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  • Hours Tue-Fri 11-8pm, Sat-Sun 12-5pm, Closed Mon
Event Calendar
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readings & workshops
December 3

Ultimate Truth Poetry Reading and Book Release

readings & workshops
December 6

Heddy Keith author of Through it All

readings & workshops
December 9

Poetry Reading: Tonya M. Foster & Samiya Bashir

performances
December 10

Alternating Currents Live presents Nicole Mitchell Quartet

exhibitions
December 15 - Jan 28

Text, Textile, Exile: Works by Maria Damon

special events
January 27 -28

24th Annual Poetry Marathon & Benefit

William Fuller

William Fuller's recent books include Hallucination(Flood Editions, 2011),Three Replies (Barque Press, 2008), Watchword(Flood Editions, 2006), and Sadly (Flood Editions, 2003). He has worked in the Trust Department of Chicago's Northern Trust Company for twenty-seven years; he is currently Chief Fiduciary Officer. 

"William Fuller's Hallucination negotiates between worlds of the living and the dead, shifting mercurially from verse to prose and from parody to parable. Along the way, Fuller draws our attention to the ineffable qualities of experience, proposing that "Matter is a fog one looks through toward pale headlights . . ." Through these glancing observations and surreal memoranda, the mysteries appear more vivid, our follies more desperate and absurd."
 

Selected Poems

Puyana


William Fuller

 

Many things that are foreseen cannot be addressed owing to the

unforeseeable. For example, when the people came looking for us, we were

nowhere to be found, which they had not foreseen. Because this happens

repeatedly over long periods of time we are hard-pressed to know how to

develop this observation or even if we should do so. If every act is

incommensurable with every other act we can never achieve scale. While

each of us grasps the point, nobody bothers to study it. Truly it is the only

thing worth considering—the one thing—from accumulation to preparation to

'gone, gone, gone beyond'—that repays emphasis on its orthography, so to

speak, its ever-fleeting form that one knows has to be present, behind

events, causing us to think of them as events to begin with, wringing that

term out of somewhere (I hear myself saying)—some pragmatic haze where

work gets done to no purpose other than that its doing had been foreseen. 
 


White Sky
 

These nails are worthless (except for drawing blood). My least favorite monk

came down to expound doctrine. We sat there for some time looking at one

another and I was in particular studying a certain motor phenomenon that

held my attention despite the heavyweight micro-effects lightly convulsing

along my skin. Back inside everyone walked around oblivious as usual but I

noticed their folders were full of tiny eyes looking out, searching for and then

locking in on a rationalist legacy or style of being that confused me, so I

came here to your shade. Afterwards we fell asleep in an abandoned village

and were incapable of waking because my brain had honored a statement of

purpose inconsistent with full consciousness. So these lines were written in

the dark, as we sojourned here and there, the vegetation slowly withering,

and the city of the gods receding ever further in front of us, until we lost all

interest in pursuing it.