Friday Fuck Books, Let’s Let Our Contemporary Indie Musician Friends Discover the Joys of Melodrama.
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5BXr_4g0o9M
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Puph1hejMQE
Adding more as they occur to me. Adding a jump for to not take so much of the blog spaces.
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Friday, No? Go Right Ahead.
Nail your whiskey sweat over the fireplace.
If you’re going to write, for God in heaven’s sake, try to get naked.
Part drunk, part bee-stung dog.
Holding a bottle and a leashed alligator.
You ever lived out of a lake?
A snake will bite when dead.
I’d much rather sit here and look at trees.
You smell sweeter than soap.
I don’t drink liquor!
I fall into…
I dip my tongue.
A new book. Is it comforting to know that other people are rejects too? There’s that great Merwin poem, “Berryman,” that describes Berryman’s writing advice to the poet. Lines on rejection:
as for publishing he advised me
to paper my wall with rejection slips
his lips and the bones of his long fingers trembled
with the vehemence of his views about poetryhe said the great presence
that permitted everything and transmuted it
in poetry was passion
passion was genius and he praised movement and invention
Bathroom Poetics
I was at my favorite bar the other night watching some NBA playoffs when the bathroom called to me. I found this:
I think it takes some real balls to 1. claim to be God and 2. claim a space in the Smokin’ Joe’s unisex bathroom to stake your Godness claim. Or maybe some drunkard had a supernatural experience in which God visited said bathroom and said drunkard simply wanted to share it with the world. Whatever. Bathroom poetics.
sold in america
Yes, I am slightly tri-sheeted. Over-posting. Over-commenting. In the name of Steve Martin, etc. I say, “Excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee me.”
And I understand the look on the face of the woman below. Sorry. OK? You went out in a T-shirt…
The semester is over [OK, it is finals week] and I have my rights. And lefts. Also UP and DOWN. Give me 4 chapbooks right now and I’ll buy them, period, as long as it’s painless (no checks or BS Snail Mail–I desire Paypal or you take my credit card). Give me the 4 links now, the chapbooks and I buy them. I’ll review them later, most likely. Or maybe I shoot them or set them afire. But I will read.
Chapbooks only.
They will appear here later, shot or aflame or reviewed. So like you are buying an echo.
I suppose.
MACHETE… MESSAGE TO ARIZONA
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKhChMHhBN8
Matthew Simmons—
Leszek (Lech) Jankowski wrote the music for the Brother’s Quay film “The Street of Crocodiles.” Here is a short blog post that includes a link to an mp3 of that soundtrack. Here’s his website. Right now, my head sounds like this guy’s music. If you need me, I’ll be in bed.
10
“Speed of light.”
httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wLnmvseCseI
Fifth Mess Section
1. The point is that, if we think literature is still worth talking about, every book is part of that debate, which is why reviews of non-blockbuster books should do one of two things: either convincingly shout to the hilltops, “Read this book!” or, in explaining why there’s no shouting, try to find larger truths about literature in a book’s strengths and flaws. … Literature is not about the writer. It’s about the book, it’s about art, it’s about life. … in the madding crowd of narrative, it turns out the big world doesn’t really need a book if it’s not great enough to be truly important, specialized enough to find its niche, or equipped with a secret weapon. When that happens—and it happens far more often than not—it is time for writers to think about what we want out of writing, out of publishing, out of their lives, and make our decisions accordingly. –from a blurb by Eric B. Martin
2. At banks, there are machines for “cash withdrawing” and “cash recycling.” The menus of local restaurants might present such delectables as “fried enema,” “monolithic tree mushroom stem squid” and a mysterious thirst-quencher known as “The Jew’s Ear Juice.” –the problems with Chinglish
3. The room thus becomes a counterpunctual archive of heart rates in space, throbbing like a chandelier in front of you. –about Pulse Room
4. But I think caught in that way they are too weak to convey anything. I think that great art is deeply ordered. Even if within the order there may be enormously instinctive and accidental things, nevertheless I think that they come out of a desire for ordering and for returning fact onto the nervous system in a more violent way. Why, after all the great artists, do people ever try to do anything again? Only because, from generation to generation, through what the great artists have done, the instincts change. And, as the instincts change, so there comes a renewal of the feeling of how can I remake this thing once again more clearly, more exactly, more violently. –a great interview of Francis Bacon