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(4) | Keine | Bill Brown's Dream Whip zine is a raw little chunk of America, full of darkened crop-fields and desert moonlight and sad, empty diners. In its 14th issue, Dream Whip is a zine with some history behind it. "I was skateboarding one night, back in early '90s," Bill explains over email. "It was late, and it was cold. I hit a rock and, suddenly, I was lying on my back and the sky was full of shooting stars. I was dizzy for a year. I started doing a zine to take my mind off my broken head. I finally got better, more or less, but the zine kept going." The long-running Dream Whip is an informed, articulate, patient piece of existential storytelling. In a tone that's half Ira Glass, half Cometbus, Bill's 344-page pocket-size 14th issue gives us stories of biblical theme parks and border-crossers, of Dutch punks and haunted houses. His is a wide-spanning, optimistic, Technicolored America, more Woody Allen than Kerouac, but always on the road. As says Bill, "Dream Whip is a bad country song full of open roads and achy hearts and ratty motel rooms where I take stock of how many miles I've gone and how many I've still got to go."… (mehr) |
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Die Informationen stammen von der englischen "Wissenswertes"-Seite. Ändern, um den Eintrag der eigenen Sprache anzupassen. "In San Diego, strangers don't talk to each other in person, but leave notes under each other's [car windshield] wiper blades. Lots of notes, complaining about stolen parking spaces or confessing to dented fenders. Hate notes and love notes and advertising flyers for Chinese take out. Some people read the notes and some people don't bother. Instead they drive onto the freeway and let the wind take care of the rest." | |
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▾Literaturhinweise Literaturhinweise zu diesem Werk aus externen Quellen. Wikipedia auf EnglischKeine ▾Buchbeschreibungen Bill Brown's Dream Whip zine is a raw little chunk of America, full of darkened crop-fields and desert moonlight and sad, empty diners. In its 14th issue, Dream Whip is a zine with some history behind it. "I was skateboarding one night, back in early '90s," Bill explains over email. "It was late, and it was cold. I hit a rock and, suddenly, I was lying on my back and the sky was full of shooting stars. I was dizzy for a year. I started doing a zine to take my mind off my broken head. I finally got better, more or less, but the zine kept going." The long-running Dream Whip is an informed, articulate, patient piece of existential storytelling. In a tone that's half Ira Glass, half Cometbus, Bill's 344-page pocket-size 14th issue gives us stories of biblical theme parks and border-crossers, of Dutch punks and haunted houses. His is a wide-spanning, optimistic, Technicolored America, more Woody Allen than Kerouac, but always on the road. As says Bill, "Dream Whip is a bad country song full of open roads and achy hearts and ratty motel rooms where I take stock of how many miles I've gone and how many I've still got to go." ▾Bibliotheksbeschreibungen Keine Bibliotheksbeschreibungen gefunden. ▾Beschreibung von LibraryThing-Mitgliedern
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Having been a fan of this zine for a while, I knew this thick paperback issue would not disappoint. Bill’s words are like fibrous lengths of jute, and he threads them around and through your mind until you’re all bound up in his sprawling travel tales. He’s quietly opinionated, and although he never divulges too much of himself, by the end of his stories he’s dropped enough strategic hints that you get some kind of picture of who he is. Maybe it’s not always the same portrait, but I think it’s probably pretty close. Straightforward, calming yet wistful prose that reads well under a big cottonwood tree in the waning afternoon light, or anywhere, really. The tales are interspersed with Bill’s little descriptive drawings. Highly recommended. ( )