**Pictures after the jump!**

wednesday

i began my trip wednesday morning at rdu airport. i was extremely nervous. i looked around and saw signs that i did not understand. my flight was delayed about an hour and a half. i walked around and used the bathroom about three times and bought a small pizza for $8 at the airport and watched planes leave. my chest felt immense several times. i got on my flight. i arrived at o’hare airport around 3 pm. it was very rainy in chicago and i felt afraid to leave the airport.
christy call picked me up from the airport around 6 pm. christy is the most adorable woman i have ever seen. we bonded while circling the airport waiting for ryan to get there. christy beeped at a hispanic guy that she thought was ryan. we talked about panic attacks, being creepy, and life. we call each other “c” and “g” now. we are that fucking badass.
ryan call is quite lovely. he helped me book my hotel since i could not book it myself. when he got into christy’s car, he turned around and gave me a smile. he is kind of tiny. not in a bad way, though. i feel like i wanted to pet him like a small animal. he is a very genuine person.

when i got to my hotel, i went for a walk outside in the cold. the sky looked grey at 9:30 pm. i was afraid i was going to trip and bleed and die. but i didn’t. i meandered through the city watching life through my blurred camera lens.

thursday

jereme dean has been a close friend of mine for a very long time. he has taught me a lot about life and people. i was very happy to meet him. he has several freckles that make his face interesting. he stole my sunglasses, but that is okay. they look much better on him anyway. jereme is also a ladies man. he was trying to sell blake’s book to random women walking by at awp. i laughed several times at this. it made me wish i had not bought blake’s book so he could have persuaded me to buy it.
i did not get to awp until the afternoon of thursday. i could not get in due to my lack of an id. i met peter cavanaugh and daniel bailey simultaneously. peter cavanaugh is a very quiet person. i felt a sadness surge through me whenever i looked at him. he is a good person to take unsuspecting pictures of.
daniel bailey has been my friend for a little while. i was scared to talk to him when we began talking a few months ago. i enjoy daniel’s poetry. daniel was nice and featured me on here explodes my giant face. in person, daniel is very tall and kind of quiet, but not as quiet as peter. i felt bad when i was sitting at the noo journal table and accidentally spilled wine beneath his feet. he didn’t respond to it much, which i thought was strange.
sam pink is such an elusive person. i was walking outside with jereme and peter at awp and i heard a voice behind me asking jereme for some money. it took me a few seconds to recognize the voice. jereme did not recognize who it was. jereme almost gave him a dollar, and i said, “do you know who that is?!?” jereme didn’t. it was sam fucking pink. i kept telling sam before i met him that i would get his real name out of him. i did. sam is also very famous, apparently. a russian man named dimitri asked him for his book on the street.
jereme, sam, and i walked around the city for a little while and then went to the shedd aquarium. it was dark and calm in there. i touched the glass of some of the aquariums. i kissed some of them. a lot of the sea creatures looked very lonely. i saw a tank that looked like an abandoned prison. i wanted to crawl into it and sleep there. the japanese spine crab moved very robotically and made life feel surreal.

friday

on friday, i got my id and entered awp. ryan somehow got jereme an id for free with the name “adam robinson” on it. everyone kept stealing adam’s name. there was a small helicopter at awp. initially, people were talking about how people were getting thrown out for flying the helicopter. i thought they were talking about a real helicopter and i felt scared. i threw the helicopter as someone was trying to make it fly. it hit adam robinson. i didn’t really know him very well. i am sorry it hit you, adam. i make bad first impressions. i tried to fly the helicopter later. i think i broke it. did i break it?

i met shane jones, but did not get to talk to him very much. i bought his book. my grandma saw this picture of him and said he was “an attractive fellow”. it made me giggle.

i do not realize i am being stalked by gena

blake butler did not know who i was initially. he looked at me sitting at the noo journal table, sat down, and observed things. i took a picture of him without him realizing it. a few minutes later someone introduced me to blake, and he didn’t believe it was me even though it was.

what the fuck? poetry? are you fucking kidding me?

adam and i decided to draw gene morgan. gene is very tall and funny. i don’t know why i thought he was bald. he helped me out a lot during my last night in chicago. he has a wife and children, which made me feel good for some reason.
molly gaudry is a striking woman. her demeanor is very sexy or something. she has a good fashion sense. i captured a beautiful moment between her and jereme. this makes me feel that life is not shit and that we all will not die unhappy.

not colin bassett

i looked for colin bassett at awp a couple of times. i could not find him. on the way to the reading on the train, i saw a man who had hair like colin’s and i looked straight at him and he looked straight at me. i said to myself, “is that colin? nah, that’s not him.” it was him. on saturday i met him at awp. i thought i got a picture of him, but i didn’t. i’m sorry colin. you can be this turtle.

after awp, everyone went to dinner at a pizza place. it was a nice experience. the waitress was very clumsy and jereme heckled her a lot. no one else commented on her clumsiness i don’t think. it made me happy to see everyone together.

later that night, blake, gene, jereme, and i went back to gene’s hotel and drank. blake got drunk on vodka and some lambic, but mostly vodka. i got a little tipsy drinking lambic. later, i went with blake to go get ice and we stole a ton of sheets from a supply room. blake gives a lot of compliments when he is drunk. he also shouts a lot while walking in the city. i felt somewhat normal after i got tipsy, but the picture below makes me believe the alcohol was deceiving me.

friday night, there was an amazing reading on the train. i did not get any pictures of this because i ran out of film. i felt very discouraged. several people read on the train including shane jones, daniel bailey, blake butler, sam pink, and mike young. i was standing in a seat behind a lady that was uninterested in the reading. she looked at me and glared a little. after all the readings, a lot of people went to molly’s hotel room. her room was much nicer than gene’s even though it was in the same hotel. i sat on the bed and drank harbor mist and craved tortilla chips. i sang a lot.
saturday

saturday was my last full day there. i spent most of the day walking around chicago. later, i went to awp. i brought arbor mist. i needed cups so i went into some supply room and stole several. i have a bad habit of doing that. i began to drink a little wine at the table. i knocked almost the entire bottle and shattered it. i picked up shattered pieces of glass. i wanted to throw them above me and celebrate life, but that would have resulted in my death so i refrained from doing so.
before i met mike young, i thought he hated me. i do not remember why i thought this. he probably had no idea who i was before we met. i was debating on whether or not i should have went and introduced myself to him. i decided to do it. i drew a picture of a walrus-mermaid-80′s guy hybrid and i think mike folded it up and put it in his pocket. i am sure my picture has the inevitable fate of ending up in the washer and being shredded to pieces.
barry graham is cool. i bought his book from him. i have never read his work before, which made me feel kind of guilty. he gave out free condoms. i opened one and jereme blew it up and threw it at barry. there are mischievous people at awp.

rarrrhrhghgmd

after awp, everyone kind of split up. later, we went to a reading at some college, i think. it was okay. it was too formal. there was free food and i took a picture of peter eating a muffin. this picture makes me laugh a lot. this was the last time i saw almost everyone together. i got very sad and almost began crying for several different reasons. i felt alone.

i feel extremely sad after saying all of that. i will not describe sunday, the day i left, because i am afraid i may begin to cry. i do not want to cry. so i will stop here and spare you all the beauty of tragedy. please, everyone be nice to one another for the rest of the world’s existence. there is so much beauty everywhere.

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.

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.

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”.

So I went not expecting much, not knowing much about who was reading and high on 5 80mg Oxycontin pills I chewed up.

A handful of torturous open mic readings started the night.  The audience remained quiet after each open reading except some weird bald guy sitting near the front who would clap his hands excitedly.

The drugs kept me fairly placated, otherwise, I think I would have walked out immediately.  A small woman walked up and started reading poetry about a conversation she had with her niece.  I liked the poem but didn’t hear who she was.  Or maybe I did and I just don’t remember.

The host announced Buddy Wakefield was up next and the weird clapping bald guy rose from his chair and walked to the mic.

Buddy seemed really animated like a hummingbird on coke.  I watched him jump around and talk oddly and kept thinking ‘who would look at a little baby and name it buddy?’

Buddy started performing, gaining momentum with each poem and the audience was getting rowdier and interacting with him.  I wasn’t sure what was going on.   I yelled out ‘show me your tits’ , without hesitation Buddy lifted up his shirt, bared his luscious pink nipples and went right through with the recital.

His last poem was interrupted by a college kid yelling ‘flock printer’.  Buddy stopped, thanked us for the interruption because he was feeling more like ‘flock printer’, and I sat confused wondering what the fuck a flock printer was.

The poem was really good.  Started out slow and peaked like an orgasm.  I listened intently and stared a little.

Despite the sadness, the insomnia, the numbness, the opiates, Buddy’s poem let me feel emotion, something I did not think I was capable of any more.

Most of his poetry has a philosophical feel to it and challenges the listener to ‘live life’.  I thank him for it and suggest people see him once in their life.  His tour dates are posted at his website

Here are a couple of his performed poems:

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.

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.

MAN 1

See how the flies love my turd!  Oh god they love it so.

MAN 2

They love my turd also!

MAN 3

I would like to garner more flies for my turd.

MAN 1

(talking to MAN 2)

I do not understand the reason for your turd.  It is nonsensical.  Why does it have an ear and what is wrong with the colors?!  The flies will never like this turd.

MAN 2

(pointing at MAN 3)

My turd?  Look at his turd!  It is so small and worthless.  It will only feed a couple flies.

MAN 3

(has a neutral facial expression)

My turd is perfect.  Look at his turd.

(points at MAN 3′s shit pile)

I feel turds like this are bloated.  The flies will feel alienated and worthless.

MAN 1 and MAN 2 begin to argue passionately.  They are on a verge of a fist fight.

MAN 1

(red faced)

THE FLIES WILL NEVER COME TO YOUR SHIT.  YOU ARE NOT A CREATOR.  I ALONE AM BEST.

MAN 2

(shaking his fist in MAN 2′s face)

WHAT?  HOW DARE YOU DISMISS MY TURD.  YOUR TURD IS UGLY AND STUPID.

MAN 1

HAH!  NO ONE CARES FOR YOUR TURD.  IT IS MEANINGLESS.  YOUR TURD HAS NO RELEVANCE.

MAN 2

YOUR TURD IS TIRED AND BORING.

MAN 3 is sprinkling trash around his turd.

MAN 1

(looks at MAN 3 indignantly)

Hey don’t you have an opinion?

MAN 3

(not looking up from his trash sprinkling)

I am embroiled with a clever marketing scheme to garner more flies.  I think I would really like it if flies ate my turd.

MAN 3 continues to market his turd.  MAN 2 AND 1 argue as the fluffy cloud floats softly above.

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

***

I like Edward ‘Eddie” Bunker a lot.  His prose isn’t anything particular and you won’t find University professors discussing his work to bubblegum eyed freshman.   The work is still enjoyable.

He spent the first half of his life surviving mean streets and concrete cages, evading the law (including being on the FBI’s Most Wanted list), and writing from his prison cell.

Urban survival in LA taught him to be predatory, violent and apathetic towards fellow humans.  Acclimation to his harsh reality resulted in rejection from society.  Overwhelming feelings of alienation and rage followed.  These concepts are static in his writing.

If I had to choose one of his books to recommend, I would suggest “No Beast So Fierce”.  “Animal Factory” being second.

Any young person with MTV glossed images of LA dancing in their soft little heads should read Eddie’s work.  Greater people have broke themselves against this city’s teeth.

You aren’t very special.  You won’t make it out alive.

Results of the Blake Butler “Ever” mean giveaway are in.  (Actually they have been in since Friday.   Apathy is a motherfucker.)
Blake picked Ryan Bradley.  It was a toss up between Barry and Darby for me.  Barry was slightly meaner.

Barry and Ryan email me your addresses.  I need to put the order in before I forget.

*No retards have been depicted in this post.