Chicago Scene Report

A night of six readings in a church that brought me good peace

Went to Chicago over the weekend for the APCON/Expat sponsored reading mentioned here. Thought I wasn’t going to make it due to some personal issues the night before but everything cleared up just enough in time to see me through.

Landed early in Chicago and got a car to my hotel halfway between O’Hare and the venue, the United Church of Rogers Park. On the way in, I kept seeing signs for the CTA city bus and kept thinking about Wesley Willis and his hellrides.

Not wanting a hellride of my own, I got to my hotel early enough to lie down and think a while about what I intended to read. I’d brought UXA.GOV with me and was planning to pick some sections I hadn’t read at the only other event I did about it.

Despite the novel being set up perfectly for excerpting, since it is composed of 254 modular sections, I kept changing my mind over and over which would make sense out loud, and/or what would fit a reading populated by those I’d be reading with, each of whom have in some way extreme or singular styles.

Reading in a church also seemed significant, in that the book is stuffed to the brim with nasty shit, which could go bad if I assumed too much about the audience. Not one to shy away from reading gross in front of whoever, I eventually chose three sections that were a bit more cinematic than the ones I’d done at the first.

I’d also brought a particularly dirty story about abusing a horse that I’d written for an anonymous zine that hasn’t come out yet, and after thinking more about Wesley Willis, I decided it would be a perfect homage to his suite of animal themed songs like “Suck a Polar Bear’s Dick,” “Suck a Moose’s Cock,” “Lick My Doberman’s Ass,” and so on. So I suppose I decided I’d make my reading bestiality-themed and just let the church decide whether or not to let me finish speaking.

Rolling up to the event a little later than I intended, Gwen Hilton was waiting outside on the curb to welcome my arrival. I felt super comfortable around her immediately and we chatted a bit before going inside to meet the others.

Inside, the church was beautiful and outdated in a way that reminded me of Baltimore. Florid colors faded by time with an intricate tableau decorated the domed ceiling. The pews were set up in a semi-circle around the lectern in low light. No A/C so we were all sweating almost immediately.

Everyone was standing around on the altar talking and we laughed about feeling weird about reading dark shit in a church. But this was our chance, we agreed. It felt nice to meet a bunch of people I knew online and had read the work of but never met, and I felt immediately comfortable in a way most readings don’t tend to offer. Like people were there to share the work and listen to others and none of the other crap that sometimes happens at readings where you feel tiers.

I met Forrest Muelrath and talked about how it feels to put a book out after a long time working on it and the pressure to promote it and to make more, versus finding your way toward what you want to do next naturally. I met Lake Markham, who I found out was born in the same city as me, and we talked with Jacob Stovall about how Chicago feels as a social environment, comparing it to Baltimore where I don’t really know many people. I met Conor Hultman and talked about Expat and various elements of the New York scene versus Chicago. I saw Dan Magers and talked about his move into writing fiction and how life has been since we saw each other last a decade ago.

Then the reading started and Gwen took the mic to welcome everyone in and read from her most recent novel, Where the Breastplate Meets the Blade. She had asked me in email if I had any sections from the book I wanted to hear and ended up reading the two I named, which I felt a deep personal connection to. It was a delight to hear her deliver them in person, bringing a whole other energy to the already very striking modes the book explores.

Gwen was a great host, introducing the readers extemporaneously with a balance of intuitive biography and insight into their work. I really like when its apparent how much the curator of a reading cares about who’s there, like they have asked them for a reason, and that was extremely palpable here. There was a decent crowd who seemed tuned in and aware of the nature of that vibe, and I felt like I was at an event I cared about instead of just another responsibility.

Stovall read second from an excerpt of his novel-in-progress, one of the protagonists of which was Lil Pump. I enjoyed the way using Lil Pump as the subject brought the story into a bizarre air that felt like alienware or something, yet still had a very relatable and cut-throat edge to it.

Markham read third from his novel about a preacher, which he delivered using heavy voice and performative gesturing, which felt very appropriate in the moment and gave the space a weird sense of delayed reality, the way great satire can when you’re sitting in its mouth.

Muelrath read fourth from his very excellent new novel, The Valeries, which I read earlier this summer and was blown away by. Eschewing the lectern, he sat at a table and wore sunglasses to inhabit the role of the therapist in the novel, which had a wonderfully disturbing vibe the more he leaned into the distinction between the work and our reality. He had rigged up some audio samples to provide background to the novel’s different sections and used other narration to speak other characters’ voices, and in total in came together in a way I never could have imagined the book would aloud—similarly eerie and disconcerting, but underlined in the body with something like a carcrash energy that made the sickening contents even more heavy in the gut. It felt like watching Jim Jones or something.

Logan Berry read fifth, mostly from his new novel, Doom is the House without a Door, which I’d just started reading before I left for the event. A notable avant garde performer in the theater scene, Berry brought his work to life in a whole other way, singing, gesticulating, and nearly preaching with his booming voice. He had a very open and engaging presence that I never could have imagined based off his work, welcoming in but with an electricity about him that made the syllable-heavy, fractious prose feel vaudevillian in a way, and quite alive.

I did my thing and after reading my preselected excerpts of UXA.GOV, which were 23, 30, and 31. Before I read, I asked Gwen for a random number between 1 and 254, and she picked 32, somehow pinning on the sequence I’d set up without any idea.

I felt strange reading aloud from this work in particular, having never tried to before then, and really having written it entirely without any intent of sharing it with people. I liked the chaos not knowing how any of it would come out, and of spilling sexual and violent imagery all over the mic in a room where preachers had stood to speak their own sermons.

Rather than feeling at odds with it, exactly, I found the church seemed to accept what I had to say, almost like it welcomed some other sign of life than years of scripture that nevertheless has led us to the present form of the world.

After the excerpts, I talked a little about Wesley Willis and how his bestiality songs were weapons he used against the demons in his head to threaten them, and how all of what I’d read that night came from a similar time and place in my life where I felt so much wrath and fury that I’m lucky it only ever ended up on paper and not somewhere worse.

I’m not going to share about the story here but it went over very well and was super fun to read aloud. It also felt like a release in a way that I rarely feel at readings, where I’m not simply dicking around with the text when I’d written it for the pages, but actually digging up some shit.

As it finished out, I realized I only want to do readings like this in the future where there are people who are there to experience something, not to hob knob or like get off on being around lit people. Reading in a church felt more exciting than a book store and reminded me of seeing Shellac in an elementary school theater, or going to DIY shows, rather than reading at bookstores where they do all the sales and you get nothing.

After the reading, everyone milled around and lots of people came up to talk with me about the reading and life in general. I sold all the books I’d brought and signed a bunch more, including editions of things with my name on them that I’d never seen. Everyone was super chill and friendly and made me feel glad I’d pushed through to make it there.

I met Eli Winter, a local musician who pitched me about why Chicago rules and everyone should move there. I met Phoebe Kaufman, who has an incredible piece in the anthology Ken Baumann are in the process building (more to come on that soon), and we talked admiringly about Ariana Reines. I met a very friendly couple from my alma mater, Georgia Tech, who shared interest in gaming language and experience. I met several others tho at this point started confusing names because I had vaped weed.

Jacob, Lake, and I talked a lot about how promoting events goes in the terror state of social media, and how we might build better approaches to doing events like these that feel like house shows and not bar bills. It was clear that we’re all pretty sick of the stagnated ways lit scenes operate, and hungry for more experiences where the work is allowed to breathe. It made me feel hopeful about the life of literature in general and how there’s still people out there who want things to be better, and who are aware that if we want to see change, we have to push and think outside the box.

Then we walked a while to a bar with a strange name.

I mostly walked with Conor and continued our conversation from earlier, and it was nice to speak with someone who had a long and deep knowledge of the indie lit scene going 15 years back. Super chill guy.

At the bar we milled around and hung out until close. The drinks were cheap and cash only but I had cash from selling books. Sometimes its hard for me to hear in bars now because my left ear is losing hearing but more so than usual I was able to hang tight.

Gwen and I talked for a long time about a wide variety of subjects including believing in ourselves, Peter Sotos, Vanessa Place, social drama, what we’re working on now. I felt really refreshed and inspired by being around so many brilliant and vibrant people who seemed genuinely engaged in the world of their work and the work of others.

We were standing near the front door so people kept shuffling past and coming and going but it didn’t feel annoying. People filtered in and around the bar laughing and sharing insights.

I imagined being able to move to Chicago and feel pulled into participating bodily more often, making friends. I felt confirmations click in my head hearing people talk aloud about things I think privately, being candid and trusting simultaneously, which having a couple drinks surely helped.

I texted Megan this cartoon from the bathroom.

Once the bar closed at 2 AM, we stood around trying to find an open pizza joint until we realized everything nearby was basically closed unless we wanted to walk a mile to a chicken finger store.

We said our goodbyes and I got a car back to my hotel. I stayed up half-drunk and half-asleep until 6 AM when the continental breakfast opened downstairs and went down to stuff my face with cereal and pancakes. Several of the worst songs I’ve ever heard played in the dining area where I was basically alone besides one older couple having juice, but I didn’t mind. I ate until I felt I’d eaten enough to go to sleep and went back upstairs to bed until just before noon checkout.

After arriving at the airport two hours early, I got in 10,000 steps before takeoff and walked around and ate a torta that was sick and perused the bookstore, which was oddly well stocked for an airport. On the plane, I slept the entire way home, which never happens.