Liquid Ink

The official website of Gint Aras, Finalist 2016 CWA Book Award


Leave a comment

Talking on WGN tonight with Rick Kogan and Kate Wisel

Followers of Liquid Ink, no matter where they find themselves on the planet, can tune in to WGN today, November 10th, at 22:00 CST (GMT -6) to hear me on After Hours with (Chicago radio legend) Rick Kogan. WGN Radio is 720 AM local to Chicago, or you can live stream the station at this link.

I’ll be joined by Kate Wisel, author of Driving in Cars with Homeless Men, described on the book jacket as a love letter to women moving through violence. 

Driving in Cars with Homeless Men is available anywhere books are sold. If you happen to be in Chicago, City Lit Books in Logan Square currently has it on the shelf.

Given the topics of Relief by Execution (domestic violence, fascism, genocide and identity collapse) and Kate’s theme of violence against women, this should make for a provocative hour of radio.

Live stream here.

rick-kogan

Photo of Rick Kogan from the Chicago Help Initiative.

 

download

 


Leave a comment

Two new essays about writing and identity

I published a pair of essays this week. Along with the launch of my memoir, this equals the highest concentration of new Gint Aras material ever published over the course of a 72-hour period. If you share this news with merchants, you’ll get a coupon for 10% off your next purchase of potatoes. Just say the code “Gint” the next time you’re buying a bag.

LitReactor published this piece about the value a writer can find while digging in dirt. It’s titled Want to Be Radical? Be Sincere. Check it out.

Vilnius Review published this satire about Lithuanian identity. It’s kind of magazine-specific, and uses all sorts of words only Lithuanians will get. However, if you’re interested in questions of diaspora or ethnic identity, you’ll get the point. It’s called Embracing the Beauty of Being Fake. I hope you’ll read and share.

This is a photo of Mexican Amber, just because:

330px-PolishedAmberMuseumAmberSanCris03

Photo from Wikipedia.


New interview: Collapsing and Constructed Identity, Lithuania Tribune

As followers of my Facebook Author Page know, I’m spending the entire summer in Lithuania this year, something I’ve not done since 1996. I found it fitting to be out here when I got a request for an interview from Alexsandra Kudickis, a journalist who has previewed my forthcoming book, Relief by Execution.

The interview was published on June 25 by the Lithuania Tribune. It’s in English. It covers cultural and ethnic identity, Zen meditation, The Fugue, the Holocaust in Lithuania, and pressing questions about controversial memorials in Lithuanian cities.

You can read the interview here.

Gint-Aras-Karolis-Gintaras-Žukauskas-Photo-Žana-Cončiar-640x381

Photo by Žana Gončiar


Leave a comment

FAQs for Lithuanians

Before you send me your requests, please take a look here. You might save yourself some time.

  • Hi, I’m Lithuanian, just like you. Can I have some stuff for free?

Yes. You can get all the free toilet paper you want in any gas station toilet.

 

  • I got drunk with one of your relatives in 1974. To what private property of yours does this entitle me?

All of it. I’ll quitclaim my condo to you. It’s in a really good location, and I don’t owe more than it’s worth. Trust me. Here’s the dotted line. _______________________

 

  • I dated your mother back when we were in high school. Can I have your pants?

I hate to break it to you, pal, but you’re already wearing my pants.

 

  • I think you’re a brilliant writer and love what you had to say about amber necklaces. Do you have any amber that you would like to give me so that I could be proud of my Lithuanian heritage?

Thank you for the compliment, but I haven’t written about amber necklaces. The last time I used the word “amber” in a sentence, it was to describe the color of Stasys Girėnas’ teeth.

 

  • I knew your (grandmother/aunt/uncle/roommate) back in 1976, and we (ate/drank/fucked/smoked/danced) in Marquette Park all the time. Can I have your social security number?

Sure, it’s 312-588-2300. What, too long? Just take out any number. I’ll work.

 

  • I’m going to (Šokių Šventė/Dainų Šventė/LT Days/Cepelinų Vakarėlis/) this summer. Can my friends and I stay in your apartment?

Dude, you have to talk to the person who used to get drunk with my relatives in 1974. They have all my stuff now. It’s nowhere close to the festival you have in mind, but I don’t see why that should stop you.

 

  • Why aren’t you going to (Šokių Šventė/Dainų Šventė/LT Days/Cepelinų Vakarėlis/)?

Because I can’t find a place to stay.

 

  • Hi. My great grandfather owned a horse that took a dump near your great grandmother’s horse back when all of us were pagan druids on shrooms. I want your children to sign up for this summer program that will teach them how to be Lithuanian for only $4,000.

We’ll talk about all these things when you give me some shrooms.

 

  • I’m Catholic, believe in God, love the Jesuits, have my former nun’s yardstick, and I’ve already bought a plot to be buried in St. Casimir Cemetery. Could you send me a copy of your book, all the essays you’ve ever written, ten percent of your salary and a photocopy of your passport?

Everything you desire is available at this link.

 

104-576x1024-640x480_c


Reading from Ghetto Blueblood

In January, I had the pleasure of reading at Waterline Writers, among the most welcoming communities for writers. The venue at Water Street Studios is worth visiting on its own.

Fans of The Fugue and Finding the Moon in Sugar might be curious to know what I’m working on now. This reading offers a sneak preview. This excerpt comes from a recently completed manuscript, titled Ghetto Blueblood, which I’m currently shopping.

Yes…my beard was shaved. My kids had lice, so I sliced it all off as a precaution.

Enjoy. If you’re an industry professional who stumbled on this and became interested, please contact me.

221661_114148042004311_7591116_n

 


Leave a comment

This Podcast Will Change Your Life

I was fortunate to be invited to speak to Ben Tanzer on This Podcast Will Change Your Life. We discuss, among other things, men’s issues, marriage, The Fugue, Robert Duffer, Finding the Moon in Sugar, Robert Duffer, The Good Men Project, Tortoise Books, coping mechanisms, refugees, trauma, meditation, forming an identity, migration patterns and much more.

Give it a listen! Click here.

481247f41e934f26-gintben

Photo of me with Ben Tanzer courtesy of This Podcast Will Change Your Life.


Leave a comment

Taco trucks: the shocking truth

Back when I was a kid growing up in Cicero, at that time almost equally (at least in my immediate neighborhood) made up of Eastern European and Mexican families, there were ways of expanding your ethnic identity. Ok…expanding is the wrong word. You could become an “honorary” Mexican or Lithuanian by going through initiations.

To be baptized an honorary Lithuanian, you had to eat a jar of herring or a huge chunk of homemade headcheese. My friend Juozas and I came up with this initiation, an ironic one, at least in my friend’s case, as he had never eaten either herring or headcheese in his life. The child of displaced persons,  he still qualifies, despite his culinary tastes, for Lithuanian dual citizenship. The Mexican boys who gagged over pig nose jelly will never be able to claim this.

Becoming an honorary Mexican was much easier.  You had to lie down and let your Mexican (and honorary Mexican) friends kick your ass for three minutes. The only rule was no punching in the face or balls. In truth, the three minutes often stretched to four or five.

We did not do this because we valued multiculturalism or envied each other’s identities. We were just boys finding ways to fuck with each other in the packs we joined for protection and friendship.

These initiations, like other rites and customs of the street, depended on unspoken but clear codes. Everybody understood that if your friend had gone through the trouble of taking a three (or five) minute beating,  or if he had slurped down a quivering cube of pig ass—which, mind you, often resulted in real tears—you had to defend him in the event that bullshit came his way.

So, as an honorary Mexican who oversaw the baptisms of a few dozen honorary Lithuanians, let me say a few things about the prospect of taco trucks on every corner.

To America, this would represent a culinary revolution of a magnitude not seen since the invention of the Weber grill. If there were a taco truck on even one corner in most any random town of less than 50,000 people between Youngstown, Ohio and Limon, Colorado, the quality of the local cuisine would improve by a factor so large that I cannot find any tool to help me calculate it. If there were taco trucks at both ends of my block, I’d have hardly any need to go to a grocery store.

A taco truck is superior, both as a food delivery system and a purveyor of quality, than any McDick’s, Burger Thing, Undies, Taco Hell, Beef’n’Cream, Pulverz, Shitway, Jimmy Shlong’s or any other such dump. A taco truck is a civilized place to eat and sells a food item with a rich and fascinating history, linked to lifestyle changes among the working class, specifically to men mining silver. Its development is not unlike the arrival and evolution of the pasty in Michigan’s iron mines or the Vienna Beef dog on Chicago’s South Side, the latter during the Depression. So the taco has more in common with the story of class struggle than does any pumpkin latte or chocolate stout.

So, bring it on. A taco truck beside every school, across the street from every workplace, down the road from your town hall, public library, place of worship and watering hole. Especially the watering hole. Because the only thing better than a taco following a night of raucous frolic is the tamale guy.

3283027389_4d0c4cdd4c