Andrew De Haan Autumn—untying of the knot, uncoiling of life in all its hues and quivers, and I suppose if we cannot have the sun then the trees will do, with all the fruit and flame their dying brings. Two years ago today I was drunk, alone, exploring my dank basement. I found a stack of 4 old microwaves, each younger than the one below it, a totem pole of outdated radioactivity. This year I keep the rum from my cider on most nights. I...

Andrew De Haan Oh I glowed with you tonight, rode a little hum song, flickering pinprick song of the rippled stratus sky, song of joy from the daily mudly bravery of rolling from bed and taking root in the stark breath of morning. We whispered this little hum song to the laughing river, we peeled back lichens and found faded scars— the names of love. And when we heard the drawling night train, we laid on our soft bellies, smeared in blue...

Saturday November 7th 2009, 7:30PM Samantha Farrell Strand of Oaks with opening act White Pines Saturday November 7th 2009, 7:30PM Wealthy Theatre – Grand Rapids, MI Tickets are $10.00 for students and $15.00 for general admission and are available below or at one of the following locations. • 711 Bridge Street NW (CMC/GRTV/WYCE) 1-6 p.m. weekdays. (2nd floor) • 1130 Wealthy (Wealthy Theatre) 5-7 p.m. Tuesday through...

Greetings, you can listen to an interview I did yesterday on the Grand Rapids NPR affiliate here.

Linda Nemec Foster Inspired by an art installation created by Chicago artist Cat Chow This is not the beginning of another year, lost circle of an Aztec calendar. Its concentric rings the lines that predict the future. This is not the evolution of a glassmaker’s vision, tempered by searing flames and a man’s breath. One eye permanently lost for the sake of beauty. This is not a whorled shell of black and white–created...

Linda Nemec Foster Inspired by the art of Bruce Erikson I was there once, in that landscape, bedroom a mess and only yourself to blame: childhood memory carelessly dropped on the floor, under the table, looking like a sleeping nude who’s forgotten herself. Why can’t that woman comb her red hair, get up from the bed, get dressed? Even the russet hibiscus languishing on the side table looks more alive. She’s probably been...