Author Archives: Fritz Bogott

About Fritz Bogott

250 volts, plate to cathode.

21st Century Blackbirds

flock of blackbirds

What is that black bird?
In my homeland,
we ate the last songbird a thousand years ago.

In our flooded suburb
we have many seagulls.
I have a blackbird in a cage.

My cousins from the coast
wake with the birds and smile:
No sea to fear.

Our town has welcomed more than 100 refugees this year.
They don’t know the names for things.
They get all the birds wrong.

It is cold here.
I am glad to have a safe home,
but don’t the birds feel naked
in those bare trees?

Wasilla is quieter now
birds circle vacant houses
sinking into melted soil.

Dense willow boughs,
once shelter for birds,
now break the waves
and fish spawn safely there.

When smallpox returned
birds again filled the skies
above un-harvested fields.

Our neighborhood cats
spend all night out on limbs
hunting transgenic birds.
They’re easy to spot.

Birds come to the feeder
push millet seeds onto the ground
and refuse to eat.

The drones endanger the birds.
The birds endanger the drones.

We like to hunt:
birds, squirrels, deer.
Some are poison.

Birds, cars, trains,
children speaking one hundred languages:
the sounds of North Dakota.

Image CC-BY by Mike Baird


Pack Rat

Packrats overthrew the government in 1980, or 1968, or 1922—
or perhaps they always ran the place.
They build their middens out of stolen wheat and mortgages,
piled in burrows on offshore islands,
cemented with amberat (which accretes from urine)
and which can preserve a treasure-pile for centuries, at least, or possibly forever,
until scholars and treasure-seekers wander in with brushes and dental picks,
prying apart the riches of a lost continent,
still—after thousands of years—reeking of lust and greed.

Image CC-BY-NC-SA by Jerry Bowley

Giant Primates of North Dakota


My NaNoWriMo novel this year is Giant Primates of North Dakota.

It’s some kind of ugly hoax that we only get posted to these anonymous corners of Earth. I sometimes imagine the globe redrawn, with all the mid-continental portions erased or flooded or replaced by warm-water lakes visited by free-spirited Danes who pull their dresses over their heads and swim naked and expect everyone to be as carefree as they are—but then I come to myself and realize that I have onions to chop or cameras to repair or guns to clean.

The Syndicate


The Syndicate is a slavish imitation of The Hardy Boys, with the following exceptions:

  • Frank is a brain in a vat. His only means of physical agency is via a colony of robotic bats.
  • Joe is dead. He (or some entity pretending to be him) speaks via voices in Frank’s head and (occasionally) via Skype.
  • Aunt Gertrude is an amoral mercenary.

Image via Wikipedia.


Surveillance: “watching from above”
Surmontrance: “showing from above”

Ubiquitous CCTV cameras yield ubiquitous surveillance.
Ubiquitous CCTV projectors yield ubiquitous surmontrance.

Residents of London live in a ghost world imposed by the state. The shadows and murmurs of un-augmented reality are barely perceptible under thick layers of surmontrance. Conscientious objectors blind and deafen themselves, only trusting their unsurmontred senses.

Image CC-BY-NC-SA by hc gilje

Go Slow

A handful of hipsters from Dayton, Ohio (don’t laugh)
have full-shirt tattoos of famous traffic jams:
Lagos, Mexico City, Moscow, Joburg…
with authentic makes, models and choke points.

It can take all day for a Lada to make it from hip to wrist,
the driver fuming and pissing in a bottle,
and one motorbike just off Tverskaya
has never made it off its rib.

I went looking for the artist who did all that ink,
but some other dude was renting his chair,
his dealer was angry—out a hundred bucks—
and his trailer had burned to the ground.

Meanwhile, in Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur,
a handful of wanna-be thugs
are sporting idealized Pan-American Highways,
just before dawn, empty of cars.

Hat tip to Fela Kuti and Jack Womack.

Source image CC-BY-SA by Mark Fischer


My story Ningyodashi appears in the anthology New Sun Rising: Stories for Japan.

New Sun Rising: Stories for Japan is an anthology of stories, flash fiction, poems, haibun, haiku and artwork and photography donated by over 60 creators from all over the world to support those in Japan still affected by the aftermath of the 2011 tsunami and earthquake. All monies go to the Japanese Red Cross.

This anthology was prepared by an international team of volunteers and includes the donation of a poem in German with English translation by award-winning Austrian poet and writer, Friederike Mayröcker.

Greg McQueen, founder of 100 Stories for Haiti and 50 Stories for Pakistan says this:

“You’re holding a book that beat the odds. A book made from determination. From compassion. And by holding it – buying it – reading it – telling others about it – you stand with the writers and artists who created it: ordinary people who watched the lives of strangers destroyed and decided that they needed to help.”

Celebrate with us Japan and its people.

New Sun Rising is available at Amazon.

Image CC-BY-NC-ND by Larry Halff