And thus concludes everyone’s favourite year. Thankfully my intense denial has rendered me immune from horrifying global events as thoroughly as though I were in my own lead-lined bunker, though with fewer rotting canned goods and slightly more daylight. Though I’m certain 2017 won’t disappoint in terms of increasingly less abstract horrors, for now I’ll be looking back at some of my favourite events from what has actually been a pretty successful year. You know, aside from all the bombings, …
Like much of the world, I’m writing this in a sleep-deprived haze, an orange phantom haunting my dreams and walling off sleep. This isn’t a surprise, it’s been creeping in plain sight, stalking the borders of our conscience. The latest dreaded signpost to something increasingly difficult to avoid:
The political center is dead
And its death cries have been echoing for years, ever since markets crashed and the pockets of the poor were picked for their rebuilding. they’re in the rattling gasps …
[TRANSCRIPT; SEPT 2016]
MISSING PERSON A: I hope this works, I really do.
MISSING PERSON B: It has to.
MISSING PERSON C: Do you really think he’ll listen? Lately he’s been–
MISSING PERSON B: Quiet, here he comes. Hi, Redfern!
ME: Oh wow, all my friends and family are here? Is this a party?
MISSING PERSON A: No, this is–
ME: How thoughtful! And only 11 months before my birthday!
MISSING PERSON A: –an intervention, we’re worried about–
ME: Still, you might have got some balloons, it’s quite drab …
(This interview originally appeared on Queer Voices, 14 April 2016.)
An English Professor at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, Brett Josef Grubisic writes fiction, arts journalism, and scholarship. He’s published three novels:The Age of Cities, This Location of Unknown Possibilities, From Up River and For One Night Only. Other projects include Contra/Diction, Carnal Nation, Understanding Beryl Bainbridge, National Plots, American Hunks, and Blast, Corrupt, Dismantle, Erase: Contemporary North American Dystopian Literature.
I spoke with Brett about teenage dreams, queer loving, and sex …
Spring for writers in 2016 is much like spring will be for everyone in 2116: it’s that time of year when you get to eat discounted chocolate eggs, insert a slightly brighter bulb into your desk-side SAD lamp, and conjure up the increasingly distant memory of flowers.
(Pretty sure that’s it.)
If you’re anything like me (and the increasingly concerned looks from those around you will confirm that you are), it’s also the traditional time for taking stock of everything you’ve accomplished this …