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Burden of Ashes by Justin Chin (1-May-2002) Paperback
The 20th anniversary edition of a groundbreaking Asian-American queer classic by celebrated author Justin Chin Floating somewhere between fiction and memoir, Burden of Ashes is a beautiful and brutal series of short stories in which childhood, homeland, and lovers both real and imagined succumb to whimsy, revision, denial, and truthful embellishment. Within these pages, Chin artfully creates a personal world where snake killings, demonic possession, the enigmatic pleasure of a deep kiss, cruelty, and compassion all co-exist. Actual events and fictional outcomes reconcile what has been lost, outgrown, and abandoned with what never was and what might have been.
Paperback
First published May 1, 2002
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About the author
Justin Chin
11 books45 followersBorn in Malaysia, raised & educated in Singapore, shipped to the U.S. by way of Hawaii, and lived in San Francisco. Author of 3 books of poetry, all published by Manic D Press: Bite Hard (1997); Harmless Medicine (2001), a finalist in the Bay Area Book Reviewers Association Awards; and, Gutted (2006), which received the 2007 Thom Gunn Award for Poetry by the Publishing Triangle. Squeezed in between these were 2 non-fictions: Mongrel: Essays, Diatribes & Pranks (St. Martins, 1999), and the ur-memoir, Burden of Ashes (Alyson Publications, 2002).
In the nineties, also led a double life as performance artist: created and presented seven full-length solo works here, there and where ever. Packed up those cookies in 2002, (with occasional relapses) and the documents, scripts, and what-heck from that period was published in Attack of the Man-Eating Lotus Blossoms (Suspect Thoughts Press, 2005). Continues to produce text/visual Book-based performance work. Book 2 is an on-going project where discarded or abandoned books found on the streets & other public places are remade, remodeled, & reworked into artists books.
In the nineties, also led a double life as performance artist: created and presented seven full-length solo works here, there and where ever. Packed up those cookies in 2002, (with occasional relapses) and the documents, scripts, and what-heck from that period was published in Attack of the Man-Eating Lotus Blossoms (Suspect Thoughts Press, 2005). Continues to produce text/visual Book-based performance work. Book 2 is an on-going project where discarded or abandoned books found on the streets & other public places are remade, remodeled, & reworked into artists books.
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
June 30, 2020
QUOTES:
Writing is an ongoing risk. And it is a risk that I take on, maybe because I know no better way to make sense of this mud of life.
And in the end, in the dustbin of my history, when all is decaying and rotted, composting to bits, whether my work survives after me, or even survives the next few years, will remain to be seen. What I know is what this work did: It gave me the courage to speak, and to find some semblance of myself worth the words.
"You're just so cynical," my mom chastises. "I keep praying that God will open your heart more."
"Oh, so God is now a cardiac surgeon," I say, but she ignores my wicked cynical mouth.
From the rattling boombox, we listened to the Reverend Anderson's Midwestern drawl as he preached the message of Satan's all-encompassing reach and how God's love was stronger than rock music.
Angels and demons are cut from the same cloth.
The art of cartography places everything where it should be, until the charts are lost, the places change, or the cartographer decides that the object simply doesn't exist anymore.
It's good to feel safe but safety always reminds me of danger, otherwise it wouldn't exist.
Passion. It's just a word, and one should never be afraid nor critical of mere words. But then, we boys take what we can get our hands on, what we can put our lips to.
Writing is an ongoing risk. And it is a risk that I take on, maybe because I know no better way to make sense of this mud of life.
And in the end, in the dustbin of my history, when all is decaying and rotted, composting to bits, whether my work survives after me, or even survives the next few years, will remain to be seen. What I know is what this work did: It gave me the courage to speak, and to find some semblance of myself worth the words.
"You're just so cynical," my mom chastises. "I keep praying that God will open your heart more."
"Oh, so God is now a cardiac surgeon," I say, but she ignores my wicked cynical mouth.
From the rattling boombox, we listened to the Reverend Anderson's Midwestern drawl as he preached the message of Satan's all-encompassing reach and how God's love was stronger than rock music.
Angels and demons are cut from the same cloth.
The art of cartography places everything where it should be, until the charts are lost, the places change, or the cartographer decides that the object simply doesn't exist anymore.
It's good to feel safe but safety always reminds me of danger, otherwise it wouldn't exist.
Passion. It's just a word, and one should never be afraid nor critical of mere words. But then, we boys take what we can get our hands on, what we can put our lips to.
January 24, 2008
i just *heart* justin chin. his writing makes me want to laugh and cry, if not at the same time, at least really close together. yes, i know it's cheesy, but it's just darn true with him.
January 27, 2015
Just finished Justin Chin's Burden of Ashes (Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001). Chin a Chinese Malay born in Malaysia, raised in Singapore and emigrated to the San Francisco is a glo-punk spoken slam poet. His Burden of Ashes is a collection of essays formed around memoirs and rememberances of things past. A really well written and witty collection which moves quickly, and quirkely over a wealth of topics from desire, sexuality; identity, disease, death and love. Chin's sense of humour is rather of the wall but his pieces are truly written in a fun light humoured way that at times reaches a poetic quality. I must admit I enjoyed most his paen to a former boyfriend, "Horehound". I enjoyed this piece so much and found myself reflected during my relationship with Chris in Chin's own tortured desires for his horehound. Chin's piece on the journey back to China with his family is also really enjoyable and filled with the realities of living or visiting China as a Chinese gay male. Also his tales about interacting with his family and his own queer sexuality are very reflective and introspective while still being lightly funny.
A man I used to love died in a hospital alone. We had grown apart and lost touch. I met a common friend one day at a bar and he told me about my ex-lover. Nobody claimed the body for two weeks: His parents refused, his only sister could not be found, and the hospital was certainly not going to release the body to his AA sponsor. So after two weeks they cremated him like all the other unclaimed bodies, put his ashes into a jar, and then allowed anyone to take it. But no one did. He was buried by the municipality in an unmarked grave. I drove to the cemetery. He was buried in Lot 12, Block 86, Section D. Incredibly precise locations for a person who is nothing but ashes unclaimed.
Justin Chin, "The Burden of Ashes" in Burden of Ashes (Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001), 133.
The art of cartography places everything where it should be, until the charts are lost, the places change, or the cartographer decides that the object simply doesn't exist anymore.
Justin Chin, "The Burden of Ashes" in Burden of Ashes (Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001), 134.
I am queer for my lover's body. Horehound is mescalinestrong. Dazzling as expensive fireworks. One taste of my Horehound's feast and I beg for his tendrils to twine around my genitals like how a bull is primed for a rodeo. I am ready to be ridden until I kneel on the dusty ground, horns to the dirt, begging to be tamed. Tame me, my sweet, my bitter Horehound. Make me grow unfettered around your body, as your namesake grows.
Lie still; let my tongue function as fingertips, my senses of touch
and taste meld. Let me be the cartographer of your body I know how
to start: from your left nipple, closer to your heart, where the
pump of blood heats that tit more than the other. A more flavourful
place to begin, no? Let me suck, childhungry, until it spurts bitter
on my tongue, pushing my mission to the hollow under your left arm,
again warmer because of your pumping heart. I will nestle in your
brush, press my mouth and nose close to your skin, follow the flow
of your blood as a paper boat in a storm drain does, forcefully,
involuntarily, to your left wrist, kiss your fingers as if they were
a sacrament, read the lines in your palm. I will find the oases, the
monuments, the dikes, the hells, the battlegrounds of your body so I
will know where to hide when you love me or when you fury me.
Justin Chin.
"Horehound" in
/Burden of Ashes/
(Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001): 152-153.
Obsessions are best kept that way. It's not really wise to try and
bring them to you, even if you desperately want to. Even if you're
horny beyond belief.
Justin Chin.
"A Sea of Decaying Kisses" in
/Burden of Ashes/
(Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001): 216-217
A man I used to love died in a hospital alone. We had grown apart and lost touch. I met a common friend one day at a bar and he told me about my ex-lover. Nobody claimed the body for two weeks: His parents refused, his only sister could not be found, and the hospital was certainly not going to release the body to his AA sponsor. So after two weeks they cremated him like all the other unclaimed bodies, put his ashes into a jar, and then allowed anyone to take it. But no one did. He was buried by the municipality in an unmarked grave. I drove to the cemetery. He was buried in Lot 12, Block 86, Section D. Incredibly precise locations for a person who is nothing but ashes unclaimed.
Justin Chin, "The Burden of Ashes" in Burden of Ashes (Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001), 133.
The art of cartography places everything where it should be, until the charts are lost, the places change, or the cartographer decides that the object simply doesn't exist anymore.
Justin Chin, "The Burden of Ashes" in Burden of Ashes (Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001), 134.
I am queer for my lover's body. Horehound is mescalinestrong. Dazzling as expensive fireworks. One taste of my Horehound's feast and I beg for his tendrils to twine around my genitals like how a bull is primed for a rodeo. I am ready to be ridden until I kneel on the dusty ground, horns to the dirt, begging to be tamed. Tame me, my sweet, my bitter Horehound. Make me grow unfettered around your body, as your namesake grows.
Lie still; let my tongue function as fingertips, my senses of touch
and taste meld. Let me be the cartographer of your body I know how
to start: from your left nipple, closer to your heart, where the
pump of blood heats that tit more than the other. A more flavourful
place to begin, no? Let me suck, childhungry, until it spurts bitter
on my tongue, pushing my mission to the hollow under your left arm,
again warmer because of your pumping heart. I will nestle in your
brush, press my mouth and nose close to your skin, follow the flow
of your blood as a paper boat in a storm drain does, forcefully,
involuntarily, to your left wrist, kiss your fingers as if they were
a sacrament, read the lines in your palm. I will find the oases, the
monuments, the dikes, the hells, the battlegrounds of your body so I
will know where to hide when you love me or when you fury me.
Justin Chin.
"Horehound" in
/Burden of Ashes/
(Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001): 152-153.
Obsessions are best kept that way. It's not really wise to try and
bring them to you, even if you desperately want to. Even if you're
horny beyond belief.
Justin Chin.
"A Sea of Decaying Kisses" in
/Burden of Ashes/
(Los Angeles: Alyson Books, 2001): 216-217
March 30, 2011
beginning I could really relate to. (We share similar experience- not sexually.)
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews