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Interview with Adam Moursy, author of Slinking Under the Electric Bulb

Slinking under the electric bulb Adam Moursy

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Tell us about Slinking Under The Electric Bulb

Slinking Under The Electric Bulb is a largely autobiographical, dark and humorous collection of poems, most of which revolve around my general ramblings and heavy appetite for both alcohol and women. Set in New York City, the book takes you through the ups and downs of what’s gotten to be a rather hard life as a result, all while taking it head-on with the best of them.

What type of poetry is it?

While it is a poetry book, I always say that I write “poems for people who hate poetry.” Written in free verse, without rhyming or getting too wrapped up metaphorically, each piece is really more like a very, very short story.

Like very, very short stories? Is there a poem that illustrates this?

en garde
another 3am,
another venture
through the jungle –
past the alley cats,
the dumpster divers
and the housing projects.
to my right, I can hear
the slow approach
of shuffling feet and
whispering voices,
as out from the shadows
emerge three hooded figures.

I carry on in anticipation,
one hand clutching my steel,
the other swaying freely.

we cross paths,
avoid eye contact.

nothing happens
and it’s a good thing,
only around here
we all must face the
same impending threat
over and over.

the struggle never ends.

I like it, I like it,

I like it.

That’s great. What kind of readers do you expect the book to attract?

Drunks, hedonists, city folk, loners, those of you with road rage and readers with a short attention span. Honestly, there’s a little something in here for everyone, even if you’ve never been held up at gunpoint or had a woman punch you in the jaw during sex.

What?! Tell us the story.
Which time are we talking about? I’ve earned more than a few sluggings over the years, but the one I wrote about in the book  seemed to be more of a fetish-type thing above all. I met this Asian girl at a bar on what happened to be her last night in New York, and we decided to take things back to my place. Just my luck, as we were leaving she then went and convinced some other guy (who had a bunch of coke on him) to tag along with us. Anyway, we all got high and drank some more, then he passed out on the couch while she and I went at it in the bedroom. Basically, she started with a couple of rather hard bites while on top of me, then came the first punch…

wild ride
the bed had been slamming against the wall
for twenty minutes straight,
and the sun had only just risen:

“sorry I invited a stranger over,” she said.
“don’t worry about it.”

“yeah…yeah…”

she was riding it like a champ,
taking it in stride.
I gave her ass a good smack,
then she suddenly
rolled off.

“you’re horrible!” she said.
“what?”
“you’re horrible! horrible!”
“what are you talking about?”

she hopped on again and went
back to work.

“you like that?” I asked.
“oh, yeah…yeah…”

then she leaned in
and bit me on the shoulder.
I felt the skin break.
“shit!” I said, “take it easy!”
“yeah…oh, yeah…”

I kept pumping away.

“he can hear us in the next
room,” she said.
“that’s alright,” I told her.

she closed her fist and swung.
it landed hard against
my left cheek.

“goddamn!” I said. “what’s
the matter with you?”

without a word, she
kept on going.

a few minutes later,
she hopped off again.

“I’m gonna be late for
my flight!”

we dressed and I woke up stranger,
got him out of there, then walked her
to the subway.
along the way, we kissed,
and she landed at least
three or four more
punches.
then she was gone,
perhaps for good.

on the way back home,
feeling the bruises
along my face and shoulders,
I got what many would consider
a strange thought:

was it great sex
or even better
coke?

It seems as if you are focused on the underbelly of society. Would you say that this is a New York thing or are the experiences universal?

It’s no secret that New York’s the kind of place where anything goes if you let it, and that’s something that both lures people in and pushes others out at the same time. While it may be more widespread and accepted out here, there’s a dark side to just about every city and town if you go looking for it.
How long did this book take to write?
Most of the poems were written within the last two years. I’d always wanted to put a book together (or several, for what it’s worth), but didn’t have the resources until recently.
What was the most challenging part of the process?
Keeping a roof over my head for long enough to actually get some work done. Writing comes easily to me, but between landlords and debt collectors looking for a buck, plus the constant hangovers, it can be tough maintaining any sort of schedule.
Tell us a bit about yourself.
Well, you know my name (Adam Moursy), which is already more than a lot of people get. I was born in Brooklyn in 1986, and currently reside there. Slinking Under The Electric Bulb is my first poetry offering, although I have been published in several lit mags in both the US and UK. You’ll learn plenty more about me if you read the book, which is something you should go do…now.
We will, we promise. In the meantime, have you got a blog where we can read more of your work?
No blog at the moment, but you can persuade me to start one on Twitter @moursyadam.
Where can we buy your book?
It’s on sale now at Amazon (US, UK).
What’s next?
I just finished working on the print version of “Slinking”, which should be available by the time this interview goes up. Next up will be another poetry collection, as well as a coinciding novel to be released around the same time (third quarter 2013). Hint hint: Adam moves in with a call girl.
Don’t leave us hanging like that.  Tell us more.
I just wanted to throw that out there as a little teaser, but yeah, I did. She was nineteen at the time and simply one of the hottest, most charming girls I’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. I started dating her not knowing what she did to make the rent, and we hit it off pretty quickly. By the time I found out, I was already well-hooked (pun intended?). Anyway, that’s long over and done with now, and I’ve since traded up to an eighteen year-old with strangely similar looks and a very honest (albeit much less interesting) job, thank you.
One last poem? Please.
one for the common drunk
some fool kept inserting quarters
into the jukebox,
even though the thing didn’t work.
it was a chummy neighborhood
hole-in-the-wall,
and when the bartender
finally came over
to inform him that the machine was broken,
I turned to the guy and said, jokingly,
“no one wants to hear your music.”his expression turned sour, as though
I had taken a shot at his character,
but he didn’t say anything back,
just walked over to his seat.as he moved away,
I noticed he had a gimp leg
and walked with a cane.a few minutes later,
he looked over and said,
“HEY WISE ASS! YOU’VE GOT
A REAL BIG MOUTH,
MOTHERF**KER!”those left at the bar
focused in on us.
I tried explaining to him
that my comment
was merely in the interest
of friendly humor.”WHY DON’T YOU TURN AROUND
AND ORDER YOURSELF
A COCKTAIL!” he screamed.alright, I thought,
that makes us even.then he said, “COME OUTSIDE!
I’LL BEAT YOUR ASS
REAL GOOD!”

I could tell by the glisten in his eye
that he was serious.
I shouted back,
“YOU DON’T WANT TO START UP
WITH ME, PAL! YOU’RE ALREADY
SHORT HALF A LEG!”

he stood up and
held out his cane.

“YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?
THIS IS A LIFE!”

he hobbled on over,
cane in hand.
I got ready.

we were standing toe to toe,
eye to eye.
he extended his hand, reached over
and said, “you’re a good man.
let’s forget the whole thing.”

“fair enough,” I said,
returning the gesture,
“and I shouldn’t have
brought up the leg.”

then he raised his glass and
I raised mine,
and with the camradery among
billions of other people
still up in the air,

we drank them
down.

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  1. Pingback: Why you must read Adam Moursy’s Dizzied By Chance | Indie Author Land

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