NEW DEVELOPMENTS

My wife gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, Berlin, mid September and life has been kind of hectic ever since. Definitely better, but definitely more hectic and less restful. My wife was thinking of starting a blog for expectant and current Latina moms because she says there is a derth of Latinas writing about their rearing experiences.

So, in case you haven't heard, Hinchas de Poesia is ready to unleash its third issue of poetry and art. The images and banners for the third issue were taken from a sketch book I unearthed a while ago, before I went to grad school in Massachusetts.

You can catch a sneak peek at the Contents page here. As you can tell, we tried to put the FB recommend button on each and every page and a counterso that our fans on FB could recommend our pages to other readers. Highlights from the issue include, Challengers of the Universe, an exhibit of comic art at Florida International University and the series, Dead in the Spring, by photographer Michelle Cura.

Also, the author of "Compound Memorandum" (Hinchas de Poesia Press, 2010) James Foley, a journalist covering the war in Afghanistan, got a video he shot on the CBS Evening News with Katie Couric. The video he shot was first seen on Global Post, an international journo website. It was picked up shortly thereafter and James Foley was given full credit for his work.

The Hinchas de Poesia Press profile for MagCloud is available here. Currently, we are still hawking, Odas a Futbolistas and Postcard Feat. We are thinking of adding at least two new publications before the year is out, Rubberroom by Yago S. Cura and illustrated by Chaz Folgar and a publication by Francis Raven, an artist coming out in the third issue of Hinchas.

FIRST LINE FROM MERTON'S ASIAN JOURNAL FOR JAMES FOLEY

I have not yet seen the cathedral, which is probably confusing rather than evident.
The university rector with the husky eyes I saw in the corridor between Times Square and Port Authority.
I had really wanted to see that professor that told us to embrace our hate like a lice covered baby.
Part of this is I know how much Merton stewarded you through that morality spell you passed through halfway through the writer factory.
The other part is infidel gadzookery, serial bus cosmicosmics, and knee-jerk ribbing pustule consulate, a sort of foreign service officer of the heart.
Did we or did we not go to his quaint ashram and drape mary one all over the lingams?
And who the fuck was I to get my alien husbandry degree from a coffer of empanadas?
Let me tell you who you were. You were taut laundry, a hanky with gumption
on the prowl for the perennials were exploding their bottom switches.
The wattage of bar music in yellow light from the fly trap ply.
I spent all my quarters in beat-up pool tables, and you, you we had to entice from the rafters.