WHEN I GROW UP I WANT TO BASH RAUAN KLASSNIK’S HEAD INTO PULP: AN INTERVIEW ABOUT RAUAN KLASSNIK
hello. i wrote something recently about liking interviews. after i wrote that rauan klassnik emailed me and asked about being interviewed. i interviewed him and here it is. also, he has a new book on the internet at this place:
(interview after break)
rauan klassnik, these are your interview questions:
1. what is something that maybe makes you think that your life is not worthless? (not counting being asleep)
rauan: The millions of fan-mails I get every day. All saying essentially one of two things:
“Thanks, Rauan, your drawings have turned my life around. My wrists are healing.”
“I want you to have 10 of my babies and help you scatter more seed than Attilah and Holyfield.”
2. do you ever feel an intense rush of yellow light cannon out of your lung track and then feel like you could run through a wall and do other things that are humanly impossible or is there something wrong with me?
rauan: First, I am sure there is something wrong with you. But I’m not in the mood to write a treatise. And, yeah, sure that happens to me a lot. In fact it’s happening to me now. My balls are glowing. (That’s where the light’s born ya know.) This whole room’s shaking.
3. remember “phantom chair” in gym class where you had to like sit against the wall as if a chair were beneath you. i can do that for a long time. who are you favorite authors and how would you choose to sacrifice each of them?
rauan: I have two favorite authors. Adam Pitluk, editor of AmericanWay, American Airline’s inflight magazine. (his sublime editor’s notes are available on line!) and Ron “The Big Man” Silliman.
I’d rather sacrifice myself (break out the orchestra. yeah, all those pricks who prentend they can’t speak English. Hey guys, when you crawl down into heaven you’re going to need your English. Ya hear me?) than let Adam Pitluk die. He is a treasure. A real damned treasure.
Concerning Silliman (not concerned at all, actually, this man can haunt me from the grave, heaven or hell, whatever): a million ways.
By mushrooms, fire, ice, pink eye, grapefruit mosquitoes, a tonne of rats, Jacks of Lanterns, my thumb, a field of dandelions, the alphabet, a bevy of huts— just to name a few.
(editor’s note: you spelled “pretend” incorrectly up in one of those paragraphs and i left it like that so readers would doubt you and know that i am the superior spelling master).
4. what are some things that make you feel pathetic. and/or, like a pathetic shithead?
rauan: Hours of sex. Bench Pressing 360 (20 reps, 3 sets, yawn). Running desert ultra marathons. Winning one after another bar-room mercy contest. (You want to go again? Again? Again?). Swimming with dolphins. Thrusting into a dolphin in burning moonlight. Posing for Neptune sketches.
o, Christ, I thought you were asking what makes me feel “athletic.”
Pathetic?–nothing comes to mind right now. But, I’ll let you know. Just don’t wait up.
O: is watching Animal Planet ten hours straight pathetic? I prefer, though, to think it’s a sign that I’ve reached a new level. Attained a higher state. Ecce Madonna: I come!
5. what is/are the phrase[s] you think most on a daily basis. mine are “i am not important” and “i only want to fuck girls who have a bellybutton that is visible as a large indentation through their KID ROCK shirt.”
rauan: “Fucking weasel”
“Will I die today?”
“Good luck to ya”
6. moving on, please describe yourself in language like you would find on the back of a
Sorry, I am completely unfamiliar with the back of a healthy/cereal box.
Except the one I crapped on last night. I was in a hurry before. And after, well it was hard to read.
7. what do you want to be when you grow up?
When I grow up I’m going to be an example. When I grow up I’m going to buy my own clothes. When I grow up I’m going to pound my chest intoning “o yeah” each time I burp or fart (O, hell, that’s what I do now. Am I already grown up?) When I grow up I’m going to stand in the sun and just soak it all up. Watch Rock-of-Love marathons until I drift away like the old general in one of those clever stories by that wily southern-atheist Flannery O’Connor. (Ideology, man, Ideolgoy). I’m going to be a star. A peacock. A one-eyed duck. A serious fuck. A crippled God. The universe itself. Expanding. O, Lord. I am going to clean Blake Butler’s tongue with your pink feet. Amen.
thank you rauan klassnik. if anyone else wants to be interviewed, email me and i will interview you.