Summer Reading
I’ve got an insurmountable stack of summer reading. Here are a few titles I see when I glance over at it:
Say, Poem – Adam Robinson
Dhalgren – Samuel Delany
The Invention of Morel – Adolfo Bioy Casares
The Worm Ouroboros – Eric Rücker Eddison
Language in Literature – Roman Jakobson
Gurlesque: the new grrly, grotesque, burlesque poetics – Lara Glenum, Arielle Greenberg, eds.
In the Metro – Marc Augé
Firework – Eugene Marten
Cyclonopedia – Reza Negarestani
Stupidity – Avital Ronell
Post-Continental Philosophy – John Mullarkey
What do you have in your stack?
Friday Fuck Books and Everything Else, Too!
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jYye59dstRY&feature=related
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hBBh7cvxK9w&feature=related
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4ZLkl15_d8&feature=related
And the greatest of them all after the jump, dear friends.
It is Friday: Go Right Ahead
Booze takes a lot of time and effort if you’re going to do a good job with it
I want to wrangle. Who wants to wrangle?
Arc of delight
Bumped into the commode!
Oohh, look what we have here (scotch under car seat)
That morning she pours Teacher’s over my belly and licks it off
I need a festival
Here is some math: fuck plus you
Hummers? What are hummers? Hummers are time-controlled shots of liquor
Look, counsel and process the events, or
decorate the loaf. Send it to the oven
Friends, I thought this was living. A house where no one was home, and all I could drink.
Found-ish Poetry: The Sorted Books Project
Thanks to a tip from brilliant anthropologist Laura Jones, I found out about this thing called the Sorted Books Project, wherein the artist Nina Karchadourian has, since 1993, made these lovely little collage poems out of book spines from libraries and private collections. You read the titles in order to get the full text. Below, some of my favorites. On the site itself, you can click through any picture to get more images of collages made from the same collection.
Wink Wink Contest
Been following Hint Fiction?
If you read HTML, yes. (Thanks, Roxane)
I glow flash, write/teach/advocate for flash. But I’m wondering. When do we do this big, when do we go all the way, I mean fucking Double Down KFC big?
I want a contest where every submission is a blank page. Everything off the page.
Who will write the next silent symphony, the 4:33? The Godot of flash?
Who is up for a blank page flash contest?
Oh that’s just silly (or smart?). Let’s go 3, 3–a holy number, words. Give me 3 words. I’ll begin.
Dolphin Nachos, Bono?
(The award is a good book [my choice–it will rock ass], hot sauce [It will kill your spleen and brain. It will be hot like donuts or making out in the bathroom at that Halloween party] and a brand new deck of kick-ass cards [literary theme])
Rule of Threes in which the author falls asleep standing up after 17 hours of poetry
Archibald's Bar-B-Q
1. And so we mark the success of Slash Pine Poetry Festival No. 2: The Year of the Laundromats. Lots of poems about laundry and laundromats.
I don’t really know how many hours it was. 40 readers at 10 minutes per over the course of the weekend. Then there were the overages (you can’t keep all 40 poets in line, can you?), the undergrad reading, the dinners and bars and making new friends, etc. etc.
Joseph P. Wood puts together a real shindig. There were art galleries, blues singers, bars, bands, poets of all shapes and sizes—and even some fictioners and essayists, though I think they crashed the party. Seats were packed for every venue despite the tornado warnings and thunder so loud I thought I could hear it inside my head.
On a maybe more important note, Joseph took Myron Michael and I to Archibald’s Bar-B-Q (see above) in Tuscaloosa, and I ate a plate of the tastiest ribs I have ever had. The sauce on these things was magical.
2. New issue of Sixth Finch:
It is Friday (not): Go Right Ahead
Sorry. I was mara-stumbling (stumbling through a marathon)
Sorry. So drunk to not realize my drunkenness
Sorry. But you must order your life for it to fall apart
Want an hour to vanish politely? Well…gin
Anyone can panhandle at night. Even the afternoon. I’d like to see you properly panhandle in the morning
Strange. All whiskey is “fairly good.”
Is that you, trembling in the bed?
I can’t seem to click my tongue with my teeth. Maybe that’s only for novels, or sober people
Disgrace will dive at you!
Drunk as a fucking postage stamp
Me? I prefer an array of siphons and a punch bowl big as a synagogue
Ceiling up your honey! My Sara!
That’s cold
Paul Constant offers one of the funniest, angriest movie reviews I’ve read in a while. Seriously, don’t mess with that guy. BONUS QUESTION: Should we start a letter writing campaign to get movie studios to stop making comic book movies for a little while? Like, a five year break or something? Maybe until someone interesting agrees to direct one?