Brett Gallagher is a twenty-three year old vegan coffee enthusiast living in what is referred to as “Real America” as opposed to my New York, false America to many, if not all. Most of his work can be found on his blog “As You Recognize Your Transience” or indirectly linked to it. I first noticed his work through the bizarrely packaged “Loop Loop Endogenous” which is pretty trippy even without words, but the words and pictures work well together.
On Lamination Colony, you see his first published work. The words flow at some obscenely fast pace. For certain pieces, you mind tries to make sense out of the missing pieces. Brett leaves them there intentionally. Words are missing vowels; endings aren’t where they normally are. Everything mentioned feels ridiculous things, processors, UPS, FedEx, elephants, faux news and so on. Allowing so much freedom with the words creates multiple meanings and scenarios for the work.
“I looked out my window to see myself pulling a horse on a string through the open sky at dusk” has a slightly more grounded language. Don’t worry; it retains a great deal of freedom. Only this time the language is slightly more structured. Like his previous poem, it moves very quickly. A few feelings are present in this poem, particularly a disdain for consumerism, as noted in the third part. Purchases don’t make up happy according to the poem but contemplation does. Staring at the night sky slows things down, as does extended periods of time spent with less productive vegetation.
Going into “Bless” then is a bit of a shock. Here a concrete, near linear plot exists. Sure, it is fantasy, but by having a narrator and someone the narrator addresses it comes across as direct. The imagery of space may suggest a greater place but for this poem it suggests a hope in a dream world.
By far my favorite would be “Loop Loop Endogenous Nightscape”. Illustrations are done by Elizabeth Arnold, aka Neon Glittery. Here all his previous ideas, the fast-pace and emotional content come into a swelling whole or, as he states in his chapbook “wordish barrages”. With the visuals and the words themselves, they conjure up a reality almost but not quite graspable. Images are remixed into illustrations and so forth. Brett uses the idea of a loop to continue on themes or ideas, such as water, the night, and plenty others. Though it is experimental, it is probably the most enjoyable thing I’ve seen of his thus far.
Thankfully though, this is not the end. According to his blog he appears to have a few other projects in the works. “Vessels” his latest project, is proving to be his biggest and most promising. During various Ustreams he showed them off. Each one of those Ustreams offered a glimpse at what it has to offer, sounding very rhythmic, almost hypnotic. His attention to language is remarkable. When I jokingly called him a “Post-Bro” he had all the connotations of what that word might mean. Immediately I got a rise out of him. He doesn't shy away from provocation himself, having declared a poke war on Facebook.
Unlike a great deal of his compatriots, his online presence appears to be small, with a seldom used twitter and now deleted Tumblr. I think this will help him focus on creating new work or at the very least that is my hope. See the below for an excerpt from his upcoming work "Vessel".
vi. vessel at midnight, an observation
and kjellfrid begins counting fingernails kept in her birdnest and she imagines she is a mother bird who is taking care of her young and she slowly carefully lovingly places more nails into the nest and looks out towards the center of the fjord and kjellfrid feels herself becoming undone and this is all too much and as taped joints begin sagging from sockets her glued frame begins losing it’s shape erland can be seen rowing his vessel ever closer to the center of the fjord and kjellfrid realizes the moon is sharp and a great sadness fills her diaphram and by the light of the projector’s flickering nebula-pattern refracted over the desolate topography of a continuous blackness settling over the fjord kjellfrid writes the scaline angles of her mind with her most prized fingernails
and the half life of this vessel a flotation
above body levitated above body
dusk over forest seen from below
is equivalent to the thought
that i am out somewhere apart from myself
and i am investigating the sea bed
and on calm evenings i row out to you
this heaviness the night
is yours
ours
and kjellfrid raises her head and watches erland rowing with oars that are tusks of pine shaped as colonies of trails as paint-dripping quasars at night and erland has become in triplicate and his body flickers gently and it is though kjellfrid can see through him if only momentarily and kjellfrid looks down at her hands and remembers when he pulled her aside by the window when these great iron-fastened nights were fewer and said i want to be there with you now and year from now and a year from now into infinity and kjellfrid remembers sleep patterns of dream sequences filled with forest families and tender angles
endless darkness, says kjellfrid
almost probably, says kjellfrid as erland
why has it become so quiet, says kjellfrid
take my hand, says kjellfrid as erland
listen, says kjellfrid
the sounds of moonlight cratering against the pines and, says kjellfrid as erland
will this, we, says kjellfrid
soon we will row out to each other and make quiet introductions with lips of heavy water that will hold the way under moon light of indian summer sky, says kjellfrid as erland
yes, says kjellfrid
soon, i must leave, says kjellfrid as erland
but, says kjellfrid
and erland begins walking and kjellfrid stands and erland continues walking and kjellfrid hides her face from view and erland keeps walking and keeps walking and keeps walking and keeps walking
and kjellfrid lifts her head and erland is resting his oars and looking back at kjellfrid but kjellfrid is again unable to speak and only understands language in fingernails muscles cavities airways and mucus secretions and the water is still and the far wall of the horizon flutters and a dim glow appears towards one extreme of the horizon and taped floorboards nails hastily hammered glued sheets of darkness tacked orbs of cotton as crescent moon begin crumbling and kjellfrid opens her mouth again to shout to her beloved but her vessel begins closing around her and her folds and cavities ache and the darkness of her vessel
vi. vessel at midnight, an observation
and kjellfrid begins counting fingernails kept in her birdnest and she imagines she is a mother bird who is taking care of her young and she slowly carefully lovingly places more nails into the nest and looks out towards the center of the fjord and kjellfrid feels herself becoming undone and this is all too much and as taped joints begin sagging from sockets her glued frame begins losing it’s shape erland can be seen rowing his vessel ever closer to the center of the fjord and kjellfrid realizes the moon is sharp and a great sadness fills her diaphram and by the light of the projector’s flickering nebula-pattern refracted over the desolate topography of a continuous blackness settling over the fjord kjellfrid writes the scaline angles of her mind with her most prized fingernails
and the half life of this vessel a flotation
above body levitated above body
dusk over forest seen from below
is equivalent to the thought
that i am out somewhere apart from myself
and i am investigating the sea bed
and on calm evenings i row out to you
this heaviness the night
is yours
ours
and kjellfrid raises her head and watches erland rowing with oars that are tusks of pine shaped as colonies of trails as paint-dripping quasars at night and erland has become in triplicate and his body flickers gently and it is though kjellfrid can see through him if only momentarily and kjellfrid looks down at her hands and remembers when he pulled her aside by the window when these great iron-fastened nights were fewer and said i want to be there with you now and year from now and a year from now into infinity and kjellfrid remembers sleep patterns of dream sequences filled with forest families and tender angles
endless darkness, says kjellfrid
almost probably, says kjellfrid as erland
why has it become so quiet, says kjellfrid
take my hand, says kjellfrid as erland
listen, says kjellfrid
the sounds of moonlight cratering against the pines and, says kjellfrid as erland
will this, we, says kjellfrid
soon we will row out to each other and make quiet introductions with lips of heavy water that will hold the way under moon light of indian summer sky, says kjellfrid as erland
yes, says kjellfrid
soon, i must leave, says kjellfrid as erland
but, says kjellfrid
and erland begins walking and kjellfrid stands and erland continues walking and kjellfrid hides her face from view and erland keeps walking and keeps walking and keeps walking and keeps walking
and kjellfrid lifts her head and erland is resting his oars and looking back at kjellfrid but kjellfrid is again unable to speak and only understands language in fingernails muscles cavities airways and mucus secretions and the water is still and the far wall of the horizon flutters and a dim glow appears towards one extreme of the horizon and taped floorboards nails hastily hammered glued sheets of darkness tacked orbs of cotton as crescent moon begin crumbling and kjellfrid opens her mouth again to shout to her beloved but her vessel begins closing around her and her folds and cavities ache and the darkness of her vessel