May Wall Press

A literary project.

Small press with chapbooks and monthly events in Portland, OR. Sign up for the newsletter below to be notified when the RSVP form opens for Bloomers Poetry Club.

Created for the people by Judy Thorn.

  • Bloomers for Dummies

    What is it? How does it work? How can I be part of it?

    I’m taking a risk here by publicly writing about Bloomers Poetry Club. One of the tenets we operate on is mystery. Safeguarding the address is both a gesture of coolness and a deliberate act of protecting our spaces from surveillance. Certain kinds of people frequent my events. Naturally it’s in my best interest to protect those people in small ways. I’ve received remarks that the RSVP system should be easier and more streamlined. It is deliberately hard to navigate. You have to really want it. And you have to use that beautiful brain of yours in order to find us.

    Bloomers began gestating in September of last year when I was invited to read for an Alaska-based magazine. I had a prose poem in their newest issue. To my horror, they were planning on charging the readers at the door. Charging! The readers! Our writer bios were also written with ChatGPT, which the editor admitted whimsically in an email hours before the event. I was disappointed because I had been wanting to sell copies of my chapbook at that reading but now could not attend because of the dishonor involved. My friend Rachel offered to host my own chapbook reading at her apartment instead. Hours later, I was reading to a room of beaming familiar faces.

    It’s an attractive thing, reading to your friends. It’s addictive. 

    The next month, I was ready to present a flyer on Instagram for a new event. Though my studio apartment on Flanders Street was tiny, I’d entertained up to 10 people there before. I like when friends are all squished together in pursuit of creativity. It makes me think of other times in our collective history when neighborhood art movements have been hushed, cramped, and alive. I thought around 20 people would come to my apartment, but 50 came. And in November, 50 again. It was so crowded that it actually felt unsuitable for human life. It wasn’t remotely COVID-safe, which felt dangerous and glamorous—though I know it’s problematic, even murderous in some circles. I can’t quite make sense of it morally. Maybe I’m a bad person. But we all wanted that closeness, to really be confronted with one another. 

    I used my EBT card to buy some cookies and grapes. There’s a good cheap wine at Trader Joe’s called Motif, and I’m sure I bought a few bottles of that to share. I wore a tight blushy pink dress with a matching blazer, black tights, and heeled boots. I’m sure my downstairs neighbor loved the sound of 100 shoes during the hour of social time before the reading started. To christen the event I read a bleak poem by Akhmatova called “The Last Toast.”

    I drink to our ruined house,
    to the dolor of my life,
    to our loneliness together;
    and to you I raise my glass,
    to lying lips that have betrayed us,
    to dead-cold, pitiless eyes,
    and to the hard realities:
    that the world is brutal and coarse,
    that God in fact has not saved us.

    And we all raised our glasses. What I liked about the poem was its wine-red warmth in the face of an apocalypse. That’s exactly what I wanted Bloomers Poetry Club to feel like: a toast to the brutality and coarseness of the world. So now, a year later, wine and beer are still essential parts of the event. It makes no sense at all to be sober today. Bloomers is primarily a house party and happens to have a poetry reading shoved into the middle of it. Things have to be this way. If they are not this way, it’s not Bloomers. It’s something else entirely.

    I’m not opposed to other kinds of readings. In fact I organize them frequently. But Bloomers is my favorite child, the one who shows the most potential.

    Once the reading was done, I ferried everyone down the street to a bar patio. The mythology was already forming. My new friends wanted to know if there would be another one soon and if they could read their poems. I said I’d be inclined to do this again and again for the rest of my life. Hosting Bloomers fused lots of memories, skills, and habits of mine: years of food service training, my childhood at house shows and open mics, my love of witnessing courage, my love of poems, my love of being tipsy, my love of fall and winter, my maternal instinct, my need for attention, my deep desire for routine and regularity. Having something to work toward each month has been a godsend. Melancholic souls like me should be doing a little bit of work on something every single day, so a recurring event is ideal. It’s the void of a day that will kill you. Having nothing on your calendar is exactly what the Devil likes. “Good,” he says. “An open schedule.” We have to do what we can to stop the Devil, whether he takes the form of anxiety, dysphoria, poverty, or anything else Hell’s legions can muster against us.

    Today, as we approach the first anniversary show, I’m thinking of all my beautiful Bloomers (the word “Bloomers” refers to the event itself, the chosen readers and performers, and even the guests; one can also “Bloom” or have “Bloomed,” referring to the act of reading). I’ve been privileged to showcase 52 local artists with new faces coming out of the woodworks every month. Tonight is a revue with five recurring readers. They won’t be reading original work this time. Instead, each will read a published poet assigned to them by me. That’s the beauty of a monarchy, honey. I get to tell people what to do. If you have read at Bloomers before and you were sad not to find yourself on tonight’s lineup, it was purely a matter of quantity. If I could, I’d have all of you read all the time. I will admit some favoritism with people like Patrick and Nadia who are my best friends. Again, this is unapologetically a monarchy. 

    This brings me to point of the blog post.

    I want you to start a rival poetry reading series. I want it to happen soon. I want it to reflect your own personality and value system. And I want to attend. If I have a great time and you seem like a trustworthy person, I want to champion what you’re doing. This is something that sets Portland apart from other art centers. We champion each other because it’s just incredible that anyone is doing anything at all. We love to have things to do. We love to make each other feel famous. We should not have to run away to LA or New York to “make it.”

    Bloomers won’t last forever. There are other things I want to do with May Wall Press. I don’t want you to assume your chance has come and gone just because I haven’t given you an opportunity. Make it yourself. That’s exactly what I did one year ago. Please, I am begging you. Start something. Do something. This winter, we have to save each other from loneliness. It is the only way.

    Here’s a list of community events for you to look into. These are just the ones within my purview.

    Graft Union Reading Series: a non-hierarchical and beautiful beast of many heads
    Chariot: QTBIPOC reading series by Marissa Yang Bertucci
    Perfect Medium: reading series by Kaya Noteboom and Fonograf Editions
    Mental Peace Poetry: readings in unexpected places by Leah Toledano
    Constellation: monthly readings at queer-owned bookstore Bishop & Wilde
    Word Virus Books: ongoing array of interesting events to attend
    Welcome Traveler: book club and reading parties with a taste for design
    Heavenly Pit Chess Club: chess, wine, and conversation
    Film School: monthly repertory screenings with laid-back discussions
    Lesbian Cinema Club: exactly what you think it is
    Bower: underground speakeasy that I’m not allowed to talk about
    Path of Play: experimental gatherings to reawaken the play instinct we had as children

    Yours informatively,
    Judy

  • Newsletter: Booked and Busy

    This evening I am reading a short story at Word Virus Books, about a block from Powell’s in downtown Portland. The selection at Word Virus is utterly fantastic. I’ve booked my friends Kaya Noteboom and Violet Pitsker to read with me. One of the perks of being in charge is that I can do things like this. It’s hard being the girl who hosts all the events. Hopefully it doesn’t come across as pompous that I booked myself for my own reading. If you can’t book yourself, how the hell you gonna book somebody else?

    My story, “Palm Springs,” was published by Breen Nolan in Hobart earlier this year. I’m looking forward to sharing it in-person for the first time. I met Breen at the Constellation reading series at Bishop & Wilde, the same night I met the wonderful Jaye Nasir, who will be reading at Bloomers tomorrow night alongside Josephine LaCosta and Jillian B. Briglia. So we’re looking at two days of literary events in the greatest city in the world: Poetland, OR.

    If you missed the Bloomers RSVP form, make sure you sign up for the newsletter to be notified next time it opens. We’re at capacity with about 80 RSVPs! I would pretend to be “in awe” that people actually give a shit about what I’m doing, but that’s not really how I feel. It makes sense to me that my city wants to support me, because I believe what I’m doing for it has value.

    I’ll admit it’s a lot to handle: planning and hosting two readings per month on top of two jobs, rent and student loans, dysphoria, dystopia, and so on. It leaves me little time for writing, yet I continue to pull time out of my ass because writing is an important part of my routine. They say when someone creative refuses to create, they can become violent or even crazy. My new chapbook, called Guttersnipe, is finished-ish and I’m waiting to hear back from someone about publication. It would be awesome to have it traditionally published, so cross your fingers for me! The manuscript is about poverty. It’s all about being a rotten, damned woman. I really like what I wrote, but maybe it’s ahead of its time. Either way, I had a ball.

    Recently I was able to read poems from Index Letters at Secret Room, a very cool comic shop on Division St. I brought up my co-writer Nadia to read a couple of them with me. We are now completely sold out of the chapbook until the next print run! When we print more, you’ll be able to find copies at Secret Room. I feel like Index Letters finally got the love it deserves! It’s such a funny little book, full of cleverness, rhythm, and longing. Thanks a million times to the 45-ish people who now have copies out there in the world.

    I’m planning something slightly harebrained for Bloomers next month, which will be the one year anniversary show. I’ll write a blog post about what Bloomers Poetry Club means to me soon, because as you can imagine it means a lot. Ta-ta for now!

    Yours fictionally,
    Judy

  • Newsletter: Rilke, Revisited

    Dear all, thanks for coming to Pope House on Wednesday for the first “Handsome Young Men Reading” show. The turnout really impressed the owner. I think our bartender made a pretty penny, too. It feels good that I can contribute to the lifeblood of my neighborhood. We’ve decided to return to Pope House for the next show in October, but I won’t spoil which poet the boys will be reading. He’s one of my all time favorite writers, a massive influence on my work.

    I said to the crowd beforehand that we were going to investigate whether these works matter to our generation, having seen what we’ve seen, facing what we are facing. Rilke began the “Duino” series in 1912, but was interrupted by the war. When he finally started working on it again, he took all that violence and gave it to the angels. I think most would agree that Noname, Aidan, Jesse, Frankie, Patrick, Jules, Thom, August, Tyler, and Daniel each found something true in their respective elegies. There were some hardcore Rilke fanatics in the audience, and I received rave reviews on behalf of my gallant gentlemen.

    It’s fun to make a space where the entire spectrum and what we call manhood can be highlighted. There’s something beautiful about having cis and trans readers engage together with the “male canon.” It’s hard to explain. There’s a purity to it. It was not, however, by any means, a sexless night. I think multiple people might have met their future husbands. That’s the power of poetry.

    Are you a handsome young man* who has a desire for the spotlight? Get in touch.

    Yours romantically,
    Judy

    *The terms “young” and “man” are open to interpretation.

  • Featured Artist: Thomas Alexandre

    Interviewed by Judy Thorn
    August 2, 2026

    The multidisciplinary artist Thomas Alexandre and I engaged in a Zoom call for a much-needed mind-meld. As a Montrealer, this is his debut to an American audience. I first met Thomas in the late 2010s and we became fast friends. He remains one of my most electric connections.

    Describe your day without mentioning the weather.

    It’s the sixth day I’ve worked in a row. I went to my cleaning job this morning, which is in a beautiful house in the Plateau. I listened to podcasts and music, and then I left. I went to get coffee because I needed coffee, and then I remembered I wanted to try this perfume from a small  local perfumery—parfumerie—called Lvnea, which the spelling of feels so entrenched in 2014. I get their newsletter, and they talked about the new seasonal fragrance that had just come out called “Selkie.” I’ve famously been hunting for a fragrance that smells like the sea, but not in a coconut or sunscreen way. In a very North Sea kind of way.

    You want something brackish.

    Yes! Yes! I actually have this card here that has the notes printed on it. I’m gonna read them for you. Notes: an ode to longing. First of all, that’s not real. That’s not a note. Ocean pine. Sea brine. Tangles of kelp. Sun-kissed wet fur. Blubber. Seashells. Marine musk. Ambergris accord. Sea moss. 

    When you said “sea brine,” I heard “seed rind,” which feels so Steinian.

    A hundred percent. I was actually just on her Wikipedia page because of something I saw on social media, and the article talks about how she and Alice called each other “wifey” and “husband.” I’m obsessed. Then I saw people who were arguing about whether or not it was reductive. I don’t care.

    Is there anything you do think is reductive?

    Electric bikes. I’ve been forced to take them to work lately because there’s a drought of non-electric Citi Bikes. For your American audience, it’s a Bixi here, but you guys would know it as a Citi Bike. There’s a classic one and an electric one. The electric one is cyan colored, and the classic one is gray. 

    Seems like they’ve instilled a hierarchy by making the electric one a more sensory color experience.

    Yes, and there’s a contest to win $100,000 if you ride the bikes, which is like season 12 Drag Race money. If you take the blue bike, you get 10 entries, and if you take the classic bike, you just get one. This is every time you take a bike. There’s a new form of bigotry that’s happening within the communal bike world. Anyway, I should finish my other story: I went back home and started reading Future Howl by Sue Goyette, and then I watched Canada’s Drag Race. This book is gorgeous, by the way. May I read to you the first line? “The mother impulsively swallowed the moon. ‘Oh fuck,’ she wanted to say. A quarter moon is one thing. A full moon needs its own luggage.” I’m obsessed with the idea of swallowing a moon and going “oh fuck!” Especially here on Earth, we only have one! At least if it was on a more, um…

    A more moonish planet.

    Yeah, then there would be options and it wouldn’t feel so grave.

    Are you the same person you’ve always been?

    I’ve been thinking a lot about my Saturn return. I was hanging out with Teddy the other day, and we were talking about this. He was like “no, you’re not 28 yet, you’re gonna really feel it.” Because I was telling him that I had been going through so many transformations.

    He was like “you’re not ready, you’re going to be confronted with your most profound life shit.” Which then made me think of how I behaved as a child. I think the main difference is back then, I actually liked being who I was. It wasn’t as blurry.

    Do you think children live in a state of perpetual return?

    I would hope so. I remember mostly what my mom tells me about how I was as a child, because even though I have a lot of memories, they’re rarely of me. She loves to tell me that I spent hours just looking at bugs. Also that I was really scared of being touched by anyone for like six months because of a sensitivity training video we watched in Grade 3.

    Beyond that, I remember being sure of who I was as a child, despite the fact that I was often bullied and that kind of thing. It didn’t phase me. My response was so improvised, by which I mean I was “yes, anding” when people told me “you’re so ugly and a girl.” I didn’t register it as being negative, because I was so in love with my little world, and my books, and all that. I’ve lost sight of that a little. It happened when I got Facebook. It destroyed something. 

    You have an unusual way of living digitally. You’re extremely active in secret little pocket worlds, and then on Instagram, which some would think of as “the stage,” you’re much more of a minx. You’re much more of a sly, secretive kind of character.

    I’ve ghostwritten so many things on the internet. I feel like it’s a motor for me, sharing recommendations for movies or shows or whatever. Like lighting a candle together. It’s freeing for me to share those things. It’s like, I love this song and I know you’re gonna love it too, which is why for a long time all my closest friends had a playlist made by me that was updated every single second. I feel like everything is a bit. I don’t really care for an audience so much with my work. It’s a fun thing for me to have, like a little collection of gemstones in my pocket.

    People have a misconception that those who post less don’t want attention.

    I love attention, but in a niche sense. Seven likes on a Tumblr post is the same as playing Madison Square Garden.

    How many likes did you end up getting on your Andrew Wyeth meme?

    I think I got six, as you predicted. I mean, I think it’s very the Lady Gaga thing of it all. There can be a hundred people in the room. 99 don’t believe you. There just needs to be one. Which is funny because I think for me, for a long time, you were that person.

    I see your poems and drawings as being organs of the same animal. Does your creative world have any distinct boundary?

    No, I don’t think so. I don’t really think about things before I start making them, which is a strength and a flaw in a lot of ways. Everything is very much instinctive. Sometimes I haven’t made something in a long time, and I go “oh, I have to make something now, otherwise I will wither away.” It always relates so much to the body. Of course, the body. 

    Aaand you said it.

    It even ties into running for me. The sport. The track of it all. You’re motioning either toward or from something, and that is where the writing and drawing comes from. I’m either leaving something on the page to get away from it or putting it on the page to move closer to it. Maybe  because of my relationship to the other world, and death, and grief, and all these things that have shaped my life in specific ways, I feel like I have to be perpetually moving. I had this dream a few months ago, and all the locals here will be rolling their eyes because I’ve already told everyone. I was in this weird trinket shop where everything was encased in resin. I was waiting for a woman to give me an astrology reading or something. I don’t remember the specifics, but there was this moment at the end when she asked me if I had any questions for her. And I revealed to her that I’m in this period where I feel like I’m changing, and everything is changing, and it’s so hard to keep track. Everything is going so quickly. So I asked her, “how do I deal with that?” And I do want the change. I like that I’m going toward something, but I feel like it just gives me whiplash. “It’s not the car that’s going,” she said. “ It’s not the horse that’s going. It’s you.” It was so funny in the moment. Essentially, she was telling me that the motion forward is your motion. You’re the one driving. If that car breaks down or your horse dies… Oh, that would be sad. Or runs away. I’m lacking kindness toward horses, but anyway, you can always walk. You can always take another bus. That kind of thing. In my dream, it felt like such a revelation. In the real world, it feels a little bit more like something RuPaul would tell me.

    Is there anything you want to say to my American audience?

    Are you OK?

    Music lives inside both of us. Give me a song to carry me through the rest of my week.

    I don’t know the name by heart. I’m so sorry. Mama, let’s research. I would like to recommend a new Boy Harsher song. They’re famously adored by Perfume Genius. Shoutout Mike and Alan. I’m calling them by their first names because I’m signaling and gesturing to the universe that I want to be on first name terms with them. OK, it’s called “Jeans.” I love the singer’s voice so much because she has almost no range. It’s all about the tone. Sometimes that’s what poetry is for me. There’s no range. It’s all about the tone. That’s your song. That’s what I’m prescribing.

    Is there anything else that’s brewing or stewing?

    We didn’t really talk about my photo work at all, which doesn’t exist. It’s re-existing. It’s reentering.

    We talked about transformation, and one of the transformations I’ve been going through is physical. Yes, I’ve been getting my artistic fitness project underway. So that’s brewing, and then I’ve just been philosophizing about gay guy world, which I hate to do, but someone has to! Lately, I keep talking about the prison of desire and the prison of envy, which all gay guys are in. Both are overfunded. I just think we have a deeply dehumanizing relationship to each other in the community.

    Anyway, there is an embryonic project I was thinking about, in terms of photo work, hidden in there. It probably will never happen, but I love talking about it. Beyond anything, I’m so much better at speaking about my ideas than realizing them. That, to me, is oral history. Both of us would make excellent podcasters, but we would never stoop that low.

  • Bloomers in Willamette Week

    Kendall Porter interviewed me for Willamette Week’s “Best of Portland” features! I told her all about Bloomers Poetry Club. The gatekeeping has officially come to an end. Is this what fame feels like? It’s already going to my head. You can read the article here.

    If any other newspapers want to talk, I’m quite at my leisure!

    Yours journalistically,
    Judy

  • Newsletter: Summer Events

    Women Reading Their Instagram Stories

    Thurs, July 23
    6pm

    Coffee Time
    712 NW 21st Ave
    Portland, OR

    Join us July 23 with a star studded cast of local deep thinkers. Full menu served, open late for a reading unlike any other. You will chuckle, maybe even laugh. Honored to be doing this at Coffee Time, which has been a gathering space for artists and writers for many years. FREE! (Tip your barista!)

    Bloomers Poetry Club, Vol. X

    Fri, Aug 21

    Bloomers returns late August. Lineup, time, location (safeguarded, as usual) will be revealed. If you’re not on Instagram much, sign up for the May Wall Press newsletter to find out when the RSVP form opens. If you’re seeing this in your inbox, you’ve already signed up.

    Additionally…

    If you missed our performance of Index Letters last month, Nadia and I will be recording another performance and uploading it to YouTube. We have copies for sale here.

    Get in touch if you want a Bloomers sticker sheet. They are $10.00 and have officially been truck-tested thanks to Fiona. The stickers look very nice on a rear end.

    I hope you’re all surviving summer as best you can. It’s not my favorite season. I’m grateful for anyone putting on interesting events in our community. Let’s take in some sun, but not too much, and swim, but not too much, and ride our bikes, but not too fast. If you know someone facing eviction, someone drinking a case of beer a night, someone with a terminal illness, someone whose heart is an ornate trap that won’t bend or break, you’re not alone. A lot of my dear ones are in pain right now. I’m just barely making rent each month, but Bloomers has become one of my tethers. As I said on Instagram, “I hope it can be your tether too.”

    Yours maternally,
    Judy

  • Featured Writer: Ash Yang-Thompson

    Interviewed by Judy Thorn
    July 6, 2026

    Ash and I sat down in the back room of my workplace for a chat, surrounded by racks of organic cotton shirts imported from Portugal and Spain. I had planned on an email correspondence, but we agreed this was more convenient. I treated the writer to a sparkling water from the mini fridge. She came back a week later, on her way to a wedding, looking for a misplaced hat.

    A good interview is an opportunity for play. Do you want to play with me?

    How? I mean yes.

    We loved having you read at Bloomers. Tell me about receiving attention from strangers. How does it feel? Where do you sense it in your body?

    I’d rather read confessional poems to a crowd of strangers than fill up a gas tank. Filling up my gas tank fills me with dread; humiliation excites me.

    I thought they filled up your gas tank for you in Oregon.

    I don’t think they do that anymore. I just got a car for the first time in six years.

    Wow. Bit of a rude awakening.

    Yeah.

    You’re extraordinarily collaborative. How do you know when you’ve met someone you can create with?

    The short answer is, I know a hierophant of literature when I see one.

    But since you’re a fan of Mikko [Harvey], I met him when we were both fellows at Vermont Studio Center. I didn’t notice his existence until halfway through the residency when we were toasting our toast concomitantly, and he said he was a poet, and I said something like, “Well, do you like this or that poet…” Talking about the books I love with someone who loves the same books is like crack to me. I get such an adrenaline rush. By the end of the fellowship, Trump had been elected (for the first time) and we had written Skymall. 

    Do you have any advice for me personally?

    Who was the mystic who said, “All is well, all will be well…”

    Julian of Norwich?

    Oh my god, I love you. Tell me more. I’m really into saints and mystics right now.

    I’m interviewing you, though.

    Fine.

    How did you end up in Portland? Why not New York? San Francisco? Stockholm?

    Why Stockholm?

    I just like the sound of it. Stockholm.

    OK. Well, maybe I’ll end up in Stockholm. If I do become the first female Asian-American president of the North American Sauna Society, maybe they’ll put me up in Finland or something, and I’ll have one of those saunas that’s in the middle of a lake, and then you dive into the lake and you do cold water swimming, and then I can get into all the restaurants without waiting because I can flash my badge that says “first ever female Asian-American president of the North American Sauna Society.”

    I ended up in Portland because I wanted to be close to family. I had a feeling my dad was going to die imminently, and I had three young nieces I wanted to get to know. I love California, but too many people have eating disorders there. It’s bad for my body image. I like how the epitome of good-looking in Portland is kind of disgusting. It’s like, really ugly shoes and pimple patches and greasy hair that’s starting to get crusty… That’s Portland hot. It’s been healing for me after living in the Bay Area and New York City. 

    When I lived in New York City, I was briefly the most stylish person on the block. But I don’t have the energy to sift through piles of… This is boring.

    What block exactly?

    Orchard Street. Having a stylish outfit was like your business card. People would stop you, and then you’d end up collaborating and whatnot.

    There you go again collaborating with people.

    I love collaborating. Right now I’m collaborating with Nia Musiba again on Worm Slut. Do you know about Worm Slut? There are nineteen issues. But I’m making a bumper sticker. I’m making a couple. I’m gonna make “Worm Slut: I Love My Job” and “New Asian Driver.”

    Tell us a story in seven words.

    I don’t wanna do this question. I can’t.

    Say bye bye!

    Bye bye.

    Ash also asked to put the phrase “nun-adjacent” somewhere in the interview.

    You can find more relics of Ash Yang-Thompson on her site and Substack. See her read tonight at 7pm with Kiik A.K. at Word Virus Books. Still Worm is available to order from Bateau Press.

  • Featured Writer: Megan Alves

    Interviewed by Judy Thorn
    June 11, 2026

    I sat down with Megan Alves over fizzy white wine and matcha snickerdoodles that tasted like fish food for an exclusive glimpse at her process. This interview was cut down from a 24-minute conversation on her couch. Her breathtakingly small chihuahua licked me on the mouth repeatedly, but I didn’t mind.

    The amount of writing that passes through your body every day is astonishing. Do you ever wake up feeling swollen with language? How do you decompress?

    I really like “swollen with language.” That’s awesome. I think it’s funny you say that, because sometimes I do. I have these bouts sometimes. I’ll wake up, and I’ll make coffee, and I’ll try not to look at my phone. Not just trying to sound good for the interview, but I really try not to look. Sometimes I’ll do the dishes or something, kill some time and just let my brain wake up before phone. But phone calls to me so severely, and I just get back in bed with phone and drink coffee, and I will send out a flurry of Tweets before noon that’s just every passing thought that I have.

    It’s really like writing time. I’m very grateful that you’ve encouraged me to take my role as a writer as something I’m even doing. I don’t know why it’s hard for me to think of it that way. I do feel like I wake up swollen with thoughts to share and to post. I’m actually doing morning words, or whatever. Morning pages. I’m microblogging, which is a term I used with you the other night, which was something I discovered when I read an article about the beginnings of Twitter, which I found really … honestly moving to my personal practice of morning posts. My favorite people who use X-formerly-Twitter use it as microblogging. I want to hear little things that happen throughout your life and day in a way that’s beautiful. I feel like that’s definitely my style of posting, and some of my other favorite friends from that website.

    But I was laughing because you’ve kind of taught me to take that a little more seriously as I make my posts. Sometimes it exits my mind, and I’ve Tweeted something like, “I like getting boba from a place called Bobadochi.” And that was the whole Tweet, just “I like getting boba from a place called Bobadochi.” And I thought, I’m a writer. I’m a fucking writer. 

    I find that your storytelling strikes a chord between authenticity and irony that is extremely satisfying. Are there any artists who have influenced your tone?

    This one’s hard for me. I feel like I really struggle with recalling information. Maybe it’s just because I’m a Leo Sun, Libra Rising, Sagittarius Moon, but my personality flows out of me in a way I can’t control. If anything, I’m posting in such a fugue state that the inspiration forms in my head, and then I type it out, and then I hit send. There have to be people who have influenced me, but I don’t know.

    Is there any exhibitionism to it?

    You’d really think there was. I kind of have this problem where I don’t think about the consequence of anything as I’m doing it. If anything, as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned to hold my tongue, or hold my thumbs, if you will, before sending off those posts. Especially as I’m entering a romantic situation with someone, or there are personal things happening in my life; in the past, I’ve shared extremely personal things online that people love, of course, but then it hurts someone close to me, or it’s just off-putting to have someone live-Tweeting their life. I’ve definitely had guys be off-put by it. It’s not intentional exhibitionism. I’m just putting it all out there.

    The person that’s coming to mind—and I don’t even think she influences me specifically, but I think she might have a similar authenticity-to-irony factor—is Jenny Slate. I really liked her comedy special where she incorporates her parents, and it gives you a roundabout picture of how she interacts with her family and how they’ve shaped her. Her tone is really sharp and quick-witted but also silly in a way that I enjoy. When I’m writing out a post, it should be poignant and also have this curve of humor or an unexpected adjective. What I aim for in a post is a satisfying string of words that mean something. A post is a satisfying string of words that mean something.

    I mostly like pairings of words that mean something, but nothing really relevant. I recently drafted the two words “dirty sequins.” I like when they’re really dirty and the story that tells of a girl getting dirty in her dress. Dirty sequins. Refreshing flower. Squishy cookies.

    People often come to you with questions about interior design. What advice do you have for someone who can’t seem to find harmony in their living space?

    That’s a good one. Let’s imagine you have a space and you want to change everything about it, I guess. I would say identify your favorite thing in the room and design around that. If you really like this lamp, and you want it to stay, you can define what this lamp is. We’re looking at my ceramic 1960s seashell lamp. What is that shape? Not just a seashell. It’s a spiraled shell. This one is kind of hard to define. My place is very eclectic.

    My friend is moving into a new apartment, and they scored this really awesome Scandinavian teak dining table for their little kitchen nook. We went shopping, and they got this textile that’s kind of woven, and older, and it’s beige and it’s got these lime green lines throughout it. They hung it above the dining table, and they sent me a photo after our day of shopping. I said great, this looks awesome. You have this Scandinavian folk thing happening in the kitchen. My point is, identifying an object and giving it some key words to help you identify other objects to pair with it is a really helpful base. So I told my friend, you’ve got this Scandinavian folk thing going on. Maybe add some modern elements. Every time you find an item you’re thinking about putting in your kitchen, ask yourself, is it Scandinavian, or is it folky, or is it both, or is it a modern touch? It gives you these base words to start building out a vision. It’s been a helpful brain map for me in developing a space, to give it these key words and definitions. I’ve helped friends with spaces before and they get lost in the sauce. Well, return to your ingredients.

    Girl to girl, what is the tea?

    The tea is I’m sorry and I think I fucked everything up.

    Some say Portland will never return to its hipster heyday. What’s so special about this city?

    This is gonna be very Californian, but Oregon feels so seasonal to me. I’ve really evolved to live seasonally. We all get nice and cozy in the winter, and I feel like summer is this manic burst of plans and fun and this summer spirit everyone breaks into. Portland is very fourth wave. We’ve really cut out corporations from our world, outside the big design industries we have here. I feel like people are really down to live locally. Even in the industry I work in, which is vintage curation and vintage resale. That kind of market is celebrated here. Secondhand and shopping local is so built into Portland’s world. I find that really special and really important in moving away from capitalism, or at least trying to live within a local ecosphere. I think that’s really alive here and something that’s making me really double down on Portland. 

    There are a lot of cool things happening. Portland takes art seriously. From the first time I ever visited, I was like, Portland kind of never left 2010. I remember staying in the hostel, and I heard that Matt & Kim song “Daylight” over and over. This was in 2019 or something, a time when it was like, this really should not be playing right now, not even in a nostalgic way. Portland never left its twee hipster nature. We are a step away from mustache tattoo on the finger. I would lowkey get that tomorrow. We’re down to be quirky, and I think that’s important and fun. I’m turning 30 this summer, and I find this liveliness with fashion to be so encouraging of youth. It makes me remember that I can be cool and fashionable forever.

    What does it feel like now that your Saturn has returned?

    It feels like I’m having anxiety in a whole new way, and I’m having to regulate in a whole new way. I take my life a lot more seriously than I ever have, and therefore becoming unregulated feels a lot more serious, whereas I used to be able to messy bun, gangster rap, and handle it. I’m really having to tie that bun a little tighter, I’m gonna have to play that gangster rap a little louder, and I’m really gonna have to buckle down and handle it. I’m having reflections. I was actually journaling the other day about what my life felt like going into 30, and I was having these thoughts. When I read my old journals, I’m like, yeah you’re 22, no shit you felt like that. Obviously. I was writing some stuff that I was like, nnyeah. You’re 29 turning 30, like nnyeah. Like, we get it. I really wish you could get the tone of the nnyeah. I was writing that, and I was like, someday I’m gonna be 39 turning 40. Those things are settling in a little deeper. Yeah, I’ve really got three decades under my belt, and counting. I’m excited for my long life.

  • Featured Writer: Autumn Schade

    Interviewed by Judy Thorn
    May 1, 2026

    I sat down with my friend Autumn Schade over proverbial yogurt parfaits for the first May Wall Press editorial feature. Autumn works close to where I live and I see her often.

    Do you remember being born? How did it make you feel?

    I don’t actually remember being born. It is funny to me that you would think I’d be the type of person who could. My mom always says I was born saying, “hi guys, what’s up!” I think I was relieved to begin my life.

    My first memories feel like sheets fresh out of the dryer. Holding my mom’s hand in the parking lot. Pointing at a flock of birds and calling it a bird parade. Learning how to read in the morning.

    Imagining myself ever being so tiny, I sometimes wish I would’ve sipped dew drops from leaves or something. But of course, you don’t know you’re tiny when you’re new to the world.

    Birth feels a little bittersweet to me. There is something melancholic about it. On one hand, it is important to self-actualize and feel like I’m meant to be here; on the other, I know I’m also just the result of circumstance. I exist because of a time when my mom felt manipulated, afraid, and without much control over her life. She says she would go through it all again just to have me and my two brothers, even without being ready to be a mom or having much of a choice.

    Birth isn’t something we’re meant to remember so much as something we spend our lives making sense of, finding meaning for something that began before we had any say at all.

    How has your writing practice been going since reading at Bloomers Poetry Club in December?

    Right when I joined Bloomers, I had made a resolve to work on being less private about my art and writing. Then after attending, I made a quiet decision that if Judy ever asked me to read, I would say yes enthusiastically, regardless of my anxieties, and just go for it.

    After performing, I realized I had been making this privacy about my work thing into internalized drama. Sharing is still new to me, but since that experience, I’ve been more open and have continued to put my work out there. For example, I’m now in a private creative writing workshop and am printing a zine very soon (shameless self-plug).

    Think about yourself as an artist. Where are you in the timeline?

    Creating has always been something I do, whether consciously or not, with or without a clear purpose. It’s hard for me to place myself on any kind of timeline. I think of myself as an artist who creates for the love of it, without much concern for discovery or recognition. This has always been true for me.

    I understand why some artists feel a strong pull toward visibility and recognition, but I don’t experience that urgency. For me, that kind of pressure can feel draining. It’s more than a hobby, but I don’t want to make it my job. That’s part of why I’ve tended to keep my practice private. But, as you know, I’m working on that. So no matter what, it just makes me happy to know I am an Artist. As long as I can make things, I know I’m on the right timeline.

    Out of the thousands
    who are known,
    or who want to be known
    as poets,
    maybe one or two
    are genuine
    and the rest are fakes,
    hanging around the sacred
    precincts
    trying to look like the real thing.
    Needless to say
    I am one of the fakes,
    and this is my story

    “Thousands,” Leonard Cohen

    If you could only keep one of the books in your collection and all the others tragically burned, which would it be?

    NIV, True Images Bible: The Bible for Teen Girls. It was a gift from my mom when I was 12. She was a single mom making $8.00 an hour at Great Clips (plus tips). The Bible itself was really expensive. Years later, I tried to give it to the thrift store and she saw it in my pile and wept. I promised her I would hold onto it.

    Do you think I’m pretty?

    Beyond… Like many people, I was starstruck when I first met you at the Word Virus grand reopening. I told you Yoshitaka Amano could draw you very well.

    Did you ever recover the amulet?

    Oh, that poor little amulet!

    Only in fragments.
    Clutched and quiet are those pieces;
    my amulet—you aren’t meant to sit in a hand,
    circle my neck and lie upon my chest.

    Only in fragments.
    I found the glittering cast metal,
    green with nickel-sickness,
    costume jewelry gone dull at the joints.

    Wipe the tarnish from its small forgetful face,
    let it rest against my pulse like an open window.

    It will be recovered soon enough.

  • Welcome (Tea and Lore)

    May Wall Press is a trans-operated literary project in the greatest city in the world: Portland, OR. I named it after my great-great-grandmother Emma May Wall, born 1880 in Liverpool.

    The Press has taken root with a growing network of 30+ featured local writers and hundreds of guests at Bloomers Poetry Club, a monthly DIY traveling reading series made to entertain my friends and help us get through dark PNW winters. On a shoestring budget, with little to no connections in academics, publishing, and the art world, Bloomers is now the fastest growing literary event in the city. We have been at full capacity since the first reading, in which we somehow squeezed 50 people into my old studio apartment on Flanders Street.

    My debut chapbook Everything is Something Else: A Theory was self-published in summer 2025. I distributed 60+ copies to readers in six states and two countries. Index Letters, a book of found poetry written in collaboration with Nadia Niva, is coming June 2026. Keep an eye out for future titles, including the Bloomers printed anthology.

    We’re proud to be part of a creative collective that includes Path of Play, Film School, Heavenly Pit Chess Club, Listening Club, Graft Union Reading Series, Dreck, and more.

    As May Wall Press continues to spread her wings, I’m looking for help! I want venues that can host 80-100 people, stage and sound equipment, and connections with artists and writers in the Portland area. Please get in touch! Email maywallpress@gmail.com and let’s wake it up.

    Yours forever,
    Judy

Est. 2024

Contact
maywallpress@gmail.com