Sean Lovelace is running right now, far. Other times he teaches at Ball State University. HOW SOME PEOPLE LIKE THEIR EGGS is his flash fiction collection by Rose Metal Press. His works have appeared in Crazyhorse, Diagram, Sonora Review, Willow Springs, and so on.
1.This dork will grant you a Lorrie Moore book.
2. We don’t want your damn glowing buoy things in our river, arty-farty.
3. Oh no we copy edited The Broken Plate 7 full times and should have done 8. Sweet mag but we konked up some of the table of contents. Like the page #s might not match the author’s work. Uh, sorry.
4. Publisher Or Books has had enough of Amazon’s bullshit.
5. I almost forgot to mention Tao Lin. Whew. Hold up. Here’s a classical album on Ebay. Art work, something.
Anyone with HTML G sensibilities (have no idea what that means, so or not) has a reading during AWP please comment here with time, place/sarcophagus of shouts. This is a selfish post (but not, people wanna know). My emails bury me, like all. I am at AWP Denver interviewing professors for a job (at BSU/work), but would love to strike (hunger, bass lure, match box, beauty, etc.) mad readings every single night, 7pm to oblivion. List them here. For those in town Tuesday to Sunday of AWP, where should we go, when? And how exactly are the nachos?
I am paranoid and belligerent. You?
How I stumbled once drunk into Mary.
A writer’s life is a sentence.
After the picnic, more beer.
Clocks. They annoy.
When I die I want to decompose in a barrel of porter and have it served in all the pubs in Ireland.
Is it OK to pray for an orgasm?
I like to waltz in.
Take it for Christ’s sake and get drunk!
Large beer. Please. Shut up, Mom.
Ha, ha, drink up, death deliverers.
A milky, cold smell…
1.) We would rather watch art made than the art itself.
Doesn’t work for books.
“Hey, wanna come over and watch me write?”
“I would rather shoe a snail.”
2.) mud luscious press has a nifty submissions process and a sale. Why not use both?
3.) Aimee Bender interview.
4.) There is a better word than the one you have down. That’s a problem but a koan type of problem. Eventually, you will stop and settle on one word (not the best word). Why? Why then? Is it maddening or gladdening to go through this process? Define the term strike. I thank you.
5.) Just got Ander Monson’s Vanishing Point in the mail! Holy shit. This book bleeds over into the web and then the web bleeds back. More on this later. Monson’s not only ahead of the curve, he’s troweling the curve for us, cut, tamp, curl.
1.) A really cool excuse:
“Saying she was working on a sequel to ‘Wolf Hall,’ Mantel was not at the NBCC event.”
Yeh, I can’t attend the awards. I am writing the sequel to the book you are awarding. While you drink shrimp and eat gin, I am writing. Excuse me. Pop!
2.) What’s Andy Warhol doing in rural Colombia?
I don’t know. A tomato can full of cocaine? Who gives a fuck. Blar me.
3.) Did you know Lucy Corin is in the Great Outdoors issue of Hobart? How issue is this killer? Buy, fondle, crunk, read.
4.) I stopped reading a novel today with 9 pages left. The end. Ever done that?
5.) Sometimes Lit Mags use ugly fonts and it makes me sad. Sweet like forehead tattoos I want my words. I see my piece (oh how very important) and think, “Fuck, that looks like a lawyer or a dead fish or a lawyer with a dead fish.” Or I am trying to read other words and the font keeps pushing like a hydrogen cloud, human-given; a laboratory vision of near incompetence the moment it was thought, a hollow blar of a font just waiting for the smelly feet, waiting for the nasal drip from New York to come telling me in his fray, hopelessly hollow yet somehow charming, yellow, open-air way meant for stopping my brain from uploading beauty. But I digress. So.
WHAT IS THE BEST FONT?
I drink because it’s the only time I can stand it.
I am as tall as a shotgun and just as nosy.
[JW: Can we have a drink?
TC: Oh, we will!]
I can walk soberly while drunk.
The way a cottonmouth rears up…
This huge female bouncer threw me into the street!
Why not remove restrictions and let the people drink good whiskey?
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. We want two more double margaritas, and I want some ice in my drink, and I want a straight jigger of just pure tequila.
Mick Jagger is about as sexy as a pissing toad.
But I seem to be off the track again.
1.) Rachel Zucker has a webpage pretty snazzy. I just read Museum of Accidents (Wave Books). This is the first poetry book of motherhood/professor-hood/adult-at-this-age I have P-rused in a long while. Sometimes the poetry I read keeps caterwhomping subjects same. Museum more mature tone/thunk yet no fields/piles of snow o o o and no wine bottles (or very little) god no chats or BRAND NAMES (or very little).
Bam review here!
2.) What is experimental? In poetry, 2010? Is there still someone hiding their secret sex fetish? Someone afraid to wear a lobster as a hat? No. They just do it and talk out loud. What’s my point? How many more books of line cut/jagged enjamb/white space/concrete forms/codpiece/canon-chop/punctuation verve/retro-madness? Look, mama, no ground! How many books, year, decades before we can drop the term experimental? Stop it.
3.) Well, why don’t you fucking interview the author?
Jesus. OK. I wheel (rolling, rolling…). Answers in bold.
Why not dine in the library?
I’ll have to have a drink in my bath.
My brain is unalterable as a ball.
And now the children subscribe to judgment.
I am growing meaner by the hour.
Don’t bother with the fixings!
Honey, drink your beer and get me another one.
Like seeing an orange crow.
We did nothing all day long but drink bathtub gin and play solitaire and smile to ourselves and talk to our animals.
..apocryphal glitter, essential doom.
Hey. Don’t take my rum away.