Jamie Grefe

Grind, Dear Friend, Grind MONDO FATALES ACTION


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reading log


abattoir incident

junk art

angelo pulp

berg's matter

birds rest

bitter fake

brain room

brown poems

caldwell's enemy


cannibal priestess

corridor one

corridor three

deerhead puppets

doom horizon

drops shots

drowned girl

dusk lung

early death

electric delirium

evil woman

feigned nights

feral doom

fire scars

flamboozled beak

flower stitches

future wounds

giraffe party

girl four


horizon regained

interior sloth

jones's girl

livid men

love clutch

lovecraftian krall

lucy lip

map routes


muck child

mondo ben

nip down

orange shinjuku

over thirteen

palm desert

pierce's doughnut

pigs gather

polluted interiors

possession notes

rain blood

raw gums

risen stay

scanlon's border


sour pinch

spring breakers

tanzer's mouth

the end


threaten me


ugly mouth


venom mouth

vinegar cutlery

wet spot

wilson's diegeses

worm holes

your hand








  1. The Maze

    It wasn’t that I was a writer and you a wife or a good place for our son to play. It was none of this. I don’t speak of dark kitchens at night when you are asleep and I am at the edge of the window looking at windows upon windows—how hot night becomes when soaked in drinks from a locked cupboard or freezer. I should have spoken of axes and typewriters. Typing is not just the clack of the keys or the insertion of paper into the machine, it is a ghost of hate that I will turn novel. I will complete this ghost even if it means I should reach a baseball bat or you walking up the stairs backwards, you dragging me to the freezer, but I’ve slashed all engines, dismantled the transmission and stolen the family key. I have the key. Here is where love lives unchangeable in the glow of soft light. It’s 1920 and I’m wearing a tux. You will notice my tux, because there was a photograph taken of so many people and you were not among them. We were not yet married. You have never stood in the kitchen at night or used an ax to chop down a door. There is more light where you are. The chef comes. I am redder after dark. But I’ve learned. I’ve learned how to follow your little steps around corners. You move quicker than the father. It’s my burden to be a father. I will make things right. Fathers make things right. It snowed on my birthday. My fingers can no longer type like the way snow falls on a maze at night. And it is night when we step into the maze. It is all I can do to give you something to remember me by—in the kitchen, the bright kitchen where you eat ice cream and drive trucks into hotel rooms. There is a room in the maze and I have the key. I’ve seen they way the other women smile. I have seen the father of the girls and I have to keep walking this maze so someday you’ll know what it means to be a father. I won’t carry you far. I won’t carry you at all.


  2. Joke Shards: Twenty Audio Episodes of Tragicomedy

    UPDATE: Jamie Grefe’s Shredded Maps: The Podcast is now using Tumblr, too.

    I am happy to announce my new endeavor, a comedic podcast. Back in 2008 I ran a noise music podcast and believed in the medium from the get-go, but now in 2012, I feel how lucky we are to have so many engaging and interesting podcasts available, especially in the world of comedy—Never Not Funny, New Year’s Eve with Neil Hamburger, WTF w/Marc Maron, The Dana Gould Hour and so on. I would like to see more writers get on-board with this potent form, but I think that time will come. In the meantime, and since I’ve been focusing specifically on humorous writing these days and stand-up comedy, I would like to share with you my new podcast, “Jamie Grefe’s Shredded Maps.” This podcast will showcase my brand of humor in bite-sized chunks. However, once I am back in the US, I am planning on expanding the podcast to feature guests (writers, artists, thinkers, comics, etc.) and, at that time, expand the length of the broadcast. Thank you for tuning in and let the adventure continue.