This Week's Writing 4/5/24: Please Renew Your Subscriptions!

April may be the cruelest month for the blog...unless you help!

Hello readers! As always, I’m providing a weekly list of everything I published this week…in just a second.

But first! This is a pretty big moment for Everything Is Horrible. A year ago, Substack launched notes, and for unclear reasons, I went viral and the substack blew up (boom!) The boost really made it possible for me to treat this space as a steady gig and to scribble here regularly.

Now a year has passed, and it’s something of a moment of truth. If people renew, the blog is officially sustainable (Yay!) If they do not…well. Um. urgh.

So long way of saying, please consider renewing your subscription so I can keep writing for you and feeding the cats (like Gusgus up above.) If your cards have expired, you should get a note to that effect, and I hope you’ll take a minute to fix that and reup the payment.

Or! If you are not a paid subscriber, this would be a great time to become one. It’s $50/year, $5/month; cheap! as Mad magazine would say.

Okay! enough pleading. This is what I published last week.

If You Read One Thing By Me This Week, Read:

On This is How You Lose the Time War and queer embodiment, or lack thereof. (EIH)

Politics

Trump doesn’t want to talk about abortion. The new Florida ban means he has to. (Public Notice)

The ADL is endangering Jews. (EIH)

Cultural Criticism

The new film Greatest Hits makes the case that nostalgia can be a positive force. (CNN.com)

Shaun of the Dead is still relevant 20 years later. (Splice Today)

Evil Dead 2: root for the Deadites. (EIH)

Poetry

An interview with me about my poetry. (Talking About Strawberries)

Read, or listen to me recite, a villanelle using only the letter U. (Red Ogre Review)

One of my anti poetry poems. (Synchronized Chaos)

I used to know what kind of poet I was.
Then I realized I wasn’t any kind of poet.
Now I can fucking write whatever.
Whatever.

A poem collaged from John Keats. (dadakuku)

much and round which oft that yet till then when or he look’d silent

Little despairing poem. (Five Fleas)

Hope is a hamster wheel
without a hamster
or a wheel.
There is some hamster poop though.