'When Michael Stipe is fucking me I will whisper the words fuck me kitten because “Automatic For the People” was the first CD I ever bought when I was 8 years old. Three days a week I wake up with a boner and I instantly start thinking about Michael Stipe fucking me. I get on my computer and type “Michael Stipe fucking me” into google image search as quickly as possible. Sometimes the results are disappointing but if I continue to click “load more images” I eventually find something satisfying.
'When Michael Stipe fucks me and I whisper fuck me kitten we will both pause and laugh. Even though we have the same first name, when Michael Stipe fucks me it won’t be like masturbation at all. When Michael Stipe fucks me I will have to come to terms with the fact that something I had imagined many times before is really happening, and when fantasy meets reality my body will float into the air and Michael Stipe will float into the air with me and as we’re fucking in the air I will be closer to a concept of God than I’ve ever been before.
'When Michael Stipe fucks me I will think of an image I’ve seen of Michael Stipe standing in front of enlarged cover of Jean Genet’s Thief’s Journal. In turn, I will think of Michael Stipe covered in dirt and sweat, fucking me in the French prisons of the early 20th century, our desperation met equally with violence and pleasure.
'When Michael Stipe fucks me I will smile and let my face continue pounding into the wooden desk that my body is laid upon and I will clench my ass as tight as possible to make sure Michael Stipe experiences unmitigated levels of pleasure.
'When Michael Stipe fucks me I will let him come into my ass without a condom because celebrities are fantasy and in the world of the unreal nothing bad can ever happen.
'Michael Stipe’s come is a message to future generations.
'Michael Stipe’s come will coat my insides with the warmth.
'Michael Stipe’s come will enable me to see the future.
'Michael Stipe’s come will save the world.
'When Michael Stipe is fucking me it won’t take long before he hits my prostate perfectly and my eyes blank out and the only sound I hear is the sound of a collapsing building. When Michael Stipe is fucking me I won’t believe that I’m a real person because to be a real person is to be in pain and I will have absolutely no conception of pain.
'When Michael Stipe is fucking me a BBC World newscaster will announce that Michael Stipe is coming 20 minutes before he has actually come. In the future nobody will be able to figure out how the newscaster was aware of an event that hadn’t happened yet. I will know the answer. The answer is that the newscaster knew ahead of time because Michael Stipe fucking me was inevitable.
'When Michael Stipe fucks me America will crumble because his orgasm is a bomb against the American values that are hidden deep inside of my body, accessible only through my ass.'-- M Kitchell
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Further
TOPOLOGY OF THE IMPOSSIBLE
Solar Luxuriance
Impossible Void Design
The Haunted House
Esotika Erotica Psychotica
the impossible ghost @ Twitter
“We remain in the Night that is in the Night: Laruelle’s Experimental Texts”
M Kitchell's writings @ Entropy
'Masturbating Over Ghosts': Blake Butler on/with M Kitchell
Review: Slow Slidings, by M. Kitchell @ Heavy Feather
'POSTPAROXYSMAL EVENT SPACE'
'The Pouring'
'25 Points: Variations on the Sun' by Robert Alan Wendeborn
'sky by m. kitchell republished without permission'
'M Kitchell's "Variations on the Sun" is successful because ...
'The poems in M Kitchell’s Variations on the Sun are the subtle camera movements ...
Book: 'Apart From'
Jared Baxter on 'Apart From'
Babyfucker Blog Project: M. Kitchell
On 'The Final Abdication of Elisa Lam' by M. Kitchell and Sean Kilpatrick
'I HATE PEOPLE WHO LIKE MOVIES'
Sound: 'Mixtape: M Kitchell/(Don’t) Shampoo Your Hair in the 1900s'
'Mike Kitchell - a book that should be filed in stores under ...
'A FORM OF FEAR (Musick for APART FROM)'
Free eBook: 'Exquisite Fucking Desire' by M Kitchell
Buy 'SPIRITUAL INSTRUMENT' @ CCM
_____
Video by
SPIRITUAL INSTRUMENT by M KITCHELL
FURTHER BENEATH THE EARTH by M KITCHELL
EYES OF LAURA MARS by M KITCHELL
THE TEXT OF DEATH by M KITCHELL
VARIATIONS ON THE SUN by M KITCHELL
__________
Expanded Literature Part 1: Internet Literature
by M Kitchell
While eating breakfast the other day, I thought it might be funny to go to ask.com and pose the question, “What is internet literature?” I thought it’d cause a few giggles, and I thought that perhaps it would result in something I could screen-cap to submit for Internet Poetry. I mean, the fact that I typed “askjeeves.com” into my browser alone I found to be ironic, because when I think of AskJeeves, I think of 2002.
Well, AskJeeves is now just Ask.com, I guess, and it turns out that the first search result actually proved relevant. The page is from February 18th, 2004–by now this should read as antiquated, right? The speed of technology arguably renders us far further into the future; between 2004 and now–than any time before. But despite a few caveats, the definition here seems to me far more interesting in consideration of capabilities than anything that would seem to actually define “internet literature.”
The page suggests the following list as a definition of hypertext literature:
(cont.)
_____
Video of
M Kitchell « Live at 851
HUMAN CONTACT INTERVIEW: M. Kitchell
Mike Kitchell @ Cool Dogs in Dekalb, IL
M Kitchell + Dean Smith « Quiet Lightning + Studio One
M Kitchell « Live at 851
______
Interview
Jackson Nieuwland: Yo Mike is it cool if I interview you?
Mike Kitchell: totally
JN: Sweet I’ll just jump right in then.
Two books are coming. Are books, to you, sexual objects or architectural objects? Or neither? Or both? Or something else entirely? Or just books? Have you ever fucked a book? If not, would you? Would you fuck a building? Didn’t a woman marry the Eiffel Tower once or something? Books being architectural makes sense: we fuck in buildings and so we must also fuck in books. RIght? Or wrong? Doesn’t everything we do outside of books eventually find its way between the pages? Can the same be said for houses? What can be said for the books you have coming out?
MK: Three books, actually, if you count Land Grid, a “chapbook” that I’m self-publishing. It’s the first thing Solar▲Luxuriance is releasing that I actually paid a printer to print & didn’t print and bind myself, so I count it. [Jackson: Land Grid has been released since this interview took place.]
I would say that books are not quite sexual objects to me, but some of them are certainly fetish objects. In parallel to my sexual fetishes, the object of my fascination has to be particular. I think, if we regard a narrow definition of what ‘fetish’ actually means I would have no actual fetishes, but that’s narrow. No one likes narrow. Similarly, I don’t think all books are architectural objects. Some of them, yes, in that they build, whether conceptually or literally. Artists’ books that turn into boxes or hallways, literal architecture. I am a snob. I am picky. I don’t think reading for the sake of reading is anything better than watching TV. What counts is what you’re reading, what you’re watching, what you’re building with. What you’re getting off to. Of course, who am I to judge what someone’s getting off to. I like books that hold sex. I like books that are conduits to sex. In this case they are sexual objects, I suppose, beyond fetish objects.
Are we using fucked in the sexual sense? I’ve never literally stuck my dick inside of a book, no. I’ve perhaps fisted a book. The future is less phallocentric, so maybe, yes. Where do you hold your libido. I’d fuck a building. I fuck buildings in everything I write. I either want to fuck or suicide the world. I’m not in control. I think we fuck inside of everything. Books are books are objects are books are conduits are books are zones of affect are the future are the past are nothing are irrelevant what even is a book, fucked.
Houses.
There are three books. The first, already mentioned, Land Grid, is three short stories that are somewhat thematically linked. The longest story, which was originally the titular story of the collection (until I changed the title), is very narrative, almost straight forward, diverging from the rest of my work. It’s still me though, it couldn’t not be. It’s about a boy and his brother who go to stay at their Aunt & Uncle’s house one summer. The boy discovers a secret underground world, built in the basements of suburban houses, all holding parts of a miniature golf course. There is a lot of abject sex in here. Another story is about a hypnotist at an abandoned carnival. The last story was a story where I told myself I wanted to write about the materials of earth, glass bricks, and snuff films. So I did, that’s what that story is about. All of them hold a whole, I can’t write about anything but death. I can hardly write a sex scene without someone breaking down crying at the end, someone discovering they’re actually god. There are some photos too. The second book, Variations on the Sun, is coming out from Red Lightbulb’s LOVE SYMBOL PRESS. I think I’m technically the first book, though that’s sort of an accident. All of my manuscripts are already laid out as books, like as pdfs that are formatted and shit, because I’m a control freak and have to do everything myself. Someone told me it was poetry once. I don’t think it is. I mean, I don’t care what you call it. It’s fragments about a group of nomadic children. There are a lot of photographs in it. It’s a strange whole. There is no sex on the page, only between the pages. Russ asked me to find people to blurb it and I suggested he get a group of 12 year olds to read it and have them blurb it. That might not work though, it’s dark, because, yeah I don’t know how to write about anything but death. Questions about death. Maybe by death I mean god and maybe by god I mean the impossible. What are you looking for? The final book is the big one for me, because it’ll have an ISBN and everything, it’ll be the longest, the fullest. It’s coming out on Blue Square Press, a division of Mud Lucious. It is another book where parts add up to a whole, but the parts are not fragments, they’re arguably self-contained stories. But wherever there is an “I” (everywhere) you can hold the same protagonist throughout. Everything I write is basically horror. Everything I write is basically me trying to re-appropriate 70s & early 80s euro-horror, to queer it, to fuck with it, to make it question. Every narrative of mine is a quest. There is always loss and sadness and the impossible.
JN: Is Land Grid a sign of things to come for Solar▲Luxuriance? Are you renovating/expanding the publishing house? Are you knocking down walls? Are there doors to be knocked on? Do you think of it as a publishing HOUSE? Do all the books and writers living together happily inside of it, getting along like a house on fire? Or is it a broken home? When does a building die? When does a book die? What is death? What isn’t death? When will you die and how do you envision it?
MK: Land Grid might be a sign of things to come. I’m working SECRETLY with a SECRET ACCOMPLICE in considering moving S▲L away from being such a micro-micro press and more into the realm of “actual” micro-press. Some things will stay the same, some things will change. I’ve been questioning the place that yet-another-“publishing house” has in the world. There’s a surplus as it stands, so why do I need to add to it? I’m trying to figure that out. I’m also in the process of examining my own relationship to this realm of so-called “indie lit” as it stands, because I fear things that move into a hegemony, and with there being so little that has surprised me in a good way lately, I’m afraid of staying so connected. The only way to overcome fear is to fight through it, abandon it (alternatively, one can obsess over it and use narrative to break it apart). I am nomadic and the press is too. I want to re-articulate the relationship between art and writing in the world. What is the best method for this? How can I figure that out? The only way is to experiment. See what fails and what doesn’t fail. Lately I am more excited by things happening at publishing houses related to critical theory and philosophy and art. But fiction, whatever fiction means, is important to me. Poetry is becoming more important to me, but only poetry that moves like the sun and warms my body. The sun that permits excess. Of its thirteen releases, the only authors from S▲L that I have met in the flesh are me and two others. The rest exist to me only immaterially. That might change one day, it probably will. Everything is decentralized. Nothing is broken because there is no home. Books can die. Books are already dead. We are already dead. I used to insist that I will one day die in the ocean. Now I’m not so sure.
JN: What other SECRETS can you tell us exist without revealing entirely? Why do you hold SECRETS? What power does a SECRET hold? Are there too many SECRETS or not enough? How many people must know a SECRET for it to cease being as one? Let’s move from SECRETS to secretions. Which is your favourite? Which is your least? Which do you produce the most of? What is the difference between a tear and a bead of sweat? Is hair a secretion?
[18 days pass]
JN: Are you SECRETS so SECRET that this interview is over because I asked about them?
MK: uh yeah idk i guess i’m done for now lol
hope dat’s enough hehe
___
Book
Civil Coping Mechanisms
'Instead of fiction, Spiritual Instrument offers rituals and instructions, photographs and phantom topologies, obscured words and dream narratives, black pages and secret portals. M. Kitchell is doing nothing less than conjuring and charting new spaces for literature.'-- Jeff Jackson
'Asserting an architecture of the page and an architecture of the body, Spiritual Instrument disassembles narrative to reveal its secret rooms. Then it haunts them: with disorientation, with lust, with the abstracted, illusive subject; with the ghosts of dead dreams and VHS tapes. Language as ritual, language as spell: M Kitchell invites us to trance, only to rouse us again and again.'-- Megan Milks
'M Kitchell’s Spiritual Instrument ritually enacts its martyrdom, in language, in a difficult and abject interrogation of imagination and spirit that spills and dissolves with its own heat, its own ghosting. This cry with its architecture of despair, its secret technology of desire, will make you break down and cry. Like the mind’s corners. Like the weather of the internal animal. The real, here, is hyperpresent and it is not a freedom we have, nor a choice. With great tenderness, the queertext opens up a mouth of hysterics & mystery that closes the distance between self & other, inside & outside, sun & violence, life & haunt of death. Its heterogenous structure makes it an observer: the omens of what we could find beautiful are here.'-- Monica Mody
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Excerpts
*
p.s. Hey. This weekend the blog is giving itself over to a scroll-able, clickable, ready-to-go introductory celebration of the brand new and really great new book from author, editor (LIES/ISLE, a.o.), publisher (Solar Luxuriance), designer, and longtime d.l. (magick mike) M Kitchell. Please immerse yourselves in this interpretation of its birth for whatever amount of time you can spare between now and Monday, and, should circumstances allow, I highly recommend that you score the book itself. Thanks! ** David S. Estornell, Hi, David! Lovely to see you. Of course I'm gonna read it. I already did, in fact. And I will watch the thing you kindly linked me to later this very day. I hope you're doing great. ** David Ehrenstein, That is one heck of a poem, for damned sure. Yes, new Ashbery book! I can not wait! Fashion isn't in ruins. YSL kind of is, though. But that's what they get for hiring Hedi Slimane five years after his imagination ran out of gas. ** Steevee, Hi. Oh, yeah, definitely worth talking to. I like the earlier films of his that I've seen, which is partly why I found 'SL' so surprisingly crappy. I hope dinner restored you. ** Tosh Berman, Thank you very kindly, Mr. B. ** Cal Graves, Ha ha, hi, Cal. Hey, if you combine our names, you get Decal. Or you can. I like decals, don't you? Thank you very much for the kind words re: my poems. 'Working on stories and poems' isn't 'nothing mostly'. I mean, what else is there? Okay, there are a few other things. But not many. Oh, shit, I'm sorry about the as-yet jobless status and your apartment's fucking suckiness. Yay for telling off that conservative prick. You probably saved his life. Mm, I feel like I'm mostly making stuff right now and not taking very much in. I have some books I'm excited to read on the way. Watching ... nothing, I don't think. But, with the apartment move, my TV works again for the first time in about four years, so I'll see what it will allow me to watch. What about you? What's being inputted? Reactivatedly, Dennis. ** _Black_Acrylic, Thank you, Ben. Yeah, even I, way over here, spent many daylight hours reading all the latest and opinion-ing about that gruesome election. Fight, fight! As I hardly need to tell you. Excellent about you joining that panel! That's great! Bon-nest weekend you can manage! ** Thomas Moronic, Thanks. Yeah, I think it's important both not to ignore stuff at the top of your location's power structure and to use your forced alienation from that stuff in the most useful way you can, personally, artistically, etc. Artists always have a way out. We're very lucky. ** Sypha, Hi. Only one typo is kind of a miracle. Maybe you should let it live for the same whatever reason that Persian (?) rug makers leave a flaw in their things. I'm going to pretend you didn't say that you want to read the Kim Kardashian book. Luckily, I have a big imagination, so I can do that. Hm, you are kind of enigmatic, James, now that I think about it. Huh. ** Kier, Dendoid is such a pretty word. I'm so almost tempted to change my name legally to that. No Cooper, just Dendoid. Should I? I don't want to belabor the completely bewildering effect of that school's enrollment officials' complete idiocy, but I do have this weird belief in fate, but not in a spiritual way or anything, and it could be that that particular school wasn't right for you. Maybe it was an interesting idea that made sense theoretically, but, ultimately, it will seem like a weird idea to you. You know, 'It's so weird that I wanted to go to that school. (chuckle, head shake).' A school is a pre-set system, and, except in rare-ish situations, art and artists are antithetical to the kind of assimilation that systematic institutions demand. I mean, Kier, you're fucking great. You're an amazing artist. Anyone who's ever seen your work who hasn't been conservative or stupid has been blown away by your work. The thing is to find a situation where you can do that work in as much peace and with as much support as you can. Maybe a residency will be the fit. (Obviously, the Paris locale of possible residency made my ears perk up.) Or something else. I know it will get sorted out. It will. I'm glad your health is noticeably better. I'm glad you got back to the farm! Halle: Uh, basically the four days I was there were spent either in a theater rehearsing the new piece or elsewhere rewriting the script based on what happened in the rehearsals. Zac was there too giving Gisele advice and ideas and stuff, and he and I were also studying the piece re: the puppet TV show that Gisele wants us to write for her. Yeah, Jonathan C. is in the piece. He's the only the only non-professional ventriloquist in the piece, although he's very good at ventriloquism. That Muppet-y looking puppet is the puppet of his 16-year old 'son', another character in the play. No, I'm getting close to getting back into working on the text novel, but it's a long way from being finished, I'm pretty sure. First I want to get a semblance of a solid script down for Zac's and my next film so we can find and approach possible producers, and that's what I'm concentrating on now. Friday, I ... mostly just further cleaned my new apartment, worked on the film script, did some revisions on the Gisele script, made blog posts, and ... yeah, hardly anything else. How was your weekend, dear pal? ** Rigby, Hey, Rigster! Thank you. Yeah, the tragedy, I heard. Scary. That's the spirit. Go for it, man! And say hi to Esther for me if she goes too. You quoted me? Oh, I don't remember what I wrote, but, yeah, it's okay, sure. Love to you and yours too to say the least! ** So, yes, M Kitchell. Get into the spirit, please? Thanks a bunch. See you on Monday.