My BIO | My Accomplishments | My News | My Favorite Links | Residence Info | My Books
SAMPLE ARTICLES:

  1. Review of Apocalypse Now: Redux
  2. Almost Daily Report 19th VIFF (From Terminal City)
  3. DIY (From "The Loop" 2001)
  4. I Sold, And Bought, And Sold My Soul On Ebay (The Loop 2201)
  5. Will The Revolution Be Televised? (The Republic of East Van. 2002)

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  JOE BURGESS   

I have done many and varied "jobs" whilst supporting my writing "hobby". I want it to be t'other way 'round.

I'm about 39 with a Degree in Film Studies, and a Diploma in Interactive Multimedia. I have over 15 years experience as a freelance wirter, graphic designer, self-publisher, film critic, and blogger.

MY ACCOMPLISHMENTS:
  • Recently returned from Teaching English in Japan, (for three years) with sterling letters of reccomendation from the President of the company.
  • Self Published my own book of poetry (see below) called "Like Bukowski In Drag" under my own Somewhere Publish Empire imprint. The 1st run of 150 books sold out, in bookstores around Vancouver and the second run sold 100+ copies.
  • Self Published with myself as Artist and working with another writer, a small press comic called "Somewhere", also under the "Somewhere Publishing Empire imprint. We published 3 issues over 2 years, selling quite well for and Indy Comic.
  • Wrote Film Reviews/ Feature articles/Interviews for "Terminal City", The Loop (now defunct), and The Republic Of East Vancouver Newspaper from 1997 -2002.

MY NEWS:

I want to create a lot of different opportunities for myself to earn my living using my new teaching skills, as well as my skills and talent for writing, design, and communication.

MY FAVORITE LINKS:

MY RESIDENCE INFO:

City: Vancouver
State/Country: BC, Canada

BOOKS PUBLISHED:

BookA short poem from "Like Bukowski In Drag"

My dream on the eve of Kathleen's birthday.

Here is where we end thismidnight century

on your breathless laughing words
I turn and run wild from my eyes
into a blindness you compose
of red smoke and endless roses.
You cleave my dry heart
of stone and water falls amidst
my prayer of thumbs
in your skelter of hair.
I am sidled into an epileptic rhapsody.
A murder of crows circle
staccato through the past while I whisper
around your words.
I swim with
fingers of light and morning upon your lips.
My persistent pink clouds
grace your ocean of eyes with hints of rime
as embers of my silence dream of a kiss.


Here is where we end this midnight century.
 
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