MEAN MONDAYS: THIS, THE AGE OF CRUMBS

toasted-bread-crumbs   Hey, does anybody remember when Sam Pink did the ‘other people’ podcast where the interviewer asked a series of really vapid questions and made each answer about himself by ‘relating’ with an anecdotal story even though his anecdots were less interesting than the lumber aisle at home depot.

Then, after an extended period of extreme awkwardness, asked the most undignified, shameless question ever to be asked in any interview:  ‘do you like me?’

Wasn’t that, like, totes, the most hilarious/fucking tragically pathetic moment in the last 5 years of human interaction or what.

Reap the Willow Weep

big-rock-winter

9 new winter themed additions have been added to the Willows Wept Review. I am not usually a fan of themes. To me themed writing feels contrived and meaningless kind of like a forced shit after eating too much cheese.

I read all the posted pieces . Nothing felt contrived. Everything was vibrant.

Specifically this piece by Brandi Wells:

January 6, 1998

I’m ending the post on a high note. There is no where else to go from here.

Juggernaughtica

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Godjira was a bad motherfucker. He was a massive green mutant dinosaur raining down death and destruction because it was Tuesday in Tokyo, and Godjira recognized it was a banal Tuesday and had nothing better to do than melt tiny Japanese flesh sacks with his radioactive fire breath.

The city would get fucked up. High rise buildings in ruin. Virgins slaughtered. Expensive military vehicles raped.

The big green guy wiped his ass with Tokyo. Gratuitous aggression at its pinnacle.

There was always a downfall to his reign.

In a few of the movies an attractive young girl with some moxie devises a way to spank his dick and send him pouting back to his ocean floor studio apartment.

The battle for Tokyo is here and now(once again). Godjira has resurfaced. I am afraid. I need to be held by a comely female or a frail man with soft skin until the battle is over.

Please pretty young girl defeat Godjira and save us all.

godzilla8

I like Buddy Wakefield a lot.

biscuit5vn1My introduction to poetry readings was interesting.  A few years ago my life consisted mostly of copious amounts of Oxycontin (among other opiates), extreme alienation and reading poetry.  I used poetry to cope with the loneliness and agony when the opiate ration wasn’t enough to distract me.

I wanted to hear live poetry for a reason I cannot remember now.  Google showed only one poetry reading in Orange County.  It happened to be right down the street from where I lived at an independent cafe named “the Ugly Mug”.

Continue reading “I like Buddy Wakefield a lot.”

I like the book “Histoire d’O (the story of O)”

storyofoeroticheaddress

The “Story of O” is a French erotic novel written by Anne Desclos (originally under a pen name). Desclos wrote “O” as a series of letters to Jean Paulhan, her lover and eventual publisher, in response to Paulhan’s claim that a woman could never write like the Marquis de Sade.

Many terms used in contemporary BDSM are attributed to Desclos’s novel. It is a story of female submission, torture, sexuality, objectification and (ultimately) of love. The character O is whipped, chained, branded, beaten, pierced, dominated and fucked. Basically O is a submissive good girl who allows all of these somewhat horrific events to occur by granting her masters verbal permission to perform the acts.

The ending is beautiful and will upset some.

The story is fiction and should be treated thusly by those who find the novel misogynistic or disagree with the submissive nature of the heroine. The book was written by a woman, not a man, as an act of love.

Who are we to cast objections over love between two lovers.

Mean Mondays: A play about how writers have big egos and think they are special and will never get along with each other

zax_argue

EXT. DAY – A VERDANT PASTURE

A group of three men squat naked on a hill, each quietly contemplating life while shitting.  A spring cloud approaches from the east.

MAN 1

(jumps up excitedly)

I have created something beautiful!  Look at my shit turd!  Gaze upon its fullness!  Take note of its deep color!  Oh how special my turd is!

MAN 2

(pointing at his excrement)

Yes, I have created also!  My beautiful jagged turd how I appreciate you!  You are unique and different!  A turd not of this world.

MAN 3

(acting disinterested)

I too have created.  My turd is small and compact.

Continue reading “Mean Mondays: A play about how writers have big egos and think they are special and will never get along with each other”

I like Miyazawa Kenji a lot.

miyazawaMiyazawa Kenji began existence in 1896 and stopped existing in 1933.  He wrote chldren’s stories and poetry.  I am not going to elaborate why I like him or why I think you should read him.

This is a favorite poem from Miyazawa:

Strong in the Wind

Strong in the rain
Strong in the wind
Strong against the summer heat and snow
He is healthy and robust
Unselfish
He never loses his temper
Nor the quiet smile on his lips
He eats four go of unpolished rice
Miso and a few vegetables a day
He does not consider himself
In whatever occurs…his understanding
Comes from observation and experience
And he never loses sight of things
He lives in a little thatched-roof hut
In a field in the shadows of a pine tree grove
If there is a sick child in the east
He goes there to nurse the child
If there’s a tired mother in the west
He goes to her and carries her sheaves
If someone is near death in the south
He goes and says, “Don’t be afraid”
If there’s strife and lawsuits in the north
He demands that the people put an end to their pettiness
He weeps at the time of drought
He plods about at a loss during the cold summer
Everyone calls him “Blockhead”
No one sings his praises
Or takes him to heart…

That is the sort of person
I want to be