The Operating System



Program Assistant Taylor Quilty (l) and Managing Editor Lynne DeSilva-Johnson (r) at the Exit Strata table at AWP. Coordinating animal silhouette shirts entirely coincidental.

If you happened by table Q13 this last week at AWP you’ll know that we did our best to lure you with that ineffable combination of craft, collaboration, community, and, er…candy…. that you recognize as uniquely Exit Strata. You also know that alongside the beautiful, hot-off-the-press limited edition PRINT!: DOCUMENT chapbook sets, friends-and-family priced editions of PRINT!Vol. 2, and (now sold out for ever and ever) limited edition PRINT! Vol. 1 screenprinted broadsides, our little islet near the bathroom offered a mix of Smartees and Dumdums, sweet and sour (entirely unintentional) as well as the opportunity to play #exquisitecorpse with us, which we live tweeted over the course of 3 conference days.
It was such a delight to spend these days dreaming and scheming together! and always a joy to see friends, colleagues, and contributors from near and far – including a lovely gaggle of ladies and gents from last summer’s SWP at Naropa University, that moment of kismet that brought Mr. Quilty into our lives.
Suffice it to say we were thrilled and humbled by your response to our newest offerings — we’re so happy so many of you are as excited as we are about not only the level of artistry but of collective effort these volumes represent, and we’re looking sincerely forward to welcoming both the presses and writers we connected with in Boston to our growing rhizomatic network. More on that so very very soon.
In the meanwhile, as promised, your AWP #exquisitecorpse! Thanks for all our participants, ages 8 – 80!
1362690394818It was late in factoria when I was a lemon, headed for the street. A sour lemon, eager to encounter a dark mystery. Toes crack from the atmospheric pressure. I hitchhike only in hondas. Please, let’s love the sesquipedalians.
I am dangerous. Riven with feathered fluctuations, fast. Stars gathering to complete our destinies. A dandelion like a bunch of stars. I should hate to see her  go, I should hate to see her stay, but I was very tired and the pressure was too great.
Will print survive? I asked myself. That silver won’t polish itself, you know. I put it to touch just to give it a try. The mermaid laughed and the porpoise somersaulted.
Muslim: (adjective): beautiful trails of language
Murmur: (noun): a thing that feels good in my mouth
Asked for one word, and then a taxonomy, and when.
And when the paper fell, along followed the pen.
And, the queerest thing, the most unexplained, saddest, most wonderful thing it was.
The pour from the lip of the cup burnt my lip. “Hopefully, it’s possible,” he said.
And when I heard it my ears were full of joy and new media freak out. If you really think about it, then really strange things will begin to shine.
If neoliberalism went all the way, everyone would have a dollar with their own face on it, and would have to be happy/satisfied, with the blue plate special served up every afternoon at 12:30, the signals and lines of conversation began to peel and uncurl until the words became letters on a page of denial or the bank of the Nile, which is a pun.
I’ll be gone a Nile, I’ll be back in the mooring, ho ho ho ho ho ho ho ho Everyone was here, and you wouldn’t even know it.

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