Nesca was born in Youngstown, Ohio, yet started publishing collections of her writing in Canada such as the anthology “KAMIKAZE WHITE NOISE”. “15” was published by Screaming Skull Press — founded by Nicole Nesca and Tony Nesca. Having now published eighteen books through Screaming Skull, they connect their writing to the Beat Generation and describe their project as a fearless exploration of sexuality, art, death & love.

Although Nicole Nesca’s “15” begins with a quote from Allen Ginsberg,

          Follow your inner moonlight;
          don’t hide the madness

Nesca’s writing reminds me more of d.a.levy and his connection to bpNichol: from Ohio to Canada across the black lake, Lake Erie. While levy and Nesca share the practice of often typing exclusively uppercase, Nesca’s “15” demonstrates how her and levy both fearlessly express hatred/paranoia alongside love, speak from a working-class POV, and engage the colonial history of North America.

Beyond how Nesca’s writing may continue traditions of renegade publishing — Cleveland, Toronto, San Francisco, or New York — her writing in “15” is varied: moving through the concrete, reflective memoir, and spastic street performances. Additionally, each piece of writing is accompanied by Nesca’s own photography, drawings, paintings, and sketches.

Anyhow, what’s a book review? An advertisement? Analysis? A Face at the Front of Shop?

Instead of reviewing the characteristics of Nesca’s prose and poetry, I wrote a reply to “15”:

walking under
through moonlight

walking under streetlights

mooncalf laughing
or crying like the sun’s
broken face
— no where

lives livers veins tits brains

tiger moth
laughing crying
with one sound

she sits on a moon throne
watching him say a love-sound

shattered window
loving himself
as saying his sound of love

asphalt surrounding sewer grate
the self coming before
after giving lilacs

feeling nothing
yet bleeding out
into our burning river

no windows
every face
no moonlight

every question
no faces
white rays of sun

the howl of a cutting wind
above our silent street
below our silent street

undreamed words
above a bridge of clouds
below a bridge of clouds

— puddlethumb, alex benedict