(x-h)^2 + (y-k)^2 = r^2

The girls stand smoking outside of Baker Hall they stand
in a circle, as any three girls will, unless they stand
in a line. Nearby another slouches, watching. He imagines
three wizards, standing each on the side of a regular
triangle, with the regular number of sides. The stand also
in a circle, but the boy does not imagine the circle. Two
of the wizards are blue, the third both red and green. Only
one wears a robe. Each of the wizards remembers seven things,
and the three of them must fight, but have very weak arms.
Each, in turn, steals a memory from another, making it her
own. After three rounds, each a trip around the circle,
which wizard will silence a sob, and which cry out. For
which, from the information given, can it be determined that
this, all of this, can no longer be borne?

Review of Secret-Muslim's Terre Haute Secret-Headquarters

In a perfect world, we w-
ould not need the righte-
ous civs lessons of Secr-
et-Muslim's Terre Haute
Secret-Headquarters: the
film, with a non-white a-
ctor in a lead acting ro-
le, was so controversial
that it couldn't be film-
ed in the Deep South. Th-
e headquarters in questi-
on serves as a love nest,
a reckoning place and a
world apart from the one
a few thousand feet lowe-
r. They all make horrify-
ing discoveries. Sluggish
, uneven, and lacking in
rhythm, Secret-Muslim's
Terre Haute Secret-Headq-
uarters has enough pathos
and winning humor to ens-
ure national success (and
a share of foreign sales.)

Review of A Computer

A Computer is about the way violence
lurks just beneath the surface
of our day-to-day lives. It is never


explained why or how A Computer
can persevere without aging 
and change from a he into a she,


instilling itself with a subtle sense
of deception that can be somewhat
chilling. Awkard as the mix might


sound, A Computer ends up musing
perceptively on the American
dream of wanderlust and its 


unintended consequences. It also
touches on some of the subtler
points of attraction: when we fall


for A Computer, how do we know
how much of response is 
cerebral and how much is erotic?

Review of 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing

The 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing is about two remarkable women and their relationships with each other and with the men in their lives, the historical accuracy of which is practically nil. It has a couple of melodramatic turns, and the paternity revelation is delayed unconscionably, but viewers willing to buy into the premise might happily go along for the ride. For those who find it resistible, if not preposterous, however, The 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing proves a very long haul indeed, trapped on an exotic island where a variety of lunkheads are competing for $10 million. The prime contenstants are a nija princess, a pro wrestler, an an assasin-theif.

Review of The Secret Muslim

The Secret Muslim is an enchanting anthem to loserdom, 
with a smoldering confidence that takes your mind 


off of her not-always fluid dancing (although she's a perfectly 
fine hoofer, with majestic limbs and a commanding


cleavage). Both mythical and mundane -- a legend in the community 
who is at the same time all-too-distressingly mortal, 


The Secret Muslim's origins are uncertain, perhaps connected 
to aliens, but as the tale picks up steam


it makes no difference: nine people looking into the blackness
of space and seeing nine different things.

THE RENTAL TODAY PRESENTS: ANOTHER THING

The white door that doesn't open isn't, and the ceiling's painted dark. The windows aren't open because they don't. On the other side of the door, another. What lives here.

He stands one foot on the curb, one off, the collar of his jacket brushing against his thick neck. He itches in the old way. He seems to remember these pants having pockets, to remember having liked the hairs on the back of his hands brushing against the cotton. But anyway, there aren't any now. Shrugging, he walks anyway, hunching awkardly with every other step. He fidgets with his hands, reaching inevitably for the pack of cigarettes there's no way he brought with him, and itching in the new way as well. The road widens, the low brick sandwich shops and pawn shops giving way. The curb ends, and he stands flat on his feet, dust clinging to his soles. There are greens and browns, and a fox-colored blur, swallowed by the tall grass. Mostly he itches, and he was pretty sure there was a reason he was here. His eyes water, and there isn't a reason to fight it. It probably isn't why he made the walk, but usually it feels alright. He would give himself to it, the fetal-erotic, were it not for the small voice that says maybe this is the beginning of it all slipping away. The fat, sure, but you always lose muscle with it, and he has to conserve.

So why not follow the fox. The grass brushes his face as he leaves the road, but it's only another itch, and itches aren't cumulative. He pushes them aside with white, unsteady hands, pausing to hike up the sleeves of his jacket, unbutton and roll up the sleeves of his shirt. He sweats, of course, brown and green, and sweats, and only comes out the other side when he's sure he won't. Another blur, and he breaks into a slow jog across the low, gentle grass, green only. This is quickly abandoned, but he smiles at himself for having down it, bending over to pull his slacks loose again around thick calves. "Thick, thick, thick," he thinks, panting for breath, and looks up in time to see the blur disappear.

So he swaggers over to what he figures must be a hole, hands missing the pockets which aren't there. His tongue probes the empty space of a former tooth as he reaches it and looks down, sure enough, into a hole. Just a foxhole, though, not wide enough for like, a person. So he turns around, I guess?

Review of C.J. Cregg

I'll never forget learning about C.J. Cregg for the first time. I went to see Ani in Central Park, and Cregg was the opening act. She came across - a buoyant hand-clapping breakdown, a madly apreggiated chorus - with sensitivity as well as poignancy, a product of her ostensibly otherworldly lyrics. But she was complaining about having to meet with a group called Cartographers for Social Equality, and wanted to know what mapmakers had to do with social equality. Uneasy rests the head that wears the crown, I guess.

Loratadine - A review by R. Hamilton

We are in a world 
where the seasons last 
several years. Summer wanes, 
and prognostica-


tions of doom are on-
ly enhanced by the 
appearance in the 
skies of a blazing 


red comet, held as 
omen both good and 
evil by the mass-
es and the high hous-


es alike. Some deep 
tones have started to 
creep into the sound-
track, along with some 


martial drums, and there 
is a good chance your 
favorite character 
may get killed off in 


some horrible fash-
ion. It's a bunch of 
cars going fast a-
round an oval. There, 


I'm done.

Review of The Procedure for Payment of Host Supervising Teachers

"All I can do is be me, whoever that is" - pretty much the 
 gist of The Procedure for Payment of Host Supervising Teachers, 
a classic, almost novel-length novella about a lecherous, 


 asthmatic debt collector who is also a werewolf and who, with 
his PI friend, finds himself hunting a killer who in turn hunts 
 werewolves. Does the moral structure of the children’s story — 


with its clearly marked poles of good and evil, its narrative 
 of dispossession and vindication — illuminate the nature of 
authoritarian rule? Or does The Procedure for Payment of Host 


 Supervising Teachers reveal fascism as a terrible fairy tale 
brought to life? (Whether anyone would rather see this than curl 
 up on the sofa with the latest episode of Slut Wars is a question.) 

Review of Summer Sweat

I have to admit to a certain reticence
when it comes to Summer Sweat;


following directions given by on-screen 
indicators, a haunting trip 


through the ruins of Chernobyl as a sniper 
in ghillie-suit camouflage, but


anything with people actually singing "ba-pah-
pah" makes it hard not to sing along.


If this sounds grandiose, so is Summer Sweat:
no words to remember, no words to forget.

Review of Tooth Decay

Tooth Decay begins with an unsettling 
story featuring a young boy recounting 
ghost stories that revolve around such 
diverse topics as unjust imprisonment, 
racism, and suicide, to which Thoreau 
tsk-tsks: "as if you could kill time 
without injuring eternity." This is an 
angst-filled game; a light-hearted 
simulation of the horrors of high school,
like a wink in an instant message.

Review of Commercials For Debt Relief Programs

Commercials for Debt Relief Programs will knock the breath out of you 
are batshit poetry will even reveal a modicum of anger Commercials 
for Debt Relief Programs are a risky, arrogant move
a feeling of the all thing a late-night a.m. radio haze
to the whole thing Commercials for Debt Relief Programs
are a special sensation at the centre of your body.

Review of The Escapist

Patience is a 
virtue here, and 
it's well rewarded. 
An alumnus 
of the battle, 

as well as Tennesee 
Tech University, 
where he majored 
in psychology, 
The Escapist

spends his best vitriol 
on the business, 
and when you look 
at all those words 
it is clear he 

used some of what 
he learned. He is 
a humane ironist, 
a lustful romantic, 
and a cheeky 

genre player! 
Yeah, he's kind of 
twee, but you don't 
need to wear glasses 
to see him or

Review of Chronic Bronchitis

Chronic Bronchitis (the name implies dexterity and 
     flexibility) is the last installment in a trilogy 
that began with an impossible bird. As such, it is obsessed 
     with the hemorrhaging of time: many songs here find R. 
Hamilton grasping at the stuff even as it spurts 
     through his fingers. It's not nostalgia 
that makes Chronic Bronchitis my favorite 
     compilation of 2005, though:  it's the thin black line; 
a guide, both for the surgeon and the scalpel.

Review of Danny Noriega

I will feel so proud when the reckoning arrives.

If you happen to be
in a rock band and you
don't happen to be eith-

er of the Danny Nor-
iegas it so sucks
to be you right now I
would've loved to have seen
the bottles and batt-

eries thrown at him if
he passed by CBGBs
during a hardcore mat-

inee circa nineteen-
ninety-one dressed like that
and parodying his
own style as he satir-
ized the country's foibles

Sometimes we laugh sometimes
we cry but the rapid
beat of the heart remains

Review of Married Women Who Are Drunk

Poet, novelist, Buddhist monk, renowned ladies' man;
in the past, I haven't tried too hard
to sway the unconvinced toward the charms
of Married Women Who Are Drunk - the
hallucinatory, Syd Barrett-like lyrics,
the everpresent flute, and the occasional
weird noise that, initially, doesn't sound
all that weird. Despite theoretical
obscure German influences, or partially
French voices, Married Women Who are Drunk
are enjoyable even without a foreign-
language degree. "Success has made a failure
of our home." Loretta Lynn said that.
Elvis Costello covered it once.

Review of Diet Mountain Dew

The introduction is slow and the music 
creates an image of Christ, suffering: the best 
sad songs have always had the appearence of happiness.
Diet Mountain Dew is unabashedly romantic, familiar, 
and not exactly groundbreaking; like how water goes down 
the drain backward in Australia, the loss 
of a favorite t-shirt to your former lover, and how 
it must feel to be razor stubble. On Diet
Mountain Dew, R. Hamilton gets specific in his vitriol.

Review of Bisected Neko

After flirting with a handful of major labels, 
the dead decide to stick to epitaphs, 
returning with Bisected Neko. The often 
enigmatic satyr challenges himself 
with some of the most supple, seductive, and accessible 


singing and songwriting of his career, "Posthumously, 
the dead acquire a mythic status" he sings, 
"potions, pills and medicines to ease 
your painful lives. They refuse to keep 
within any normal limits. They will fill you."

Review of Flying From Austin to Indianapolis

around 2pm one weekday a friend 
and i running errands were famished and 
he suggested flying from austin to 
indianapolis he said that ul-
timately we'd derive pleasure from to-
tally manufactured experience-
s hence the rise in theme parks and virtu-
al reality and the facts behind 
the vietnam war the cuban miss-
ile crisis and the civil rights movement 
an impatient ballet of subversions 
and expectations centered in gender 
power commerce violence and language all 
coated with dripping wet sound rank this mi-
nor success with hooky background music

Review of Flying From Indianapolis to Austin

Flying From Indianapolis to Austin might 
have been OK but our sexy waitress dropped 


the platter on our table. So R. Hamilton asked, 
"How many times do you think we're going 


to have to do this?" I wouldn't have minded
knowing that myself! What at first blush 


sounded like unhealthy entrenchment turned 
out to be a brilliant study in duality, as R. Hamilton 


and friends, seemingly in conversation with one another,
weighed the respective pulls of decadence and dependability. 


Certainly flawed, Flying From Indianapolis to Austin 
had its fair share of moments, leading viewers into corners 


 of insight. The tassels of poetic convention circa 1955  
came undone here, left in tatters.