Posts Tagged ‘Jim Harrison’

Wednesday, June 22nd, 2011

What author writes the best about drinking and eating? I mean so good you’re reading and your damn mouth waters.

14 mixed feelings on disliking cops

Tuesday, April 19th, 2011

14. Got nervous reading out loud tonight. I know my voice trembled. I became aware of said fact, this trembling voice, and…and, and you know the cycle. Fuck. I felt low. I speak out loud FOR A LIVING. This happens about thrice a year. Any tips?

13. The story — or more accurately, the story about the story — resonated in the media cycle far more than a typical New Yorker article.

That painting will be sold for $25 million plus. Did you look at it or the “Christie’s employee” first? Just wondering. Just the posing of the “Christie’s employee” in this way to present the grotesque twisting of the self portrait should open some questions about art. Suddenly I sound like Jimmy Chen, but with much less eloquence.

14. The thing I see now is the poem written by two. Braided Creek is a book of poetry written by two. It is damn good:

Each time I go outside the world
is different. This has happened
all my life.
*
The sparrow is not busy,
but hungry.
14. If the frame story narrator has no significant heart connection to the big story, the head-meat being told, remove the frame. My opinion. I am talking technique now. The frame should be very, very necessary.

5 back of the turkey thaw gloves

Tuesday, July 13th, 2010

1. Reading includes Brett Elizabeth Jenkins (poetry here) and Christopher Newgent (genius)  in Indianapolis. Friday, July 23rd, 7:30, Calvin Fletcher Coffee Co. While In Indy, you could drop by Kurt Vonnegut’s house (his baby hand print in the concrete of the steps) or not. And so it goes.

5. Pekar on Jazz.

17. This new Adam Langer book/satire (review, review) looks pretty dern interesting and getting buzz for shots at mainstream publishers.

3. Does anyone else read two books at once? Has worked for me lately, and glows best if the two books are vastly different (i.e. I am now reading David Shields death book and Harrison’s desperate prose poem letters to Yesenin). I weave them, usually chapter/chapter and it stays fresh and maybe the compliment/contrast in my brain and also so far the Harrison book is kicking Mr. Shield’s ass.

23. Fuck twitter.

Best Prologue Ever

Wednesday, June 16th, 2010

Father was wailing. I deduced from the morning sun and moving flotsam that we were drifting slowly southward with the force of an unknown current. He slumped on the backseat of the wooden rowboat and I leaned forward grabbing his shirt to keep him from pitching overboard. Both of his hands had been severed at the wrist and the stumps had been tightly bound with duct tape. His normally withered forearms now bulged with an unsightly color. When they had pushed us out from the estuary on a falling tide before dawn I had been given only one oar. When I clearly noticed this at first light the humor wasn’t lost on me. I was equipped to row in circles with my left hand. The thumb of my right hand was missing and the pain lessened when I raised it high. In the early light I had seen a green or loggerhead turtle and took my thumb someone had stuffed in my pocket pitching it toward the beast but the turtle had submerged in alarm misunderstanding my good intentions. By midmorning the shore had arisen and I could see the coastline south of Veracruz. The current was carrying us toward Alvarado. My father woke from his latest faint. His face was too bruised for clear speech and now rather than wailing he bleated. His eyes made his request clear and I pushed him gently over the back of the boat. It was quite some time before he completely sunk. I would study the stinking fish scales and bits of dried viscera on the boat’s bottom and then look up and he would still be there floating in the current. And then finally I was pleased to see him sink. What a strange way to say goodbye to your father.

J

It is Friday: Go Right Ahead

Friday, January 29th, 2010

It was also good for starting a campfire.

Suddenly life has become quite full of monoethic ninnies and nannies who address life solely as a problem to be solved.

Hangovers have all the charm of a rattlesnake cracking its jaws as it swallows a toad.

I simply loved the flavor and a tear formed when I poured it out in the sink after gazing at it for several hours.

It’s hard to determine pathology in a society where everything is pathological.

Naturally, there are special occasions.

The reason to moderate is to avoid having to quit, thus losing a pleasure that’s been with us forever.

By dawn eager flies had gathered.

Jim