You think something is gonna be there and then one day it's not. Now it's just an empty lot, a tree and a gate on a post. I have reason to believe that house was haunted--a music box on the other side of the room started playing by itself--but I know for a fact that this one is. Parts of me have died all over the place and I sit quietly in rooms with my ghosts. They are gaseous and they fill the spaces they're given. I'm always alone but never really. Maybe I'm the haunted one.

Got a text before nine AM today from a friend I left in Detroit--"Thanks so much for the new wave of books! Every issue of Clumsy is so intense I can hardly get through half a page before I have to take deep breaths and calm down."

Which, I guess some people might see as a bad thing, but I see it as a very very good thing. Maybe this is why people are afraid to talk to me at zine fests.

Clumsy #14 finds Aggie fresh out of ECT (electroconvulsive therapy) with a brain blasted full of holes and thinking about neighborhood demolition; looking back with purity on relationships past, graffiti, the ECT & Klonopin, a little scattershot & infinitely wise & bestfriend-y.

I want to make a blanket fort with her and listen to her tell me about all her disbelief & fury, recklessness, baby fever, eating disorders NOS, one sentence love letters, and trying to hold it all together under capitalism vs applying for disability. I want to go on walks and throw rocks off bridges with her and make her tell me all the secrets how to be this good of a writer and collage artist too.

Yet another gorgeous, haunted, homey installment in the Clumsy library with layouts that make my heart sing. Aggie's one of the best zinesters in the Midwest and I'll go to my grave carrying her banner.

This zine is 20 pages, quarter size (4.25 x 5.5), typed, fully collaged, and photocopied.