LN Info & Submissions

SUMMER 2018 ISSUE:
“FALUTINISM”
(Parody Issue)
Call for Submissions
Deadline: May 1, 2018
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Local Nomad’s summer 2018 issue will focus on “Falutinism in the 21st Century.” Is it still relevant, or did its cat-hair brushes and steam-driven beaters expire with a sigh when the digital arts were born? Would a revival make our country great again? While this issue features the work of visual artists, we also call on poets and essayists to draw on the influences of both “Low” and “High” Falutinsm as well as the many cheesy layers in between.

Explore the movement’s corporeal (even rotting) sensibilities, its hirsute challenges to capitalism, and famously sensual relation to poetry and the physical act of writing.

Whether you take your cues from d’Bouillie or Carnaptur, or break away to explore new territory, we want to see how you relate the movement to our grim reality today.

If Falutinism is new to you, see M. A. Fink‘s essay, “An Historical Summary of Falutinism” (click on the pdf image to enlarge), an excellent overview of this challenging, conflicted, yet undoubtedly egregious art movement. Think of it as required reading.

P.S.: Have fun with this…

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Local Nomad publishes mostly poems and art (including audio & video) online, as well as works of short-short or flash fiction and non-fiction by both emerging and established artists. We do not limit submissions to specific genres or aesthetics, but admit we’re partial to experimental/exploratory forms (for example, oulipo, vispo, and conceptual poetry), magical realism and surrealism, as well as speculative forms (fiction, poetry, art that explores the terrain of “what if?”). We welcome perspectives from a variety of cultures, ages, lifestyles, and migratory routes. Each issue revolves around a broad theme, which can be approached in any number of ways. Non-fiction essays focus on the arts, especially writing and visual art; but we’ll consider other non-fiction topics, including reviews and the personal essay, if the content and language is thought-provoking and well-written.

Submission guidelines:
Before submitting your work, check the deadline and theme for the next issue. You may submit no more than 5 poems or 3 works of art (digital file) for any one issue. You may submit up to 3 works of flash fiction, 1 work of short-short fiction, or 1 work of non-fiction related to the current theme. We accept simultaneous submissions. Send your work by email to localnomad@outlook.com. Include a short introductory note with brief bio information, and attach your submission. Art or photograph submissions should be fairly large, at least 1200 by 1500 px, and sent as jpg. Flash fiction: no more than 150 words. Short-short fiction should be no longer than 1,000 words, and non-fiction (including reviews) no more than 1,500 words.

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What is Local Nomad? In 2008 I sold my house in suburbia and moved to rural Elkhorn (between Salinas and Monterey). Feeling torn from my roots and community, I started a blog (which later became this journal of writing and art). I recorded my process of getting to know the new neighborhood, set in the midst of the agricultural fields of the Pajaro and Salinas Valleys; “rural” yes—but also the home of huge “factory” farms, the area’s billion dollar industry. As technology continued its speedy and never-ending evolution—even as the economy sank—I sensed that I was not alone in never feeling rooted again.* We are all nomads to our communities and to the earth, no matter how much we tout the necessity of living “local.” Thus, the inherent contradiction of the term “Local Nomad”: our lives seem local to some extent, but our humanity and this always-after-modernity move us in directions that we can only guess at from one moment to the next. Our literature and art flicker like the note played in Gustaf Sobin’s poem, “Tremolo”: “neither the dark breeze in all its delectation nor the / wild / ruffled foliage, but the wobbling of the / either…” —Jean Vengua

*I have moved twice since I wrote the above paragraph. I now live in Monterey, in — of all things — a priest’s house. Long story. I’ll tell it one day.

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“…It seemed to me as I stood there before the glass case, grubby and jetlagged, that human beings when they became upright aspired to two conditions: becoming birds or becoming trees, wanderers or settlers, oscillating between their roots and their wings, exiled whichever way they turned.” — A Book of Migrations, Rebecca Solnit

poetry + art + media + prose