10.11.06 I am positive it's the same metal as the piece Masahiko found in Okinawa, this is space titanium.

I have never thought in pictures, nor have I really thought in complete paragraphs like some of the ole theory boys I used to pal around with in college. Nor was I one of those people who could stop everything they were doing and snap a perfect, candid shot of a special someone doing something historically important. I always felt hyper-embarrassed and super-self-conscious when I pointed an out-of-focus lens at some eventful grouping of people. As a result, I have never taken a lot of photographs of anything. And my journals are even more self-controlled and trite, that it has become increasingly difficult to piece together a coherent time line. A time line that has become more and more confused and muddied by the years of drunkardness.
        This dislocation is made all the more acute when confronted by the amazing documentary photographs taken by Selene Lennox. Her images encapsulate the grotesque journey of an out-of-work flaneur who’s perverse attention is drawn, only, to the most degrading rejectamenta. All the more disgraceful because of its inherent explosive beauty and vibrant remainders of color. The City, proper and trademarked, is a confluent maze of prisms and hauntings that border the insane panic of the lost and forgotten and taxi-less. In short, her photos are wonderful.

10.10.06 Nothing seems more like a whorehouse to me than a museum.

We collected flyers like my little sister and her friends used to collect puffy stickers. Whole Saturday afternoons were spent huddled around some crappy office supply store’s groaning photocopier. Third generation copies became fifth and sixth generations removed from an original. The images blurred and the words diluted into a grain whiskey wash but we pressed even the worst reproduction back into a bursting manilla file folder. There was a whole underground barter/trading economy associated with the show flyer. A local scene’s prestige was gauged by what national bands their natives opened for and where. As a result, certain clubs became notorious for hosting the Youth Crew denizen or coddling the skull-strewn Scumfucks.
        Less known for the gig poster graphics, these flyers were cutnpaste masterpieces of secret information that flapped down white picket fence suburban streets and curled in the sun of the local punk record shop front window. I have thrown away most of the flyers I had scotch taped to my bedroom wall, but I tried to hang on to the ones to local bands I loved or to those flyers to shows I remember attending. So check the gallery out and let me know if you got any from your manila folder file that you would like to see here.

10.07.06 I am a pin cushion for the Lord

I have finally assembled Jen Thomas' TRAILER PARK page. Her show of aquatint etchings was displayed at Vespine Gallery in Chicago, Il. The show ended in September but the images of the prints can now be viewed here. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do. But I doubt you will on the account that I am probably Jen Thomas' biggest fan.
        I also, finally, added some photographs of Kristof Kunssler's paintings that adorn the inside bathroom stalls of some seedy German youth center. I am not sure what goings-on might happen in said seedy youth club, but the fact that Kristof spent considerable amounts of time in there with his little paint cans and brushes certainly could make one's skin crawl, yes?

10.05.06 I'm not Vanilla Ice, I'm not a liar

There are two (2) interviews posted over at Cleveland Hardcore Histories. They are both with Integrity. And they are both very funny for different reasons.
        One of the things that I must cop to is the fact that I have always been a shit talker. I have always gone out of my way to make sure that the posturing and the chest punching war dance never went unchallenged by a snide remark. While this did not win me much in the way of credibility or even prestige, it did make me laugh a lot. Cleveland hardcore was a great place to stumble around being a bully to the bullies. No matter how many times I almost got punched in the damn head. I confess this now because the site is shaping up to be a complete mess of false starts and missed ques. I hope you can still dig it. Let me know. LovebunnipresATgmail.com

10.04.06 People say that I'm insane, A victim of society just in pain

Well, I could not figure it all out, but I did manage to figure out part of it. So that means that there is a digital copy of DESTROY ALL MONSTERS the Rene fFarben children's classic posturing itself online. Is not the internet great for things like this? Yes.
I will, someday, print more copies of that meanwhile all the other Love Bunni Press Zines are still waiting for good homes. I also hope to in the future make clearer and more better digital options available for the savvy digital collector. And we all know you are out there, you slowly growing demographic, you.

10.01.06 It's that plastic girl that caught my eye

There is a new Magnesium Sisters comic strip posted. I got the idea over the course of two weekends worth of birthdays. None of which were mine. This fact does not bother me, as I have never really cared much for birthday parties or anything. Which is sort of strange considering how just about every morning I wake up expecting to find a knee high pile of presents piled at the foot of my bed or waiting for me in the living room. Yes and I am very accustomed to the disappointment by now. But the facts are hardly enough to dissuade my enthusiasm. I would rather live under the clouded assumption that the possibility of a morning full of presents may someday be a livable conclusion.
    Speaking of obscure references to lost & forgotten souls, Little Bobby Zeiger has started up what might be one of the best blogs you will ever have the chance to read before it becomes insanely popular and all the devil kids at Parmatown Mall are clamoring about while slurping on their Orange Juiliuses. Check it out CleSoul!
      Aaron Lastukfa and his ragtag band of gloofreeks over at Fall of Autumn turned their website and zine distro one year old today! Congatulations and all the respect I can possibly give. They are going great work over there and are direly committed to the photocopied format. Check out the site, maybe listen to a zinepodcast thing and spend some of your mom's hard earned tip money.

09.24.06 A monster will set fire to the city, and trample on the people who try to run away!

There are too many September birthdays any more. SO. All I have had time to scramble together are still more pictures in Clevo Hardcore Histories. This time I have added a batch of pictures that were taken at the surprise eigteenth birthday party/show my parents threw for me. My mom really organized it with Aaron Melnick because she thought it was sooo neat that all these "straight-edge" kids had so much fun playing in their bands. Actually, it was really cool. And a pretty fun afternoon.

09.22.06 Long ago in days of old, I gave you clubs then broadswords

More pictures in Clevo Hardcore Histories have been added. This time it is the illustrious WINDPIPEs. My favorite Windpipe story has to be the one about when Spot went across the parking lot to the W.117th McDonalds to take a poop. Instead of flushing his bowel movement, he retrieved it from the toilet bowl, wrapped it in some of that tracing paper thin toilet paper, then stood on the sink to lift up a ceiling tile. He flung his poop up into the ceiling of that nasty fast food joint’s men’s room. I wonder how long it took for some poor after-high school minimum wage slub to locate that dried turd, stinking up the place. Totally Priceless.

09.21.06 Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit.

Well, MaximumRocknRoll #281 includes a review of Track Marks. I find the review very humorous for a few complicated reasons, the most obvious one being that it is pretty self-mocking of the whole hobo- nomad- homeless punk train hopping scene, yet at the same time can not avoid its hip duty to acknowledge anything that celebrates train culture in any way. Personally, I think the zine is beautiful, even if some of the words are better than some of the other ones. It is a real collaborative project of poets which means there is a backwoods dirt road unevenness to the zine's cohesive tone. But, despite the chorus of individual voices, the zine's graphic layout is thought provoking and as well sliced cutnpaste flotsam as I have ever seen. But then what do you expect me to say, I published the durn thing and the folks behind its construction are collaborators and friends.

09.20.06 Our common grave is the love canal.

We are feverishly toiling to get the Dead Beat ready to go to the printers. Schedules make me nervous so I will say little other than that. But maybe add a Soon!

There is a whole bunch of stuff I need to get up here and I am slowly working on it as time permits, but until I can properly sit and stare into the blank eye of the internets you can see some of the new old pictures I have put up on the Clevo Hardcore Histories page. If you would like to contribute flyers, photos, interviews, or stickers, etc. please get in contact with me. I am R.John Xerxes Piche’, a real nice fellow.

08.15.06 If you eliminate me somebody, just like me or even worse, will follow.

Ben's FIFTH GRADE zine got an excellent review in the newish issue of Razorcake which you may read in all its scanned in glory, right here!. So far, his little zine is has been the most requested zine in the history of Love Bunni Press. Plus it has been getting great reviews. Which is something totally alien from the sorts of reviews my zines tend to generate.

Also. New Comix is up. This one is real and true. Actually overhead in an Applebees. Weird.

08.12.06 Monsier, ada-na kobishin angum bitte.

Its been a weak couple of somethings. But there are new photos in the photos section. And by new I just mean new to the Love Bunni Experience. If this were a theme park, I am pretty sure there would only be hand puppets and those metal spring playground horses that were really too rusted to bounce or even sway. And no one would want to come here to play anymore.

I have had a nasty stomach flu for a week now. So, please, bring toilet paper.

07.29.06 F.M.N. F.M.L. Y.L.B.T.

I have put up a whole new page called Cleveland Hardcore Histories of stuff that I collected when I still could dance hard and impress the ladies with my Air Chia Flat Top hair do. It would be really great if you had some photos or flyers or stories, that you would like to share and stuff. I hope to have this section expand to Chubbz Fresh waist line porportions.

If you do have anything you would like to have posted or share with the group, please get in touch with me. I am just sitting here waiting for some EMAILS!

07.27.06 It takes all kind of critters to make Farmer Vincent Fritters!

I drew another comic, obviously cribbed from real life. I am rethinking the decision to not draw in my impressive hair-lmet because that thing has reached epic proportions. And I am in very real and constant danger of severe hair related injuries at the moment. But it is going to be at least another week before I can get to the hair cutter place. Anyway, the comic on the right is new and, gosh, I hope you enjoy the laugh at my bloated expense.

Other news? Sure. Denny, formerly of Cleveland zine/website Supreme Nothing, and her folks have produced a new website for goings on and such clevopride topics as Citistats and cola Cover-ups. Frankly, I like where this is all going. Check it out at MyfriendCleveland.com and maybe join the message board so we can argue about comics and stuff.

Also, please consider buying a copy of Blister Packs. They really are quite good, I assure you.

Anyone who wants a random vhs tape of either Jerry Springer Too Hot for TV or COPS Bad Girls, etc. should contact me HERE. I will mail you a copy for free. Supplies are limited so ACT NOW!

07.25.06 She says some monster came out of the sewer and ate her grandfather.

Getting on the elevator this afternoon I was lost in a revelry where I would be able to walk up the three flights of stairs without making the crippleds pinch deep into my hips.

Just as the elevator doors slid shut, these tiny unpainted toes snuck in-between those closing doors, the foam sole of the toe’s sandals bumped the doors back open. As the doors glided in opposite directions, the rest of the toe’s skinny girl stepped in the elevator box. A first glance nothing seemed unusual about the girl, she was wrapped in torn camouflage pants that ended in strings near her lower calves and a blue and white spaghetti strap tank top that seemed a bit large. A parachute backpack hung off her shoulders, arching her small spine so her belly protruded slightly beyond the plastic button of her shorts. She relentlessly kept one hand moving up and down the weathered strap that overstuffed backpack, while she looked at everything other than me.

After circling her index finger over the elevator’s floor buttons, she poked it into one of them and seemed amazed when it lit up. Then she started squeezing her nostrils between her thumb and forefinger before moving her open palm up and down the front of her face. While busy containing an invisible and totally nonexistent snot stream, her lungs began to stall. From deep inside her came a cough that sounded more like a missing wheel dumpster being scraped along loose asphalt than anything even remotely organic.

When the elevator crept to a standstill on the third floor, I hesitated, considering staying on for the ride as I had become morbidly curious as to how such an ancient and evil cough ended up in such a small and young girl. The need to expel all the morning’s coffee was a more pressing concern, so I reluctantly stepped out of the elevator and headed toward the bathroom.

While you are at it, check out the impressive painting and twisted comix of Shane Dugree.

07.21.06 No American should find himself in a foreign land without a pistol.

It seems whenever we go grocery shopping anymore, we always witness a scene of domestic violence. And while I do consider the snarky hand slaps and condescending hip bumps leveled against my person while I attempt, in my own particular Group Home trained eccentric manner, to help unload the grocery cart in the checkout line to be intrusive, such actions are more nervous ticks of the relationship than they are outcropping of genuine domestic aggression. These are more a sternly growled, “Move along, nothing to see here,” rather than a calm Robocop recording, “Dead or alive, you are coming with me.”

Anyway, as I was saying, anymore when we go to the grocery store we always pass by or toll through some pathetic romantic melodrama fueled by the bubbling crazy of Eros gone wrong or some ironically named, poorly labeled alcoholic beverage. Take for instance, as for example even, this one Sunday evening when we were carrying our groceries to the car and chatting about the coming week’s schedule of events and plans, we were bluntly interrupted by “MOTHERFUCKER YOU BEST UNLOCK THIS MOTHERFUCK DOOR BEFORE I BUST IN THIS WHINDA AND PUNCH YOUR DAMN HEAD!”

We looked in the direction the swears were shooting out of to see a middle aged fat woman holding a spray of thin blue plastic bags in one hand while tucked up under her bare sausage arm was a twenty-four pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Just inside the dented blue pick-up truck, nibbled by rust, was a man’s bloated and bearded face staring out from behind a smear of hot angry breath fogged across the driver’s side window. I could only make out the elaboration of giggles and uncontrollable head bobbing drool that beaded in his short chin hairs.

Anyway. Whatever that man-on-the-inside said to or about that lady-on-the-outside really made that lady-on-the-outside even madder because before she did anything else she did this little dead stop hop. A sign to all in the area that now was the time to take shelter or run for higher ground because the very next thing she did was to whip that hand pinched on the stretchy handles of those thing blue bags straight up in a half windmill swing. When the bags slammed down onto the hood of the pick-up truck, those bags popped like an over-ripe juicy white-pus filled pimple.

Before any of that junk food spew hit the ground the bearded man-on-the-inside burst into a pick-up truck shaking guffaw that was so loud it frightened the lounging pigeons on the wires into flight. The woman-on-the-outside ripped into this clenched torso hopping war dance, her face the color of a mosquito bite. I stopped watching her performance to continue shoving our groceries into the back of our car.

The other night, as we were deciding whether or not to turn left toward the grocery store or continue straight toward home, I noticed about a block or so up from us two figures grappling between the parked cars. The taller one, his lanky heroin sculpted arms flailing through a drunk pantomime of opening and closing picture window curtains. The small woman stuck on the curb like a toothpick slid between chipped teeth. She was dressed for urban adventure: weight lifter’s harness slung over her shoulders, biker shorts peeled up her bruised thighs, unzipped fanny pack with keys poking out. With a gale force that made her painter’s cap fly off her sweat matted hair, she whipped a cell phone at that man backing away from her across the busy intersection. The cell phone whapped him square in the chest, an accomplishment that impressed me because she was obviously closed-eyed drunk and he was tomato pole skinny and a moving target to boot.

As soon as that skinny man registered the impact, he reversed his direction, doubling back on the wounded alley cat path he just swung out with his scribble leg gait. The confluence of changing direction, trying to snatch of the broken cell phone, and his mid-evening inebriation caused him to stumble, then fall straight down on he face. He hardly touched the ground before bolting back to his wobbly feet, his loud cussing spitted through the blood gushing down his face from his nostrils. The woman who threw the cell phone celebrated her unanticipated success in bringing down her taller antagonist by doing a modern dance interpretation of the Super Bowl Shuffle. The display only made her all the more comically infuriating to the drunk man stomping toward her.

While I watched all this drama unfold, the decision was made to turn left.

07.15.06 You reckon we learned - bein' wrong, today?

Kristof sent some new paintings along and I think they are pretty great. There is even one of his naked father. Very strange those Germans with the nakedness of the parents. But who am I to understand such cultures? NOBOTS.

Last Wednesday as I was driving to the post office, I noticed a group of children spread across a couple of front lawns, playing. They were yelling and laughing as they yelled and pointing down the sidewalk at a boy. This particular boy was picking himself up off the concrete and spinning around his bicycle in one surprisingly fluid motion. As agilely as he swung himself and his bicycle up from the ground, he leapt back on it and started furiously kicking the bike forward, at top speed. Projecting his trajectory, I saw that he was aimed straight for another bike riding kid who was, in turn, racing straight at him. As these two self-propelled jousters peddled along their handlebar twisting collision course, a group of smaller girls, commanded by the shouting of a rounder, larger girl waving her arms behind them on the lawn, had assembled. As the boys sped closer, the sidewalk girls started chucking rocks at those boys. I am not sure, really, what this new game was, but it sure did look fun.

06.26.06 The limit of every pain is an even greater pain.

We have published a new zine edited and created by a group of artists from Grand Rapids, MI. TRACK MARKS is a compilation meditating on the idea of railroads and trains as instruments of inspiration. It was a great hit of the Allied Media conference and the three primary authors were the subject of a Joe Biel interview. Its got some really good pieces in it and should probably be examined by anyone who is really into trains. Also, back in print is the first issue of Ghosts of Ready Reference. Its the tops.

I have some photos that were taken at the Love Bunni stall during the ALLIED MEDIA CONFERENCE 2006 over this past weekend. Some of them are even of me. A short prose poem recap will be included. Maybe.

06.19.06 Ghost in the Mirror, Starin at me

Fortified against the New York winter sleet with a pack of Lucky Strike Filters, I perched myself on the edge of the twin bed we weren't sleeping on, its creamy dangerous orange coverlet wrinkled beneath me, an open window releasing gusts of February wind, I lit the first match, its life brightly vibrant against the dull dead man’s philosophy I scanned, absentmindedly.With painful burning coughs, I taught myself to smoke, one breath at a time.

I am going to start a band with Aaron Melnick called THE SADDAMS. And then the real chaos will start. Anyone else going to ALLIED MEDIA CONFERENCE this coming weekend?

06.14.06 Dass ich bei dem Konsum, in zwei Jahren tot bin

*Miranda B's art is resonance. Like a secret. I really hope that she continues with the assemblages and the drawings of viruses. I love viral contaminations. Her work is posted on the Paintings page. I hope you will look at it and then send her an email telling her what you think of it all. ALL OF IT.

Also, I am not sure if you noticed but I added some page shots to some of the zines that are available over at the Gloo Freeks section. It will have to be a game for you to figure out which ones, on account of the fact that I forget what I do almost seconds after I do it. Especially if the music is playing.

Today I have been thinking a lot about Walter Benjamin. I believe I might attribute my love and appreciation of assistants and fools to his fragments on Sancho Panza. Still, even without the prodding of Benjamin, I would have fixated on the incident of the blanket tossing Sancho suffers at the hands of rogues. Is the assistant foolish to travel with the madman on the adventures of his own making? Sometimes, but the sedate fool might just end up the governor of his own island.

06.12.06 What do you think you overheard in the restroom?

Doan Buu illustrated a new mini-comic I wrote based on things I have seen actually happen. You should maybe check it out. People have accused me of being the zine world's answer to Harvey Pekar, but I would never let them make a movie about my life.

Doan and I will forever be - IGNATIUS MEN FOREVER.

06.08.06 How can a song about a demon lighting a candle be personal, you dick?

Dan Schierl sent me a package of old zines he used to make, called Blipvert, and the comic strip thing on the right over there. Its pretty funny. In a way that I am not sure I can fully articulate. I think part of it is the whole empty snow-covered field of Wisconsin vibe. And the fact that I married Jen and Dan in totally un'oly mattROmoney.

Aaron A Double Melnick made this video for the Inmates Cement Shoes. It is way better than that frosty film nerd Dwid's silly montages of fruity pebbles cereal and dumb old movies of graveyards that he strung together for the Integrity dvd or whatever it was.

Then if you really want to sustain your manhood for a few minutes, try and watch this MiTB without wanting the world to end, on top of you.

05.30.06 The More You Talk, The Less I Can Say

I have uploaded some wicket cool photos by Jen Schierl was one of the first collaborators with the revamped and boa fixated Love Bunni Press. She had just started taking photographs of Milwaukee and its rundown environs and I thought they were the bee's knees. So I asked her if she would like to make a photozine of them snapshots. And she said she sure as shootin' would. The result is Stainless Steel Lens. I tell you all this so that you will bug her into making the second issue, already. She won't listen to me.

05.27.06 Dawn There Waiting, Right Outside

New Magnesium Sisters comic strip is all up and bothered for your humor pleasure. Its funny because after I drew this I showed it to some co-workers. They thought it was gross. And the one guy said that I am completely unfunny. He won't be laughing when the movie comes out. None of them will mock me then.

Speaking of mocking people, The Inmates' "Asshole's Unanimous Presents" 12" was recorded in 1999 and only 300 were pressed ORIGINALLY. It has been reissued by Painkiller Records with an ugly green cover and lyrics included this time. 600 Pressed for all you record collecting romulans out there. Just to be clear. I never liked any of those INMATES kids because I do not care for fruits.

+VOID+ might have been one of the best hardcore bands ever. And you can see why from these videos. Sometimes I love me some internests. Who Are You? My Rules. And what might be a whole set in three parts Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

05.26.06 Gotta Stick Together, Gotta Stick Together

Kristof reappears bearing gifts of a poster variety. I can't tell you how much I really enjoy this thing. I will probably use it for the banner this year on the table at the ALLIED MEDIA CONFERENCE. So if you plan on going, look for the frightened bunnies. Looking frightened.

Down at the bottom of the paintings page, there are now three in a series of Mobile Home Trailer etchings and two of the excellent board games that Ms. Jen Thomas has constructed. She's an inspiration of mine, since she makes paper and I like to put things on paper - like words. SO. Check her stuff out and then write her and tell her what you think of her work.

05.25.06 Imagine there was a time your cigar was ironic.

JEN THOMAS is one of the most talented and inventive people I have ever known. She has sent me a boatload of photos of her prints, hand made books, and the awesome board games she has designed and made. Tomorrow I will be posting all of that stuff up here on the site.
Why tomorrow? Because I think I got the pink eye and will be home sick. Never should you have to work around the public and their poopy pink eye fingers. Though to be fair to the public, I think I got this infection from a co-worker. Who could not stop picking at the goop in her eye yesterday.

BEWARE THE BROOD!

Back in the mid-80s Aaron Melnick and I spent a whole month of the summer vacation renting horror movies and metal concerts from the video store at Cedar Center. One of the videos we saw that summer was Ultimate Revenge. One of the things that became a running joke throughout that summer was the intro to this EXODUS perfromance.

"It ain't 'bout no trout!"

05.24.06 In Youngstown, it is illegal to run out of gas.

Updates for today are in the PHOTOgraphs. I added two new Awesome Torture snapshots. The one is sort of frightening to me. The red is just a bit too much like a nightmare I had once of some murdering done with doilies. You should have been there. It was way creepy.
I also moved the political material into the Rants section. More will be added there as I beg some people to contribute essays. We will see.

In the meantime, you can watch THIS MELVINS Video from 1984. You might have to turn it up just to hear it.

05.23.06 I asked her if she wanted to go on the roller coaster instead

Help my friend Jen S. with her research please. And while you are at it tell her you want to see some of her photographs. Since she makes Stainless Steel Lens.
ALSO. Check out the cool RANTS button, I make with my own two hands!

Dear Friends,

I am conducting some very important research, utmost in its scientific relevance and importance. I will be presenting the results of my research in June to my peers at Weird Science II: Your Physics is Dead (check out Cedar Block for more info). Here's where you come in...

Take a moment, won't you, and tell me in minutes (according to personal experience, social norms, drunken exploits as told by your friends), what is the standard booty call window? You know, when you either send out that text message ten minutes before bar time looking to hook up with that special someone, or you answer the phone in the midnight hour just to hear that husky voice of lust on the other line... how much time do you have to reach your partner of convenience before the mood is gone, the fog has lifted, the ship has sailed, yes - the booty call window has closed.

Respond to me via myspace, or feel free to email me at Booty Call Window Survey no later than Tuesday, June 6, 2006. Please feel free to copy and post this as a new bulletin for your friends - I'd like to compile as much data as possible.

Love and kisses!
Jen

O5.14.06 Dear God, I am sorry I like Black Metal. Your Pal, R.John.

I found an old email in which Cecelia Phillips had taken some photos of the pencil illustrations that she had done for Daisy's novel THE DEAD BEAT. Well here are three of them. I hope you like them as much as Daisy and I do.

In other news, I think I am going to try to set up some readings for any and all the BLISTER PACKS authors who are willing and able to participate. To begin with, I think these staged and dramatic readings will happen in and around Cleveland, Ohio. So if you can suggest a location or wish to be kept informed on these developments, you can email me. I would love to hear from you.

05.22.06 See da Portal, Gate ta Madwess

THE FALL: America Therein 2006. Peter Cook’s jokes, bad dope, check shirts, lousy groups - Point your fingers at aaaamerikaaaah.

Mark E Smith must be fit and drinkin again, hey. How else can one freely explainah the strange and lousey shit behavior? But then THE FALL are the greatest band made all the greater by their volatile tantrums and nasty walkouts. I have been to too many FALL shows and by far the best I have seen was April 04, 1998 at the Trocadero in Philadelphia. I wrote a review of the show which was first published in Uncertain Nervous Systems: Infinte Uses for Infinity. Read it here: Part One. Part Two.

05.19.06 I was moved to kick the crutches

I updated the BLISTER PACKS page. So there are now (some) updated author biographies and the reviews link now works for klink. The book is still utterly available and waiting for you to take it home and read it in bed. Or on the potty. Though it is not ideal for using as subsitute toilet paper. Even if you crumple up the pages.

Also, in the next few days I will be adding a story section for those of you who wish to or have already contributed stories. I hope once we get enough of them, we can go to print with a second anthology. So those of you who doubted the BLISTER PACKS was going to be a real book with pages and everything and who have been kicking yourself that you did not contribute, now is your chance. Don't miss out again, struggling author!

Finally, I will also be adding a RANTS page in which I will be publishing digital essays. So if you have something that you feel needs to be shouted into the windstorm, get in touch with me. I am R.John Xerxes Piche'.

05.17.06 So since the surgery, how's that ghost limb

I've added two more of Torture's photos to the 'photographs' section, there. I think the one titled Blue is my favorite of all time, so far. I also added some Magnesium Sisters cartoon strips. See if you can figure out which ones I moved over from other places. It will be like a game. A game with no winners.

Love Bunni Press will be tabling again this year at the ALLIED MEDIA CONFERENCE. Hopefully, there will be a few of the Love Bunni Ladies in attendance. This is the fourth or fifth year we have been gathering to hand out free zines to other zine kids and generally look surly and tough while sitting at a card table decorated with glorified flyers. And every year when it is over, I say that I will not go back next year. Its like a little joke that I play on myself. Why do I say it? Because every year when it is over I feel old and tired and out-of-step with the kids. But then, later, I remember, no one EVER liked me to begin with! BWAHAHAHAHAHAAAA.

O5.15.06 Mojique plants devices in the Free Trade Zone

Ben Frazier's FIFTH GRADE got a typical Love Bunni Press review in MaximumRocknRoll #277. I swear to the lack-of-god, nothing I have ever published has ever gotten a good review from that newsprint monstrosity. I guess, we will never be in the in-crowd. I am pretty sure every review has mocked, misunderstood, or labeled in some negative way the zine I sent them to review. I suppose it is a left coast thing. Since, Love Bunni Press is populated with MILDEW ARTISTS and other MOLE PEOPLE. Bear in mind, that I am not complaining. I just find it funny. I find it kind of strange. That the dreams in which I am dying are the best I ever had.

I have also added a few photographs from an artist who refuses to acknowledge that she is an artist - let alone a photographer. And laughs aloud when I call her such. But, her self-portraits are as wonderful as any still life or urban decay space that one might happen to stumble upon while trespassing on other's abandoned property. In fact, her work is so free of self-consciousness that it reveals the very nature of the artificial self-consciousness that the interweb has structured around us.But then I tend to see complex ciphers everywhere.

O5.13.06 I do not care. That Lady Man was a good kisser!

Ben G. can't stop with the photopoem beebop. And this one has a Happy Mother's Day theme, which I am sure is purely accidential, because between the two of us, we can barely find the calendar let alone plan ahead using it. Some people can use tools, others make words dance. But in all seriousness, Ben is probably the best damn poet Cleveland has currently working. I am really happy that he has been so supportive of the effort and continues to produce such wonderful content. Someday we will get a book out, together.

Also, I added three zines to the GLOO FREEKS page. Mindy's UNDECILUNAs are now both back in print. I hear grumbling that there maybe a third one soon. No word if the crazy ninja mimes show up in it or not, which I find incredibly disappointing. DESTORY ALL MONSTERS is also up. The whole contents will eventually become available online. I just have to figger out the best way to put it up.

O5.12.06 Cause of death? Dancing Machine!

Kristof K. has sent me another scan of a painting he completed recently. This one is the first in a series tentatively called A Painted (subjective) History of Post-WWII Literature.
It is a rendering of Gunter Grass’ A TIN DRUM. He would love to hear what you think of it. Also if you have any Post-WWII literature that you think should be considered for the set, he would like to strike up that conversation as well. He’s a fine and polite chap. So get in touch with his baaaaad ass.

Ben Gulyas sent me this poem & its visualization. I am not sure that you people properly understand this man. I mean I'm no, I can't...I'm a little man, I'm a little man, he's... he's a great man. I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across floors of silent seas...

O5.10.06 What's to argue about? Its a booger!

Kristof K. produced a new record cover painting. You could look at it more closely if you would like.
There have been a few inquiries about buying his artwork. My suggestion is to contact HIM and try and strike up a deal. Maybe someday Love Bunni Press will publish a comic or set of posters of his, but seeing as this might be the first he hears about it, all this could change, drastically.

I am in the process of trying to convince some other people to contribute to this site and if that comes through there will eventually be larger changes to the layout. I would love to hear any feedback you might have about this project or any others. So please contact me as you will --> R. John Xerxes, KSC.

O5.07.06 Tease are de peoples in my neighbourhood!

Greetings interweb friends!

I have updated and added content to the paintings & photography links. I hope that the several artists that I have included meet up with your high standards. I am sure they would love to hear from you, especially if you enjoy their work and are interested in either working with them on some michievious collaboration or purchasing/trading in kind.

In other news, Daisy Aal's novel THE DEAD BEAT is in the final stages of pre-production and should be ready for a readership in a few short weeks. Of course, the lack of a god might prove to delay things.

For those of you who do not know, Daisy wrote a book about meth addicts in the San Francisco/Bay area circa 1997 or so. It is a unflinching account of drug addiction that manages to capture the humor and horror of a life slowly coming apart in the middle. I think it is a wonderful narrative and pretty much you will too. It has awesome drawings and decorations by Cleveland artist Cecelia Phillips, who has been getting all sorts of great press and gallery shows. Personally, I love her paintings and am very excited she is involved in this project.

O5.04.06 We Call Him Robot Fighter for a Clever Reason!

The Russian Attorney’s Tale
(as told to R.JXP by a very mean man).

"Standink on side of rhoad, I know dat kitty eskaped. I love dat kitty, soh I look, yeh, look? begin to look at her. With horse and whip, whip for horse, no? I look. Here. There. I look but no do find. I remember kitty go with dog down street, mile I wendt to get. Find kitty sleep in mud with big droolind mutt. I peak up cat - DON’T YOU VANT COME HOME FOR ME? Cat look on me - NEIT, I VANT TO STAY ANT LIVE VIFF DOG. Bekuz in dream, cats, dey talk."

* * *

POST-PUNK JUNK has posted some rare FALL tracks that you should probably listen to over and over again. I know I might.

I drew this tonight at work (click thumbnail to see whole thing). I was thinking about all the various people I see in a day and wondered what it would be like if they were all enjoying fellowship and coffee after an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. I think it would be fairly subdued.

O5.03.06 He slowly undo her bra...

Updates to the photos & paintings. I added some of ben gulyas' snapshots. I am pretty sure he thinks he is a tourist in his own life. And two paintings by Kristof, who works in oils and smears on the backs of thrift store german LPs, probably shoplifted.

Stardate:O4.26.06 Lawn-based Cryptozoology

I’ve had the smoked nights of neon, smeared across the taxi cab horizon. I’ve muddled through the side alleys and vomited into garbage bags I had to claw open with a fistful of car keys. I’ve stormed up the subway stairs to emerge, with a breathless pop of a internal valve, eyes swimming back in my skull, re-introducing myself to the people I arrived with. I’ve had those mornings too. Where life is reaffirmed by inflamation.

But more importantly, when I was child, I convinced myself that if I flicked my excavated boogers or peeled off scabs outside, into the grass of the yard, there was the distinct possibility, if not assured occurrence, that the ants or spiders or other small pincher insects would find the carelessly discard human waste and they would find it delicious. That taste I would have introduced them to, would, in short order, become a full fledged need and those creepy crawlies would seek out the dark cavities and healing wounds of me or some other unlucky innocent to feast and feast and feast. The terror and horrible result? The end of humankind.

Edward Gorey was right on, there, ALL HAIL THE INSECT GODS!

4.25.06 Lincoln Log Capitalism

Nope. Its all fire and brimstone and the ovulations of Republicans who are born with rifle sights for eyes. Wish me luck. I am going in.

Plus check this out, money. New Magnesium Sisters Adventure!

4.20.06 Frederick II V. Habermas V. Throbbing Gristle

"A private person has no right to pass public and perhaps even disapproving judgment on the actions, procedures, laws, regulations, and ordinances of Sovereigns and Courts, their officials, assemblies and courts of law, or to promulgate or publish in print pertinent reports that he manages to obtain. For a private person is not at all capable of make such judgment, because he lacks complete knowledge of circumstances and motives." - rescript of Frederick II 1784, quoted in Baron De Montesquieu THE SPIRIT OF LAWS.