It’s that time again. I have duplicates and triplicates and other miscellaneous books and I am going to give them away. Claim what you want by stating in the comments your choice, then e-mailing me your mailing address at roxane at pankmagazine dot com. You will know if a book is still available if it is not listed in the comments. If you do not mail me your address, I cannot send you a book.

A bonus copy of Cut Through the Bone contributed by Brad Green.

Scorch Atlas by Blake Butler

Cut Through the Bone by Ethel Rohan (3 1 copy)

Look! Look! Feathers, by Mike Young

The Adderall Diaries by Stephen Elliott

How They Were Found by Matt Bell

One Ded Cow (a new lit mag out of SF)

Insignificant Gestures by Jo Cannon

The Show That Smells by Derek McCormack

How to Predict the Weather by Aaron Burch

Artifice Magazine #2

Forecast by Shya Scanlon

Rattlesnakes & The Moon by Darlin’ Neal

The Avian Gospels Book 1 by Adam Novy (advance copy)

Ninth Letter 7.1

Mid American Review 29.2

PANK friend and Vouched Books proprietor Chris Newgent and his lovely wife Britt were robbed by shitheads who took their most valuable possessions. One of Chris’s friends has started a campaign to garner a little money to help Chris and Britt out. Won’t you consider making a donation? Chris is one of the most generous, enthusiastic and all around wonderful people you will ever meet. Let’s turn a bad thing into a good thing.

Metazen is producing a Christmas Anthology for charity. They’re looking for writers and buyers and the details are here.

I used a found Collective Soul CD to scrape dried cat vomit off my dresser. When’s the last time you bought a CD? I don’t miss them. There isn’t much romance to them. They don’t crackle and warm like vinyl. What about laserdiscs, movies on mirrored plates.

And the floppy disk. I had the urge to plug in my parents’ old ACER computer I found boxed in the basement to flip through forgotten documents and photos stored on beige floppies. I don’t have the patience to let these things load.

I miss the sound of dialup connecting to the World Wide Web. My friend’s parakeet used to mimic the gurgle and warble of electronic coding, static. It used to say Bitch tits. We’d spend an hour trying to get online to log into chats. We’d trade pix and lie about our a/s/l. His mom would pick up the phone and the monitor screen would freeze blue.

The Sony Walkman was recently retired. My 2002 Mercury Sable has a cassette player. I plug my iPod Touch into a cassette tape adapter, which converts the digital signal to a magnetic signal. It mocks the function of reeled tape. Technology tricks its host like a virus. Technology employs acronyms.

LCD. LED. HQ. HD. 3D. MP3. DVDs giving way to Blu-rays. I never knew the videotape was a VHS until it died. R.I.P. Plasma gives electronics a human element. We can’t get post-apocalyptic without robots. We personify things to feel less alone. Teddy Ruxpin read to me more than my mother did. I told him secrets. I gave him baths. We will create waterproof robots. Popstars will become plastic.

I don’t have the energy for doing some elaborate contest so tell me something interesting then claim the book you want by noting the title you are taking in the comments. Please e-mail me your address if you are successful in “winning” the book object of your desire. My e-mail is roxane at pankmagazine dot com. I will not track you down and then we’ll both be sad and someone else will get your book and then you’ll always wonder what could have been. I’m sad already, just thinking about it.

FOUR NO MORE COPIES OF HE’S TALKING TO THE FAT LADY BY xTx

Ben Greenman’s Celebrity Chekhov

Mel Bosworth’s Kismet, Maternal Wisdom, and Grease Stains. (I’m sure I got that wrong)

Aaron Burch’s How to Predict the Weather

Paula Bomer’s Baby.

Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom.