Mark Fullmer

Contributors
Lad Tobin
Sara Jackson
Eileen Fenn
Jen Guterman
bat matthews
Lindsay DiGianvittorio
Mordicai Knode
L.A. Henkel
Katie Howell
Edwin T Merrick V
Mark Fullmer
Mike Milazzo
Angie Brammer

**Send me your favorite Nick Courage moment**
(will be added to the latest printing of COURAGE: a portrait of the man as an artist)

---

Lad Tobin
I've always enjoyed interfacing with Nick -- in the halls of Carney; in the halls of the MFA; on his admirably prolific FB page -- but I think my favorite "NR (NC?) moment" was running into him one Sunday afternoon several years ago in new orleans at Jazz Fest. I was on my own; Nick was with three generations of Richardsons (who generously allowed me to tag along and share their blanket for a bit). We were both happy to be in NOLA listening that music and eating that food—and we were both relieved to hear that neither of us had any intention of being back at work the next day.

---

Sara Jackson
WASTING TIME WITH NICK
FROM ‘06
random conversation excerpts between sara jackson and nick richardson during work hours, late 2006

11:02 AM me: hey!
11:06 AM Nick: hey i gotta run an errand but ill be back in 15 boo
11:07 AM me: i will be here
11:08 AM Nick: in the meantime here is an educational email:
Good Morning!

Please find attached the Order Confirmation Report for Wednesday, December 20th -- the 206th anniversary of Thomas Jefferson's Louisiana Purchase (a massive acquisition of land comprising roughly 23% of our modern day United States, then abutted on the north by Rupert's Land and on the west by The Viceroyalty of New Spain). Feel free to contact me if you have any questions!

Best,
Nick

11:33 AM me: i was pondering the message you left but then i got distracted by myspace go figure

4:27 PM me: hey drunky!
4:28 PM Nick: you have no idea
4:29 PM me: i have a little snippet of an idea from our convo last night
4:31 PM me: i'm going to forage for food send me an e-mail of all of your crazy times

Nick: you know they changed the look of betty and veronica! im so mad!
me: no way!
Nick: you just hang out with douchebags clearly
me: when
Nick: yea, they look like Bratz now
maybe a week ago
me: AHHHHHHHH
Nick: i can find the link
its really depressing
me: why are you telling me this
12:26 PM Nick: because you like Archie
me: you just destroyed my youthful childhood memories and replaced them with mall slutz
Nick: stay out of riverdale!
me: they didn't destroy jughead did they?
i would have to bust some heads then
12:27 PM he is my man and i will not accept this
12:29 PM Nick: http://www.thetalentshow.org/archives/002696.html
brb
me: i like how you always leave me something to look at when you leave
i appreciate smiling at girls and not following through.
me: oh gots yeah
guy stuff
Nick: well, young old day, good old boy stuff
v-necks and whiskey.
me: good ol southern boys
5:58 PM just like the cheap trick song except with boys
Nick: if i werent an eco-feminist vegetarian, they'd let me join the club.
5:59 PM me: not without callilng you a queer first
Nick: i dunno, the good old boys ive hung out with, the real ones, they dont give a shit
the cajuns, anyway
6:00 PM its that french twist
but if you dont eat duck, well fuck it

7:58 PM me: point taken
Nick: its all about the tantric swells
you got that, and then you have an art instead of a means and an end
7:59 PM my battery has two minutes left
me: say something profound while you have the chance
8:00 PM before you vanish into the night as well
Nick: http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=12387863...
me: i usually just burp or fart, it's less profound but much more entertaining
Nick: there, that way i don't have to rush it
8:01 PM me: do something even if it's wrong
that's my word of advice to you
Nick: trouble is a fake idea
me: from greg oblivian straight to you
8:02 PM Nick: thats my second one.
me: you're good at this

9:06 AM me: have you ever felt like a functioning depressive?

me: why come to my party if you aren't gonna give me drugs
10:35 AM Nick: i will come back to this question after i do some stuff with booksellers
ps still the opposite of creepy.

10:36 AM Nick: pretty soon i won't be on gtalk anymore and you'll wonder what to do with your time!
me: what!!!
why
2:24 PM why would you leave these wonderful talks we have all day long
why
i will loose touch with you
and we will never see each other ever again
2:25 PM Nick: pretty much, buddy
2:26 PM i'm glad you feel the loss as sharply as i imagined it.
me: fuck
2:29 PM why would you leave gmail?
2:30 PM Nick: not gmail, gtalk unavailability
it's a secret, and it hasn't yet come to pass.
me: you don't like to gtalk to me? i'im taking this very personally
2:31 PM Nick: sgot noffink to do wif you
2:42 PM me: well i miss our chats all the same
Nick: they aint over eyt
yet
2:45 PM me: it ain't over til it's over
2:46 PM my way or the highway
you can't teach a dead whore new tricks
2:48 PM Nick: maybe you should date @#$%^
me: why
i don't think he even likes me very much

---

Eileen Fenn

I am watching Nick curl up in a ball in Erin's backseat. We are driving down Beacon Street following a class at BC. He is remarking on the number of self-indulgent remarks our classmates espoused over the course of the past two hours. He is rubbing his head in disbelief. We are laughing and on our way to Anna's. Life is good; we are laughing and happy and young. Unlike Nick today. :)

I miss your giggle, Nick, and I hope all is well!

Love,
Eileen

---

Jen Guterman

Nick is just a stand up guy. He's always struck me as very intelligent, artistic, and kind (kind is not a given with the other two characteristics!) I remember him donating to a work event I had to raise money for over Facebook, when I hadn't seen him in at least a year. He is that kind of person.

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bat matthews
?

My favorite Nick moment? To be honest, I've been thinking about it for a week straight...Is it when I first met him? Is when he asked me to move in with him in Gainesville? Is it when we dressed up in cat faces for a couple of Halloweens or other parties? Is it underwear parties or Harvard Law School parties? Is it during Against Me shows? I think it was when he really changed my life and asked me to move in with him in Boston. We both were going through really tough times and, somehow, we pulled each other through. Nick has this amazing ability to inspire people to their best and I realized it each time one of our comrades (mine or his) visited and we peer pressured them into being better people. I love Nick. I'll never have a better friend or person to aspire to. He'll still always be "my roommate" –- someone I talk about constantly to clients, friends, and strangers alike. I think we feed off of each other when we're ready to go out...That's when we have the most fun. We have the most fun with friends, without pretensions and with each other. I think everyone would write something similar. Nick, I’ve noticed, is someone we could all come to with a problem for some sound, awesome advice....but we would all be there in a hot second for him if he ever needed us -- and I think that's what I have to say. We're there for you like you for us. We love you. Happy Birthday and thanks for being there and being supportive throughout.

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lindsay digianvittorio
?
There are some people who through one sincere look can put you at ease. Whether it be his kind smile or warm eyes, Nick’s presence has a calming effect on those around him. When grad school felt impossible, when I was overwhelmed, or when I wasn’t quite “getting it,” to be able to sit next to Nick in class I would have a sense of peace and comfort. He’s someone who you instantly feel you’ve known forever, that old friend in whose presence you can relax and be yourself.

The time that most stands out to me with Nick is actually not a story, but a moment. It was maybe the first few weeks of grad school and moving to Boston. We both ended up at Coolidge Corner Theatre one evening seeing I Heart Huckubees with friends. I’ll be honest: at the time, it was probably one of the most confusing movies I had ever seen. To make matters worse, I was with a group of people I didn’t know who all seemed to love it and get every joke and innuendo. I felt out of place, and wondered if this would be what my grad school experience would be like. When afterwards Nick turned around and asked what I thought of the movie, I quietly admitted to him that I preferred movies like Gladiator. It was a random response, but was the first thing that came to mind. Yet when Nick warmly nodded and smiled in that way he does, I felt completely understood. It goes beyond words, but it was a defining moment of the start of our friendship that carried all through grad school.

Nick simply has “that way” of making you feel accepted. How wonderful to get to spend two years of school with someone like him. Although we didn’t get to see each other much outside of class with our busy schedules, I know that my experience at BC would have been completely different without him. Plus, who else would have listened to me talk nonstop about cats?

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Mordicai Knode
?
1814 was the very last year anyone could pretend the Kalmar Union was even tenuously in existence. The gossamer bloodlines connecting that Scandinavian house of cards had long since collapsed, but it wasn't until 1814 that finally everyone got around to announcing their sovereignty. Thus closed the last gate to Ultima Thule-- the real one, not the pipe dream of the next century's National Socialists. Missionaries bound the Maori language to the written word & the shores of Hawaiki were lost. Andrew Jackson seized the Fountain of Youth in Pensacola. Nicolas Courage was marching with Napoleon Bonaparte’s Grand Armee, & I was picking through the dead they left behind; not out of some grisly carrion bird impulse, but because-- well, that is a story for another time.

Nick was a little bit taller then-- in the nearly two centuries we've known each other we've both gone through our share of vicissitudes. Taller, but with the same sort of twinkle in his eye that (coupled with an unfortunate weight gain in '23) inspired that "t'was the night before..." bunk. I'll tell you one thing, he may have a twinkle but it is a bowl full of brimstone in his belly. Nick freaking Courage...

I was plucking through the pockets, emptying out the shoes of the fallen (& helping myself to what it was I found there-- again, not scavenging, but...well, never mind) when Nick showed up. Bayonet piked at the end of his Charleville 1777, tall goofy hat with the Macaroni feather, the whole nine-yards. Mind you, I was in the high black collars of the Prussians, & all iron & spikes besides. Fashion choices just always loom silly when you look back on them. Well, there was the usual occult sort of flirting; he had a Hand of Glory out a-blazin', & was wearing a brass Seal of Solomon like a pocket watch, with the various other goetic seals inside like clockwork bits, gears & teeth cycling them as needed.

You know how it is. I think we might have both been harkening to the same thing-- that bloody buzzing whenever the Philosopher's Stone is around-- but it could be otherwise. I'm not sure, & we can't agree; I won't tell him what I was Golluming in the dead's pockets for, & he won't tell me why he had 66 silver bullets with him. Gentlemen don't press these issues.

Well before you know it we were shaking hands & "cheerio!" & such. There was a feeling in the air-- Napoleon had just been shipped to that tiny little island (you see, even as the various Hy Brasils & Mus of the age were closing, new ones were being born) & it wasn't hard to rouse his gusto with a few "come adventure with me!" cries. I had a one of Dee's notebooks, one I'd long since cracked the cipher on-- would've sold the solution to Voynich with the book if he'd been willing to pay-- & it marked down the way into the recently discovered Oak Island cache. Off we went, tra-la-la. Boat across the Pond, & well-- long story short, that is how we found Edward Teach's horde-- "where none but Satan & myself can find it" my ass. Well, to be fair, I guess between Nick & myself we aren't too far from Satan & Blackbeard. Equivalent exchange, right?

---

L.A. Henkel

?

Nick Courage:

a series of haikus

by l.a. henkel

?

small bear with big words
wrapped in tight striped trousers
office ladies' dream.

?

"a crysturbator!"
warns courage over grumpy's
coffee and mirrors.
?

hungry for kimchee
wet umbrella cameos
staring unaware.

?

warm weather walking
punk rawker tells sparrow aunt
to dress less canadian.

?

monster mash dance-dance
where zombies and werewolves
howl, "glad you were born!"

?

---

Katie Howell
I don't know if there is one "defining" Nick Richardson moment. I remember him being the guy that all of the ladies noticed - clearly hipper than all of us, with the New Orleans mystique that's easy to notice, but hard to define. When you meet Nick, you know that here's a person who's committed to art and creating without really getting the sense that he lets that be his outline; he's funny and smart, and very gracious (I could recount a very awkward, classic Katie foot in mouth moment that he handled so wonderfully, but I won't). I feel like I know Nick, but don't really, as if with every exchange there's another great layer I get to see. For me, it's as if I'm always getting to know him, and that's a great experience.

?

---

Edwin T Merrick V

courage, courageous soul (a fragment)

i.
you can catch a comet’s tail!?
set it down with force of strength
will, and make it shine on ages eternal
with friend like this you could
know, know and feel those energies
backing you endeavorous explorer
seeking the most of everything
expecting the world of life, holding to
and surety of its pay-off

?

ii.
count the stars between interrobangs
imprecisions will run out while it takes you
much rather felt than studied
a cadaverous muse of ganglia intaglio
grasping, ever grasping inertial perfections
bloodied, yet, and alive!? it bleeds
from fingertips, gums of fallen teeth
sanguine tears of joy!?
fostered grace found beatific
and angels serene, painted face
harlequins who contort, panders to erotica
always and never!? this can be true
it is, but it can always
wrung out, célèbre, the world is young enough

?

iii.
growing, it grows, ever growing, cycling,
spiraled out in galaxy’s avid gusto
what or whether, the point of any of it
well whatfor!? onwards anyhow, dear brother mine
hold fast, the beams are tight and likely to hold
sealed as they are, just and boldly bonded
the ships are built in broader strokes
than yesteryear ever readily knew
such, stalwart sons and vassals of greater goodness
we ride chariots o’er the ruts of phoebusic track
and rest, only when all days
have duly run their course

?

iv.
young Hermes, that pan so capriciously
in sleek tights and verdant smock
speak giddily thy nectared phrases
and learn us greatly from arcane lexicons
well read, well preformed for our simple pleasure
cordial conversation, chit-chat of literature’s mights
wherewith they come, come out to be adorned
by simple ceremony, an impromptu reading
its read into record through timorous microphone
and electro-guitar amplifiers subtle distortion
reverb: an action performed again & again
such as, that:
this display, put on, once again each spring

?

v.
sprig holly, ivy, and mistletoes that are curlicued
there is frost in the towers while
some fear their voices harken, Babylon
but gardens, mais jardins, blossom multipliers
even in the coldest dead heart of winter’s wail
set up, beached and bloated leviathan
render fat upon alters, tallow candles that glimmer, glow
and mark memories safe, steadfast marbled statuary
the chill of church cathedral vaults notwithstanding
this occurs, as foretold or merely forebearn
the babe in market baptized in iciest bloods ebbèd tide

?

vi.
how told, how are you and who welcomes
strangers in the nascent day
they come after and of all over, travelers
in and through the night, crossing breast and desert
isles of loss, ont oublié, journey still by day
so that fish can be brought to market
so that men can be brought
and bought, to bear, full weight
and fathoms unmeasured, but tried by cord
a cordage marked twain! is it enough?
that two brothers can ever be separate
wrung apart, distanced upon the dead stair
an incommunicable surrender, a white flag
a page, torn from ‘script, born blankened innocent white
yet signifying cause, triumphantly predeterminant
             ground out from legible memory
a surrender, a call to arms, the bastions made ready
wars spoken, crosses heart, maddening eclipse

?

vii.
whatever young currency this sparks
whether out of date, belated, or missed its mark
I’m telling you, it can surely still be amended
read back to and retold
           ground out from legible memory
no time like present, set beyond, past and beyond
le plus noir angel, castrato in eternity, knowing
the moment remains, for now, apart, separate and unknown

?

viii.
punchy drunk, fist fashioned crescendo
this is a hill bright apocalypse
the homes are aflame with splendors
yet told, remainfully unseen, said on faith
to hold tongue and sudden decisions
acting out accordingly the young spitfire,
the damnèd dame, the shown knight
of brambled swords and huzpah caps in stereo
this is revolutionary broadcast
there are only patriots to our boyish cause

---

Mark Fullmer
?

excerpt from an interview

NiCo: Back to the buddhist life-as-art thing (and that jouissance we
were talking about earlier):

I was with you for one of the more ridiculously cinematic moments in
my life, with you and Matt Sebold. It was after a... was it a
comprehensive theory exam? We were exhausted but celebratory, and you
brought some 40s to our teaching fellow offices afterward. We had some
drinks - obstreperous - then we made our way to the bluestone bistro
(across from my apartment on commonwealth avenue) and shared a pitcher
or two outside.

It had been raining, but the light was nice and the air was summer
cool. And I think we three were just feeling very cathartic... when a
white passenger van skidded across the train tracks bisecting
commonwealth avenue and into a tree about 20 feet from us. And the
tree... was some sort of flowering tree, and it just exploded, deep
pink petals projecting out like hundred dollar fireworks.

I'm literally just recounting that moment as I remember it, not trying
to inflict poesy on it. I think about that exploding tree all the
time. Do you remember that day? The same way I remember it? Should we
theorize it? Or is it just a moment? If it's just a moment... should
we erect some sort of shrine to it? Or was it a cathected moment, a
monument regardless of our remembrances? Or is that just the treacle
of memory making a fool out of everybody?

MaFu: You are not inflicting or inflecting anything upon that
deliriously and gorgeously weird moment (of COURSE I remember it!),
and we must enshrine (painting? obelisk? cult?), for it was surely and
truly jouissance...and that is all is exactly as I remember it—except
for one thing. I thought we were INSIDE the cafe when it happened.
Funny. The other thing I remember is how in my periphery I saw not the
van moving--because cars were whizzing by in the periphery all the
time--but the sudden freezeframe halt of the van by the tree, and then
that lovely thwump of sound in the stillness (it wasn't a car-crashy
sound, as I recall, but more like a timpani muffled as soon as it was
struck)--and then, in the silence, those surreal snowy petals
pillowfighting just as you describe it!

---

Mike Milazzo

don't have any Nick stories..
But he is a sweet, cool guy with great taste in music!!

---

Angie Brammer
?

The first time I met Nick (at Audubon Zoo in New Orleans), he was 18 and had royal blue hair. I didn't see him again for probably a year after that, at which time he had jet black hair. When I finally met his real hair, maybe six months to a year after that, I just wanted to punch him. That beautiful, blond, Barbie-like hair was under there the whole time? But as actual violence would have been inappropriate considering the circumstances (my husband being a blood relative of Nick's then-girlfriend), I decided to take it out on him instead through games: Archon, 1,000 Blank White Cards, and the Dictionary Game, among others.

This set up something of a perpetual competition between us. Although, I have to say, we haven't had a Scrabble Death Match since before he started grad school in English, and that can only be a good thing for me. I had to do all I could to hang on even back then, when Nick was but a wee lad of 22.

All of this is just a prelude to the real story, the one that for me illustrates the true heart of Nick.

One fine spring day, a good handful of years ago, four of us (Nick and me included) decided to go tubing on the Ichetucknee River in northern Florida. The river is fed by a natural spring, which keeps it a chilly 72 degrees. We were the only ones on the river that day. Getting from the small dock into the river was a tricky business, especially if you didn't want to freeze your ass off straight away. I leapt in first, attempting to set a brave example. By the time I managed to right myself (soaked and freezing) in my inner tube, Nick had somehow managed to get into the river while seated crosslegged on top of his inner tube, totally dry. I don't know how he did it. It's not like you can just set your tube on the river and daintily sit down -- the current is always pulling the tube away. He made a fairly big production of being pleased with himself for managing it. He was like some kind of mystic yogi, perched there with his legs crossed just so, using his arms for balance, with his sunglasses hiding his eyes.

Well, you can't go down the river dry. You just can't. He was going to have to get wet sometime. I don't remember the words that were exchanged. Possibly there weren't any -- I had been acting big-sisterly toward Nick for several years at that point, and any big sister knows automatically what has to be done in a situation like that. I began inching toward Nick's tube in the river (my husband softly humming the Jaws theme). I was moving so slowly, I had probably a whole minute before I was going to have to decide if I was really going to try to flip him over. I hadn't gone more than a couple feet in his direction when Nick looked at me, abruptly flung his arms wide and shouted into the stillness, "I'LL-DO-IT-MYSELF-THEN!" as he shot backward off the tube into the river.

The self-directed pre-emptive strike was never better.