lost elation

Ridgwell

ON THE SIDE

LATEST LIT FIEND NEWS FROM THE OFFICE OF THE LOST ELATION

compiled by Abbie Foxton

hanzir

HANZIR

Brand new and spanking words from around the world, Hanzir journal of poetry and short stories is the latest release from Pig Ear Press,

How exotic can you get? This one outta the Meditteranean island jewel of Gozo. Joe Ridgwell is no stranger to these purveyors of original minds. His work has been guillotined, hand sewn and painstakingly letter pressed before. The choice of paper used meticulously chosen via star charts, gsm decided by wizards so that it is able hold the weight of words from some of the worlds greatest underground writers. There are still copies of Joe’s perfect tasters Mexico and Jamaica on their shelves, but word spreads quick and a few more will no doubt be snapped up once all the Lit Fiends hear news of it.  You! get the chance to own a limited edition and I can tell ya, do it once and you soon get the taste for it.

But it’s not just the artistry of bookbinding at play here. Oh no, no, no. It’s the stories and thoughts inside that will drive this and future journals. This time Joe has a piece of polaroid fiction called Acapulco Gold. Sharing the bind is Canadian writer and previous Pig Ear Press published author Stephen Hines. His book of short stories The Late Season has received great reviews and besides re reading Ridgwell’s releases was a personal favourite of mine last year and is available through the brilliant London based publisher Tangerine Press. There is also Mather Schneider whose snippets of work I have read recently and encourage you to find more starting here. Everyone else is a who’s who of writers that I should and will know very soon. Poetry by Howie Good, Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Tina Cryer, Claudia Bierschenk, John Dorsey, Henry Denander & Alexander Adams

Only 50 numbered copies (make that 49 and the countdown begins) so get yours here

 

Out To Lunch

Latest post from P.A to the literary underground, Abbie Foxton

secretaries in the 1960s (29)

It’s never easy to catch the tiger by the tail. But at least I have a new desk and can smoke inside. “Mr Ridgwell will see you in a moment” seems to be my mantra, might as well pull the string on my back. Even I can’t get a look in these days. But this is what we craved yes? The big picture fame, make your bed and all that, best just lie back in the memory foam and think of England.

One blessing, these long lunches he’s been havin’ with publishers gives me a well earned break from the phones. Though I was left with the brief before the door swung hard. “You know what to do Foxy! Weekly post by COB! and no skimping on the adoration”

So I’ve been checking the graphs and whiteboard and I see besides some perfect submissions to some of his favourite and most respected zines and publishers, (more on those in future posts) Joe is riding high. What else can one do when the cards are turned and all you see are diamonds? Play ya hand.

News of the week has to be that received from the brilliant Chiron Review.  Three poems highlighting Joe’s sixth collection of poetry called Cosmic Gigantic Flywheel, will be included in an upcoming edition. Quite an honour and I know Joe respects and admires this publication very much. The Chiron Review contains high quality writers from around the world and reading about publisher Michael Hathaway’s early beginnings and philosophy is an inspiring story in itself. So with Cosmic Gigantic Flywheel due to be published this year by Lenka Editions in Paris, fans can be temporarily satiated by these beauties.

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The poems I mean…Oh well, if you must Mr Ridgwell, over to you!

Tugboat aficionados! After a barren few months, we’re now back on ye olde wanking track. And now this, not one but two Super 8mm eyeball twirlers from the 4th Emergency Service’s Top Gun Room. Now hold tight, not yet, net yet, steady, steady…una dos tres – take a boat to England baby, maybe to Spain, where ever I have gone…

 

 

 

Axe Murderers, Dungeons & Odes To Old Witches

Guest Blog Post by Abbie Foxton

 

Ridgwell

It had been too long and so I had to take action.

“What the fuck have you been up to Joe?”

“Easy Foxy, what’s with the desperate eyes and collar holding? Way too much to tell ya …”

There was the usual barrage of excuses for why he had been so quiet, meetings with publishers, photo shoots, lunch with Kate. I said put down the Courvoisier for a minute and fill me in so I can let your readers know what is actually happening down at Hacienda Ridgwell.

Besides spending a long white winter knuckling into edits, Ridgwell has been in heavy negotiations on at least four other releases. Now it’s been a few years since the dust settled after the accolades of his mind blowing novel Burrito Deluxe, but I can tell you it’s going to be a big year so more news as the ink dries.

Though what I can tell you devoted ones, is that his much anticipated Beach Poems will be published this summer by Bottle Of Smoke Press. Having had a sneaky butcher’s myself, I can tell ya that this is a little masterpiece, that has a unique style and mood and I cannot wait to hold it and give it a good going over.

In the meantime, there is a sweet taster of fine fiction over at  BOLD MONKEY ‘s blog He sure has the eye for great underground writers and is one to follow. His amazing taste and forethought to feature the one and only Joseph Ridgwell on his page is an excellent move. Here, one can feast their eyes on The Mysterious Mad Axe Murderer of Kings Cross, a little side story from his time down under and off shoot of his amazing novel Last Days Of The Cross plus a few gems from his upcoming poetry collection Wolf Star.

But jump into the blog quick. There, for a limited time only, you get to bare witness to the makings of another Ridgwell classic. Not one, ladies and gentlemen, but two, opening chapters to Joe’s upcoming novel Civil Service, dedicated to all the millions of workers sitting in offices all over the world, staring into computer screens, and dreaming of freedom…

So glad I can finally sleep tonight.

Hmmm, there’s something missing, no Lost Elation blog post is complete without a little dessert.

Now, its over to Commodore Ridgwell to get all you tugboat officiandos over the line, we know it’s the only reason why you stop by,

Land Ahoy!

 

Ok, you seedy tug boat ultras. I’ve neglected you sordid wankers for way, way, way too long. In fact I’ve abandoned you five knuckle shuffle specialists for so long that I even began to feel a little guilty about it. So to compensate you crazy screwballs I’ve raided the 4th Emergency Service’s hallowed Top Gun room, and come up with a bona-fide Super 8mm willy stiffening optic crunching scintillating sizzler! Uno dos tres, Ha, ha said the clown, has the king lost his crown, is the night being tight on romance…

 

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Beermat’s a Go-Go

Okay, Lit fiends, languishing in cockroach infested bedsits all over the world, gather round and listen in. I know what you’re thinking, where the fuck are all the new Ridgwell books? We’re starving out here, we’re losing the will to live, we’ve dumped our partners, friends and relatives, and still no more Ridgwell Biblo’s, ahaha, arghh, boo hoo, ooh, ooh arhhhh. Well stop snivelling and take heed. Who needs books when you’ve got beer matts!!

Feast your optics on these mothers, soon to be adorning the glass-topped tables of boozers, pubs, and decrepit hostelry’s all over Old Blighty.

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To obtain a signed copy of one of these unique literary Beer Mat’s click on the link below and start pumping those PayPal buttons. Although maybe leave it a few weeks as I’ve yet to sign the fuckers. Well, you know how it is, there’s just so many other things to do with my life, like going surfing, staring at a paperclip, deep-sea fishing, stamp collecting, that sort of life-affirming shit.

Paper & Ink

And, if that ain’t enough, keep you’re sordid eyes peeled and ear-wax encrusted lugholes open for news of an upcoming collection of poetry – The Lost Beach Poems – coming to you very, very soon, via the legendary Bottle of Smoke Press – and there’s more, so very much more, but as it stands I’m not at liberty to reveal anything just yet, copyright issues, government health warnings, and so on and so forth….

Tug-boat fashionistas. Stay gripped and check out this Super 8mm eyeball lido slush, amaze-ball scandaliser!

Look at all the tired horses in the sun, how I am supposed to get any writing done, hmmmmmm….

 

kinky

 

Dog Days…

Well lit fiends, we are about to witness the end of another year and what have we done? Or what hast thou done, or even what has God wrought! As usual the human situation remains the same, fucked up. But we live in hope for better things, a better life, or a groovier way of living.

Maybe the hermits were right, go find an old cave and live in it for the rest of your fading years. And why are all hermits male? Or is a female hermit a bag lady? Or maybe the war mongers are right, kill as many of the fuckers as you can, in the name of democracy, religion, family or whatever, and then die happy. Or maybe the money makers are right – spend your entire life in the accumulation of as much filthy lucre as possible, whilst at the same time fucking over as many of your fellow humans beings as you can. And maybe the marketing gimps are right, people are as thick as shit, so we can sell them any old crap, even their own!

Or maybe Ronnie and Ridgwell were right in Burrito deluxe – just follow the sun…

 

Or maybe, just maybe – our perky milk race fanatics are right – wank yourself into oblivion!

And in the face of that devastating philosophical illumination – here’s another Super 8mm eyeball scorcher for you randy existentialist’s…

blinding

 

Ridgwell walks off into the sunset…

Lit Fiends of the world, now gather round and listen to my sad tale. I bet you’ve been wondering why there’s been so little activity on this site in recent months. I bet this anomaly has been playing on your mind day in and day out, keeping you awake at night, leading to recurring nightmares that there might never be another Ridgwell book ever again, and your lonely life in bedsitter land just won’t be worth living. Well fear not.  I’ve been busy writing, not surfing the web like countless other feeble-minded geeks. Man, they can’t stay away from the internet, they’re all saddled with a serious fucking monkey on their backs. In fact it’s bigger than a monkey, it’s a fucking gorilla, silverback an all. What happened to the days when people went out, you know like down the pub to have a chinwag with their mates whilst at the same time ogling the barmaids thrupenny bits? Anyway, I digress, for five years I’ve been blogging on this site and I think that most would agree that’s long enough for one man, even a man of my immense talent. That’s right, I’m calling it a day. Yes, there have been highs and lows, more highs than lows, but when the going gets tough the tough get the fuck out. The final straw that broke the weasel’s back was the revelation that readers of this site were now and again subject to capitalism’s most nauseous machination, that of the Advert. That’s right advertisements, marketing gimps polluting my site with their infantile sales gimmicks. Really, everyone involved in advertising must be retarded or something, with the lame duck ideas they bombard the unfortunate public with. Whatever it is you’ve got to sell I’m not interested.

Anyway, don’t believe me, watch the master in action.

I’ll let this site hang out in an obscure corner of the world wide web, floating on the information super highway like some weird Hubble bubble. Maybe I’ll even update the publications page once in a while. For more Ridgwell books are coming and coming soon, so don’t say you haven’t been warned and start saving those dollars, pounds, and pesos, and keep those sweaty fingers of yours hovering over those PayPal buttons.

2017 has been a quiet year for me publication wise, but 2018 promises to be a bumper year for Ridgwell books, and remember he who laughs last is the master. So now all that’s left to say is goodbye my fellow lit fiends, adios amigos, sayonara, adieu, so long, farewell, Toodle-pip. Yes, yes, you can watch as I walk off into the sunset, cold beer in hand, and a head full of dreams, wondering where the time goes and what will become of me. Sure we’ll meet again, it’s just I don’t know where and I don’t know when. Ah, weep not for me fellow literary comrades for I must continue on my lonely road, always seeking illuminations, always in search of the lost elation wherever he or she maybe. No. no, now now, there’s a good lit fiend, don’t cry, be a man or a woman, and hold your head up high….

Milk Race Fans – I know you’ll be weeping into your Kleenex, moved to tears because this is the last time you’ll get any Super 8mm action from old Ridgwell. Well. I’m afraid the time has come and remember nothing good lasts forever. But to compensate you for the void that now appears in your depraved and perverted little lives I’ve saved the best till last. Feast yours crazy screwball optics on this 4th Emergency Service Top Gun Room eyeball cruncher. Yes, here it is in all it’s legendary 8mm glory. The one and only, the pic everyone in the know talks about in hushed conspirator tones. Does it really exist? Of course if fucking does. Now una, dos, tres – Everybody’s got new clothes, makes me feel kinda old….

sJAC4

And here’s a couple of pomes taken from my latest collection – Cosmic Gigantic Flywheel – publication of which is imminent, just like nuclear war between the States and North Korea is imminent. Hopefully it will remind you of the times we’re living in and no matter how bad things seems, hope is all you need to carry on. And remember do everything whilst young and don’t leave anything too late, for there’s nothing worse than too late!

notes from the underground – hand job anthology

Lit Fiends of the world take heed. A small press revolution is currently underway and even I – the Head Honcho lit fiend – am finding it hard to keep up with the strange and new publications flying through the letterbox of Ranchlette Ridgwell at an ever increasing rate of doormat thuds! So jump from beneath that spunk-stained and foundation marked duvet, light up a roach from the congested ashtray lying on your bedside table, grab the half empty can of fosters next to said ashtray, take a swig, and feast your mince pies on the wonderful Hand Job Zine Anthology published by Hi-Vis press and available to order here: Hi Vis Press

The construction of the book is worth the price alone and the press and the zine have come up with something totally unique and original! it has to be seen to appreciate the  craftsmanship involved.

And what of the writing, poetry and artwork contained within, I hear you mumble. Lit Fiend gold dust is what’s inside and the line up is a stellar one. But I’m not going to name names or give you a freebie glimpse. No, to achieve that mind-bending aim you’ll have to buy a copy. And move fast or forever feel left out in the literary cold like a dry lunch.

It’s all happening! With the anthology came a copy of the review zine Urban F – courtesy of the Queen of the Underground – Abbie Foxton. Inside it’s small press review city – with an excellent review of my road novel – Burrito Deluxe

And there’s more – more zines, Razur Cuts, Glove & Con to name but a few!

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The roll call of small press publishers reads like a who’s who of the global small press world.

Suitably impressed? I should think so you depraved bibliophiles. Now start pumping those paypal buttons like an amaze-balled sex maniac!

Tug Boat Champions. Blink and you’ll miss this Super 8mm stunner from the Fourth Emergency Service’s Top Gun room. Uno, dos, one, two, tres, quatro. Matty told Hatty about a thing she saw. Had two big horns and a wooly jaw. Wooly bully, wooly bully
Wooly bully, wooly bully, wooly bully…

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