1. Where do you enjoy playing hide-and-seek the most?

in the past.

2. How did you get into photography? Do you prefer digital over film?

initially, i thought “photography” was going outside and taking snapshots of trees. i believed that until i took a photography class during my senior year of high school. i was taught the basics of photography, how to develop photos using a darkroom, and how to use a film camera. at first, i wasn’t too interested in it, but eventually my grandmother gave me an old minolta film camera from the 80’s that i took to awp chicago in 2009. i took tons of photos of both the people and the city, posted them online, and got a lot of positive feedback. i decided to continue to take photos, albeit self-consciously. the main reason why i have progressed so much with my photography is because i had continuous inspiration and encouragement from my love, jereme. he eventually convinced me that i had a talent that would take me far and now, i am on my way to creating a photography business and being completely confident in my abilities.

as far as my preference of digital or film goes, i think both forms of photography are good in different situations. i love film due to its grainy quality, especially when it comes to black and white photos. i also think it’s fun to develop my own photos, but that currently isn’t a viable option for me. digital is great because it allows much more control and you can instantly see if your photo needs any adjustments. the clarity of the photos also looks amazing when photographing things like people or insects at close range.

my heart says film, but my brain says digital.

3. What is your least favorite form of art?

humanity. but only sometimes.

4. What would the cover to your rock album look like?

i’d never want to have a rock album—i have a phobia of becoming famous. i just googled “phobia of becoming famous” to find out what it was called, but the results mostly consisted of “famous people with phobias” and “famous people phobia treatment options”. damn.

5. Who would you hold on a moving bus?

whoever baked cookies to share.

1. How as a writer are you coping with a disintegrating marriage? Do you find yourself writing more? What direction has it taken you and your writing?

At the end of my marriage I found myself writing on average three to five poems a day. In five months I kicked out two manuscripts and a compilation.

The first collection I collaborated with the amazing illustrator, Cheryl Gross. (You can see her work here.) This collection deals with divorce more directly and investigates modes of escapism.

The second collection is a reinvention of the Odyssey, which (possibly) involves the persona engaging in acts of bestiality. Possibly.

The third project involves 19 poets recreating the California ghost town of Bodie. The poems interact, talk to each other, and make a history that reflects our present day economic and social dilemmas. (More information about the Bodie project can be found here: http://bodiepoetryproject.wordpress.com/)

In these collections, reality reinvents itself faster than the personae can grasp it. Reality is essentially non-existent. I wasn’t aware of what I was doing at the time, but in retrospect I see how poetry was helping me cope with the collapse a scripted narrative—a narrative that my person (no matter how it longed for it) could not be a part of. I’ve always wanted to “fit in.” I don’t fit and likely never will fit traditional modes. Poetry helped me come to terms with this. The possibility I found in poetry is something I hope for everyone to experience at least once in their lives, no matter how painful the process. The process is sublime.

2. You often make others into superheroes. Who would you be as a superhero? What would be your powers?

I would like the power to really make others into superheroes. I would call myself “Construction Paper Mama” and I would play the side-kick to my son, who would be “Possibility Boy.” Our goal would be to facilitate acts of creation. We would fight against the evil Dr. Ego and his henchman Negative-thinking. It would involve a lot of side-walk chalk and time—lots of time.

3. What is your favorite soundtrack to write to?

I love the soundtrack to Love in the Time of Cholera; hundreds of pages were written while in its company.

4. What middle name do you wish you had?

I’d like it to be Pearl, but I’m more of a Hester.

5. What non-writers influence you and your work?

My father is a sculptor and his approach to clay-work really shaped my ideas of poetry. For him, beauty is when the impossible happens. When a pot or sculpture that should have failed in the kiln makes it out of the fire intact, he calls it art. I would love to have that experience as a poet—to push words beyond their limits—to participate in the making of something that is beyond my scope. Art in many ways is miraculous.

6. What is your fatal weakness? How do you hide it?

I believe. I hide it by believing that believing will go away. But believing just makes me believe more, even though I don’t know exactly what it is I believe.

1. If you have actually fucked a cutter, have you ever thought about creating a cheese grater cock ring so it combines the best of both worlds?

Wow. Well, I’m not so sure that tearing up a young lady’s pleasure garden is a very good idea, you know? Especially a young lady goodly enough to let me touch on her. I’ve been involved in a lot of very odd body modification sub-culture stuff over the years — some of the things I have seen would melt your face off faster than opening the Ark of the Covenant, believe that — but a cheese grater cock ring? That seems a little bit extreme, even for my mind.

2. What is the strangest way you’ve said “Happy Birthday” to someone?

Politely, and without any trace of malice.

3. Why did you choose “Angela” as the name of the female lead in “Ladies First”?

Honestly it was just a name that flashed in my head that was far removed from the participants and actual events that birthed the story. I mean, in the spirit of keeping things interesting, we could say “I chose the name ‘Angela’ because it’s close to ‘Angel,’ which is what this young woman was like. An angel. With an extra vowel instead of a bag of chips.” Oh. Shit. Hi, readers of The Mighty PANK. I’m Sean.

4. This last line, so fantastic and true: “Never tell a woman who is kindly enough to fuck you that what she wants is ‘unnatural,’ you fucking prick.” What other dating advice can you provide the readers of PANK?

You want me to get on Front Street here? Okay, fine. Remember — you asked for it.

Keep an attorney on retainer.

I’m kidding. Sort of.

The most important thing I have learned about dating is to do the very best that you can to leave your luggage from past relations on the outside of the current attempts at relations. Don’t sit around on the first date rambling on endlessly about some ex-lover who broke your fucking heart — not only is that not a good look, but nobody wants to hear all of that unless they are being paid $200 an hour, and even then they might be just humoring you until the next round of drinks is gone.

5. What are your hard limits?

If I am interpreting this question correctly, I will just say this: I’m a big fan of moments dictating limitations, if at all. You’re never really going to know who the hell you are unless you go a little bit further than you thought you were capable of. That could easily be transposed to anything.

I also quite fancy the first four Slayer albums, if that was what you were after.

Oh. I cannot deal with clowns. Hell no. No clowns up in here. Like, ever. No.

6. How does one create a date rape hallway? Bonus points for blueprints.

I don’t think one creates a date rape hallway as much as one discovers a date rape hallway.Length and privacy are very important for a proper date rape hallway, as is trust. It would be best if one were to spend a little time exploring the building a bit, to make sure the possibility of being found or caught is slim, unless of course that’s your bag. Sub-floors seem to work out for the best for this criteria.

As you can see from my poorly-constructed blueprint, minimal foot-traffic is of the utmost importance. If you require mood lighting, scout out where the breaker box is for the hallway, and trip a few of the lights off to get things just right. Other than that, you’re on your own. Good luck.

1. Why is no one ever Satanless?

Because not enough of us are godless.

Blake said “Brothels are built with the bricks of religion.” Similarly, Satan is made out of the rib of God. They share the same DNA. No God, no Satan. It’s that easy. Too much God, too much Satan. Let’s get godless and forever put Satan to rest.

2. How would you play a shell game with spirituality?

Devilishly.

3. If the devil lives in the house, how does God do a B&E into it?

The Devil doesn’t live in the house; he is the house. God, you’re right, was born a burglar, stealing here, stealing there, stealing constantly. Even John Donne would agree, he’s all about, breaking and entering.

4. What number are you?

Number 9. Number 9. Number 9. Number 9.

5. Before making love, do you consult a pre-written list of moves you enjoy performing?

No, I usually just shave.

1. How awkward would it be to have a blown up photo of your parents shoving each others genitals in each others mouths on the living room wall?  How much therapy would it take to get that image out of your head?

Quite awkward. I would promptly remove it from the wall and never speak of it again. Nor would I ever again engage in sexual activity.

2. What tips would you give your past self about your first kiss?

Probably would tell myself to skip that first one. Or the first couple hundred. Could I go back in time and be my own first kiss? Is that okay?

3. Which condom brand is the best to have left inside you after your lover falls asleep in the middle of hot action?

If only my ‘lover’ has fallen asleep I assume I would be able to remove the condom, regardless of brand.

4. How are you going to educate your children about sex?

I don’t want children. I have neutered/spayed every pet I’ve ever had so I would probably take a similar tack.

5. What is your safe word?

When I was a child my mother told me the secret word was “sandwich.” She emphasized that this word was to be used in case of kidnapping but I never really understood. I hope that ‘sandwich’ still works if I ever need it.

6. Alabama? Have you had a sip of the Roll Tide Kool Aid yet?

I’ve been told it’s important to chant “go elephants” and “we belong!”

I am enjoying Alabama. Riverboat cruise, hula hoop parties in the street, rats in my house. All the best sorts of things.

A grizzly bear.

I prefer to take things, perhaps a decorative soap or something I can use in a story, but if I must leave something then I hope it is a good feeling — and maybe a stain or two.

You dream you are a kitten wearing a stupid hat and a much bigger cat walks up, hisses and knocks the stupid hat off your stupid head and you wake up, like how you do when you fall in dreams, and you are a better writer.

Havana Club. (Lift the embargo!)

Every night.

1. How would you completely blend into an environment?

Well, that depends on the environment. If it was a disco lounge, I would swaddle myself in polyester and bellbottom jeans and those goldfish tank platform shoes. If it was the opening for a new Twilight movie, then I would cover myself in sparkle — a lot of sparkle.

2. What animal would you want to be genetically spliced with? What animal ability would you want most from that spliced animal?

Tony the Tiger, definitely, so that whenever somebody asked me something, no matter what the question was, I could say “They’re Grrrrreat!” with the utmost enthusiasm.

3. Who would you spit at? What would you spit?\

Snap, Crackle, and Pop. Those guys are a bunch of punks. I would probably spit Frosted Flakes Gold at them, because it’s pretty disgusting.

4. Who or what do you like scaring? How do you go about scaring it or them?

Again, Snap, Crackle, and Pop. And I’d probably throw them in a vast of milk and wait until they got mushy.

5. Gelato or ice cream – which do you prefer? What would you kill to get it?

Neither, actually. Because I would do anything — anything — for a Klondike bar.

1. Who would be your house band on your late night talk show?  What would your intro music sound like?

I’d go back in time and get Theolonius Monk to lead a band for me…The music would be that wildly smart thing he did, tilted and full of spaces everywhere you don’t expect them, with the melody bent in the wrong direction. And I’d come out and sit down and he’d just keep playing, and there would be no need to say anything. The guests would be celebrities like Dr. Johnson and Keats and Bruno Schulz and we would just sit and listen together.

2. What would you make a corset out of?

The wearer makes the corset, of course.

3. What mistake would you marry?  How would you divorce it?

Writing is of course the great mistake that writers marry. I think it becomes a sort of sustaining affliction—invisible eyeglasses that really hurt, but you still need them to see. I’ve only recently begun to wonder what a divorce might look like, or what Nevada of the mind I might go to in order to get one.

4. What number would you assign to the person you fall in love with?

One of the wonderful things about marriage is that your spouse is there when you wake up and there when you go to sleep—the first and last person you see, with just a dream in between. So I’d have to assign my wife Karen infinity—or should I write that ∞ ?

5. What would you sign away to apologize to someone?

The temptation is always to sign away everything, to put your life in the other person’s hands in order to wipe the past clean, but I can tell you that that’s a really bad idea for both parties. You can’t sell away your regret.

1. What alias would you take up when eating at a diner where no one knows who you are?

Well, I wouldn’t really need an alias then. Right? I mean, I don’t want to come across as ungrateful or anything, but what would I need an alias for? What kind of illegal shit do you think I’d do at a diner, man?

I guess the only alias I go by these days is The Dude Who’s Getting Kind Of Pudgy Now That He’s Quit Smoking And No Matter How Many Supposedly Cool Tattoos He Gets He Still Just Kind Of Looks A Little Goofy.

2. Whose spine would you make a table out of?  What would you color it?

Whose… what? Whose spine? Would I make a table out of? Jesus Christ, man, what are you talking about? What the hell is this?

Not to be coarse, but I would most likely color it whatever color my throw-up was, because that’s what I’d be doing if you sat me in front of a table made of someone’s spine.

3. What is the worst way you’ve broken up with someone?  How would you wish you could have done it instead?

Well, I’ve never done it in a restaurant, haunted or otherwise.  Probably the worst way I’ve broken up with someone is when I made their spine into a table.

4. Who is your quietest act of bravery?  Where did it happen?

Well, right now it’s a toss-up. I just moved to the Midwest after spending most of my life in the Pacific Northwest, feels reasonably brave to me. But I also feel like the act of writing fiction is also a solitary but pretty damn plucky act. Both of them entail navigating through a lot of trepidation and uncertainty and the idea of “sticking to your guns” even when things seem shitty or daunting.

5. If David Foster Wallace came back from the dead and challenged you to a footnote-off, would you do it?   What would be the stakes?

If the man came back from the dead and I would pretty much be doing whatever he wanted. After, you know, most likely evacuating in my drawers. I doubt it’d be much of a challenge – he’d most likely just look at my, conveying his great disappointment in my capping of the footnotes thing, and I’d shrivel to a husk. I just wanted to write a really dense story and since I seem incapable of writing anything that doesn’t involve guns, robots or ghosts, this is what came forth, you know?

1. What dimension does your nom de plume live in and how do we get there?

I am pretty certain she resides in the 12th Dimension, that ‘Dual Reality’ one, although right now I have her stuffed back in the box and shoved to the bottom of my closet. She doesn’t play very well with the other imaginary friends. Her ego is a bit testy and temperamental so she tends to over inflate, pop a fissure and need patching. Typically a big piece of tape over the mouth will do.

How do you get to the 12th Dimension or the bottom of my closet? Well, Advil PM (they can pay me for the plug later) might get one to that 12th Dimension, but don’t overshoot the sleep/wake thing because you might find yourself back in the 1st Dimension, wearing diapers and re-creating yourself. Bad thing is, s**t from the past clings to your bottom unless you periodically clean out your Google cache.

The bottom of my closet, on the other hand, is much more difficult to get to, and also needs periodic cleaning. One can only hold onto so many skeletons before the fug runs you out of the room.

In the meantime other egos can be found here: http://www.fictionaut.com/users/jn-bower
and http://fromjenspen.blogspot.com/p/publishing-credits.html

2. Would you ever play a game of telephone while drinking? What would be the results?

Oh, I adore games but abhor the telephone and Instant Messaging. They feel so invasive. I think in another life I was a Trappist Monk. I guess I would play the game for s**its and giggles. Since I have an insatiable curiosity I would up the ante and play with a variety of different drinks and then document the results. Tequila could make the game take a salacious turn as we all try to pass the worm from ear to ear. Beer would result in something bawdy and blue-collar with participants in fisticuffs. Red Wine could make things unintelligible, those sulfites slurring the tongue. Milk might make the game sanguine, silky and wholesome – there would be little change from beginning to end and we would all be flush with honesty. Kool-aid…could have deadly consequences.

3. What does a secret taste like to you? What would you season it with?

Ooooooooo…this question makes me salivate. I can’t lie my way out of a paper bag so as a general rule I hate secrets. I try not to tell them and don’t like when I am asked to keep them. Most people aren’t milky and wholesome. They are more like red wine and beer. I would like all of my secrets to taste like eggnog and smell like Christmas trees, or like sweaty horses, liniment oil and saddle soap. That would mean someone had hidden a big pony under the tree for me.

Wow! My secrets seem more smelly than tasty. So, I guess most secrets are fishy, an adjective that embodies both smell and taste. Sadly, even something fishy can be dressed up and sold as fine faire. Add a little hot oil, cornbread, and collards and we have ourselves a fish-fry. *We fry pickles, tomatoes, and Twinkies down here, too* But the smell lingers and leaves greasy fingerprint stains on the paper.

4. Who do you regret not understanding?

My mother. The reasons why are like a merry-go-round of secrets.

5. Can you capture the human condition without tranq darts?

I suck at darts. Give me a gnat dart, I will invariably bring it to a elephant fight and still miss. I believe to capture the condition you have to witness humanity being and doing within and outside of their element. You must be a silent observer and highly visual. People don’t like to be stared at. It makes them uncomfortable, exposed, like somehow you are telekinetically sucking secrets out of their nose. Supermarket and shopping mall parking lots are great places to stare at people. My dad and I would make a game of it while my mom ran inside to ‘grab a quick something.’ We discovered that people invariably sense they are being stared at and do one of two things in their discomfort: pinch and wipe their nose like they are checking for a booger or run their hands through their hair. Why is that? I am most motivated by the WHY! We seem to come up with better answers in the ‘animal kingdom’ than in our own. It is one of the reasons why I write about place more than I do people and why I suck at crafting a believable short story. I don’t always get the WHY of life and am hard-pressed to come up with any resolutions. So my stories dangle like that phantom booger on the end of a nose. Anymore, if you ask me to tell you a story I am likely to paint you a picture about a time, a place, a momentary feeling. Charles de Gaulle said it best, “The better I get to know men, the more I find myself loving dogs.” [sic: horses, birds, cats, crickets, not snakes or spiders though]