Echo’s Answer

Mehran, an old friend of mine, is the host of the radio show Echo’s Answer. The show from August 23rd featured an unreleased track coming out soon via the postcard series on Folktale Records. You can stream the show here:

you can download this unreleased former ghosts track from soundcloud

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"I had taken my manuscript out of my traveling bag and I’d seen at once that everything in my manuscript was all wrong, that I’d not only described some things badly, but that I’d described everything all wrong, because the opposite is true, so Roithamer. Yet I suddenly again felt like changing what I had done in years of hard effort into something else, suddenly on the train I was once more in the same state in which I’ve always been when I believed I was finished with something, at such a moment I know it’s all the other way round, and I’m willing to do it over the other way round. Little by little a new manuscript would be the result, as it is now again, an entirely different, new manuscript resulting from the destruction of the old one, but best of all was not to let a new one come into being, to stop making positive corrections, best to destroy it altogether, so Roithamer. When I make corrections, I destroy, when I destroy, I annihilate, so Roithamer. What I used to consider an improvement, formerly, is after all nothing but deterioration, destruction, annihilation. Every correction is destruction, annihilation, so Roithamer."

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I just purchased a subscription to the WWE Network so my free time is over. 

So in the meantime, watch my brother and I beat each other up in backyard wrestling via this Xiu Xiu video? 

Anonymous said: I just wanted to say, you and your art mean a lot to me. You told me once that things will sort themselves out and they did. I'm learning to see the good in life, like you told me to. Even when I'm depressed or suicidal, I come back to the letters I sent you and your answers and they give me so much hope and strength now. I don't know where I would've been if not for you, Freddy. Thank you.

It is really hard for me to respond to things like this, so please, please, just know I am happy to hear that you are finding your reasons for living. 


some upcoming things:

-I have a new short fiction appearing in an upcoming issue of print magazine Caketrain

-a Former Ghosts / Funeral Advantage split 7” is in the works

-currently working on a side project currently titled Krait

-a solo show w/ Xiu Xiu in Prague on Oct. 31st @ Podnik 

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Anonymous said: hi. i just wanted to express my affection for you as an artist, and my happiness that you've found (some?) happiness as a human being. please never be embarrassed for the creations you've birthed into this world, whatever the manifestation, or worry over their perceived or actual quality. thank you for sharing your human experience with us--i know i'm always anxious to listen, even if you feel you're sharing and shouting into an apathetic abyss. i hope all is well; take care freddy #javafanclub

I didn’t want to post this as it felt personal in nature, but as it was anonymous I had no other way to reply. 

So, in short, thank you, it is appreciated. 



Sun heat on stalks and wind fingers everything thanks God. Still air sits like pregnancy in Louisiana. They are breeding out there, beyond stinking vines, filthy as meat pocked bones. Someone asked a question once over dragon scaled instincts out there. Beyond clocked footing. This is how you break a child: show her a glance at your stiff face in the silent moment. Once you are clogged you are going to end up like gators when they go dormant. When you get to Louisiana be sure to look me up. When you get to Louisiana it is best to experience the sadness. Wet dogs to prayers at air: barking Louisiana. On that, keep on it. Take care, pass the mean onto mother, lose Steeple Bar fuckers, take anyway on A, angle past your trailer dirt legs. Right home. Road ticking domestic dispute. Out ticking. Cow glass on your right where murmurs keep your aunt crying. Sleeping, driving, sleeping, driving. 

Your stressing breath will. 
I will be the nimblest in sweet grass with dad and brother. Coffin comes clumsy. Funniest thing how mom’s mom is now ants scattered from the inside out. It should feel as if it will rain but never does. 
"favorite godiva chocolates" 

“where baby”

“this slope”

“but that’s not where the house was though mama”

“it don’t matter”

“it’s a deep slope”

“the house”

“somewhere around here you said”


“yea, that’s where it’s at, he wasn’t talking about right right there”

“it was a good distance”

“that’s what he was saying that’s what he was saying”

“so it has to be”

“yea that’s what he’s saying right here”

“let’s see the house was in the middle the house was way in the pasture yea that tree might still be over there”

“that was the pasture”

“see how he says that’s a different color right there that’s where he’s saying the house was don’t know why he said that”

“it’s not that bad”

“it’s not that bad just saying”

“gonna get rained on any minute”

“with this breeze she will blow all the way down the field”


“i never thought about it with the wind blowing”

“now that’s good”

“that’s what she wanted”

“this breeze out here in the field”

“that’s definitely what she wanted”

“right here”

"maw maw did you want to toss some?"


Your grandmother melted out there in the field where your mom’s ashes necked dixieland dirt. Drove, slept, drove, slept, drove.   

Of course no one had a map. 
We stood out there for an hour arguing which window of the house, which no longer stood there, was blessed with day ends.
False dixieland dirt and sweat. 
I pretend I’m the weatherman to announce y’all goners in a flood. Ya’ll be sucked out off warm toilet seats along with toasters, garbage bins, car parts. Ya’ll bleed to death when ribs come thudding against a tree caught in the middle current. I won’t stop there. Even your dog’s lungs will collapse under water weight. Your babysitter’s head will jolt off cement. Heavy rain curbs your drunk friends. I’ll climb onto the news desk. The camera. Zoom it in on ma’ teeth. I’ll say, LOOK. 
[here to get the lines of your face read]
I call my brother. Somewhere in the distance between us pings of static drop off jittering like insects. Are things different? Not before and after Mom died. His voice comes through netted. This city seeps into the hollows of my throat and harshens my consonants, twists my tongue, slurs my vowels. Speech crawls through unwanted pauses. He avoids whether or not there have been changes beneath the layers of skin, the tucks of muscle, the tics of bone. I ask about dad. I tell him I saw a girl crying on the subway. Used to respect public grieving. Brother doesn’t say anything but I know he is still on the line. I can hear the stirrings of morning in the background on his side of the world. It is the same everywhere.

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excerpt from Reverse Pieta, originally released as a chapbook by Solar Luxuriance