In the summer of 1972, President Richard M. Nixon denied any knowledge of the five burglars who entered the office of the Democratic National Committee, the last US combat troops finally departed from a naval stronghold in Southern Vietnam, and I went to Savannah to die. I had never been to Georgia before. I knew of Savannah only from what I’d learned in the tones and faces of oil-painted jazz legends and in the subtle memories spilled quietly by my father years before. But in the sticky climate of that hot, political summer, I was determined to find a peace I had never known.

Daniel Rogers was born on March 22, 2012 at 6:23 a.m. at St. Andrews hospital in Rochester, Minnessota. All the papers had reported it accurately. A picture of the Baby Rogers was on the cover of every local, national, and foreign newspaper, under large headings that read “Wonder Baby” or “Lone Rogers” or, according to translations of the foreign papers, something like “Miracle Baby.”

“Some people never go crazy.

What truly horrible lives they must lead.”
–Charles Bukowski

Every writer rips other writers off.

Are you sooo Plath that ovens call to you like sirens? Do you carry a pipe while schooling the Scotland Yard in crimesolving? Is there a painter with a missing ear or a girl with a pearl earring inside you?
If so, you don’t need medical attention, but you do need to join FORTH Magazine at our BE ART Issue 5 Launch Party! Whether you’re an angsty teen like Holden, or a complete recluse like his creator, whether you’re a can of soup or a unibrowed Mexican genius, we want you to bring out your inner art or artist and party with us in costume!
Now, this isn’t some regular party. It’s a costume party!
Come dressed as any writer, piece of literature, artist, or piece of art.

JP-

I hope you receive this fax in time. I’m still sitting in the lobby of the Citizen Hotel, just outside the Capitol building where the Governor is arguing with the Senate about how to remedy this massive fuck-stain of a deficit. I’m frozen in catatonic horror at the rumors spewing across the Capitol lawns. And I’m afraid I won’t be able to produce any coherent sort of material on deadline for this issue as commissioned. If you were to witness first-hand what I have, however, you would understand. You think this state is in the shit bath now? Wait ‘til the good Governor and his henchmen get through sucking the blood veins from California. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. We’re all turning into zombies, and the next generation will be a slum of bumbling fools and thieves. We’re doomed.