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Rose McLaren

Rose McLaren is an artist in London.



Articles Available Online


Talk Into My Bullet Hole

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July 2015

Rose McLaren

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July 2015

‘Someday people are going to read about you in a story or a poem. Will you describe yourself for those people?’ ‘Oh, I don’t...

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May 2014

Art Does Not Know a Beyond: On Karl Ove Knausgaard

Rose McLaren

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May 2014

Karl Ove Knausgaard’s My Struggle has an oddly medieval form: a cycle, composed of six auto-biographical books about the...

The first time I think I saw Robinson? I’d have to have been leaving Yucaipa He was on an old bike, a rusted, duct- taped contraption I imagine must’ve squeaked and rattled from a loose chain or dust in the brakes… but I keep the music up when I drive, so I can’t re-place the sound, I can’t say there was a clatter-and-drag, whether it proceeded him, or enshrined him like some moving castle of music; Robinson Lonewolf, can you see him? the mad conductor, a gypsy percussive, orchestrating a synchronized cloud of ratcheting ticks No, I didn’t see his face Why d’you ask?   –What do I say of him being faceless? I can say I’m pretty sure it was him I know you know the trick with car mirrors   The second time? Years later I was in Red Rock country, north of Vegas, just off the 15 I passed a sign that read: Valley of Fire, and, Lake Mead and I swear I saw Robinson leaned against it just like that cowboy’s silhouette you hit in  Laughlin The neon one on the border of Nevada and California— He raised his arm too, dipped his hat brim like that as I passed him   –I saw stubble on his jaw, a chain at his throat and half a smile of white teeth No No bags with him   –He must’ve been headed north to— seemed he was hitching my side of the road   Significance of seeing Robinson? Stupid question Like, what color’s the air? Who cares I just see him when I see him   Yeah That was a bad one Two years locked up, San Bernardino County Detention   No He wasn’t I drove the car alone   Then it must’ve been Orange County, at a light Yeah it was late, just past the industrial part of town, you know, where that factory sends those plumes into the sky and that new hotel offsets ‘em like a Breughel painting? Hunting- ton Beach Boulevard, off the PCH?   –I don’t know I think he was on deck or in one of those drum circles that spring up ‘organically,’ you know? I saw a crowd piled up around him… Think of Robinson with one of those little monkeys that begs for dollars and change! How funny that’d be Yeah, I know why I’m here You sure you do?   No I haven’t seen him in Yucaipa for years Since

Contributor

August 2014

Rose McLaren

Contributor

August 2014

Rose McLaren is an artist in London.

The Prosaic Sublime of Béla Tarr

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Issue No. 6

Rose McLaren

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Issue No. 6

I have to recognise it’s cosmical; the shit is cosmical. It’s not just social, it’s not just ontological, it’s really huge. And that’s why we...
Stalker, Writer or Professor? Geoff Dyer's Zona and Genre

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February 2012

Rose McLaren

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February 2012

‘So what kind of a writer am I, reduced to writing a summary of a film?’ wonders Geoff Dyer half way through Zona. Such...

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fiction

November 2016

The Miserablist

Anne Boyer

fiction

November 2016

This vision was strongly nebulous, an indeterminate but bold reaction only because it was so much like one of...

poetry

May 2013

Ad Tertiam

Saskia Hamilton

poetry

May 2013

Rows of pines, planted years ago – so many, were you to count them on your fingers, you would...

Interview

Issue No. 12

Interview with Douglas Coupland

Tom Overton

Interview

Issue No. 12

Douglas Coupland likes crowdsourcing. I should know, because he crowdsourced me shortly after the first part of this interview....

 

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