an ARC of Patricia Lockwood’s Priestdaddy from the publisher, which I can’t wait to jump into. Lockwood is one of my favorite writers alive; her perversity, sarcasm, insight, vulnerability, irreverence, and her obvious talent with words make her writing delightful.

I watched three movies for the first time this week, one of which was awful, one of which was not very good but charming none the less, and one of which was excellent. The first was Noah, the 2015 Darren Aronofsky movie telling the story of the Old Testament hero who saved all the animals and none of the people when God had a hissy fit and flooded the whole world. It was real bad, and in addition to the movie being bad, Noah was an even bigger dick than he seems in the Bible. The only highlights were Jennifer Connelly and Emma Watson emoting their hearts out in a movie that didn’t deserve their efforts. I watched The Hollow late one night after everyone had gone to bed. It’s a super-low budget television horror film from 2015 about a trio of sisters who travel to an island to visit their aunt after their parents have died in a fire. A mysterious fire monster is stalking the island. The special effects were not as awful as you might expect, and though the story was a bit of strain, it was nonetheless pretty fun. On Martin Luther King Jr. day, my wife and daughter and I went to the theater to see Hidden Figures, which was quite good. If you haven’t seen it yet, do so.

This week I’ve been listening to Austra, the Toronto-based dance pop group. They’re reminiscent of Ladyhawke, or a more sophisticated Ladytron. I’ve also listened a little the delicately emotive Keaton Henson.

Earlier this week I published a review of the Manic Ogre Nightmare Girl zine, and published previews of my favorite prose and poetry releases of 2017.

The title is a line from Emmy Pérez’s poetry collection With the River on Our Face.