The hellaciously cool publishers down at the U of A’s Blood Ink Lit Journal are throwing a literary party on Monday (full event details below). You’ll be able to pick up a copy of the new issue as well as hear a few of the authors read their stuff. I’m looking forward to reading the latest rag. These guys really put out a diverse and entertaining package. Always inspiring. As usual, they’ve invited a few people to come out and read, including yours truly. I’ll be kicking out a ten minute set – some old shit, some new shit. It feels like it’s been awhile since I’ve done a reading, but it’s only been a month. I miss it, I guess. I truly love reading. On another note, keep your eyes peeled for the announcement of the brand spankin’ new Raving Poets series. Official word forthcoming, after we clear all the legals and other horseshit. I think that’s it for now. Back to regular StreetRag stuff next week.
Blood Ink: The Winter Bends
New Issue Launch and Reading
Monday, January 15, 2007 – 7:00pm
Teddy’s Pub and Grill
11361 Jasper Avenue
—-NO KNIVES, NO CHAINS—-
—-BRASS KNUCKLES OK—-
StreetRag is an urban weblog and podcast about the city of Edmonton, which is located in the province of Alberta, Canada. It is authored by Edmonton-based writer, web advocate, and poet Michael Gravel and is updated frequently with written urban vignettes, amateurish photographs, deuteronomous audio material, barely coherent musings and rambling ecumenical treatises. StreetRag is a love letter to a lonely prairie burg struggling with its big city ambitions and small-town feel.
The city is Edmonton. It's a subject, not a passion. E-Town is almost universally derided by outsiders as an unlivable tundra wasteland populated by oil-hungry redneck conservatives who despise the arts. All of that is true. But it's not the whole story. There is beauty here. Dusty snowfalls. Brilliant summers. A stunning river valley. A diverse arts community that flourishes. It's a place that inspires a gray relationship - not all good, not all shitty. For that reason alone it is lovable, for what is life but a grayscale?