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.
So much soy lining. A parrot strains, laughing
at the
gas masks or wolves. I
laughed (just a
little). A feather across
an intersection.
Mimicking a parent,
socializing
demented love
songs. She spoke
through a gap in her
fingers.
M Sarki with an interesting defense (I guess) of Gordon Lish at EWN. I found the intrigue here in Sarki, not in Lish (not so riveting to revisit the Carver thing). Not sure I’ve seen such reliance on another in judging an individual work. Sarki sends his poems to Lish via mail then gets a YES, NO, or SO SO written on the poem. Sarki writes:
But after so many years of working with him I pretty much have a feel for what he’ll like and what he won’t. I get mostly a Yes these days.
Not usually this early in the morning, but as a mild laxative.
Go easy on the beer. And lay off the hard liquor until I get back.
Honey, drinking is war.
Surprised?
Drinking is a way of ending the day.
Got tight last night on absinthe and did knife tricks.
Are you stiff?
Don’t try to make a mystery of it.
Do I know you?
Was the young mechanic drunk?
You’re very glum. My sore throat is over. Let’s swim now.
You are supposed to listen to Low while reading Ander Monson’s book from back when, O.E.
Interview with Zak Sally at Bookmunch.
I mean, I really do think that’s an important thing for…everyone, for all human beings on some level – just asking “what am I doing here? why am I doing it? am I being an asshole, am I holding myself accountable for the things I’m doing in this life?”
It is better to be good than smart. That is the idea.
Like a Dog Review at Bookmunch.
I like saying the word munch.
Words begat images, images begat words. That is the idea.
Snow of syllables. Eat etchings. Cold. Thaw. Words.
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-0xDa4-fi0
And yet another (of the transfinite number) reason to live in New York.
Watch all 3 parts.
They are lovely like fish.
Another arrow into February’s skull. New Hobart is out. All good, and this Laird Hunt interview (part two) amazing.
…a cold, blue light enters the window I feel enveloped in sap, or as if a clot of sap but also down the throat, into the lungs, sludging along tributaries, cold sap, and I was going to write–jacked on Coffee3–but now I will write little.
How does the weather affect your work?
An anecdote: One year Norman Mailer decided to winter in Provincetown. While this locale is famous for authors and their doings (and undoings), most everyone agrees you do not purposely winter in the region. Mailer knew this, but wanted to be alone, to focus on a novel. He got no writing done. Why? As he put it, in a bit of word-play: “You must watch your drinking.” He then explained that he found himself miserable, unproductive, and eventually reduced to sitting in front of a tall mirror, pouring bourbon into a glass, and staring into his face–In a phrase: watching his drinking.