Dinner was venison burger for me. I remember this deer well, a windy day in October, a perfectly placed arrow at 22 yards; and I would like to thank this deer in the Native American way of gratitude. I am not being sarcastic. I took a life, stilled an existence, and I do not take this act lightly. I hope through the act of preparation, the study, the hours of shooting my bow, the physical work of the hunt, the ethical killing shot, the work of bringing the animal home, of cleaning the animal, of eventually placing it here, on my plate, into my body, I can in some way make this a good act, or at least natural, and earned.
Here is a pic I ripped from Blake Butler’s blog.
He is holding his book, EVER. I bet he is proud as a dog with a roadkill sandwich. Ever is about to be read, by me. First I must finish The English Major by Jim Harrison and The White Road by Tania Hershman. I am halfway through both and have decent flow right now, so no worries. All these damn bloggers and their “I read 80-100 books a year, I have balls the size of oranges, etc…” got me recently pissed off, so I am focusing on reading many more books this year.
How will I do this?
1.) For the first time in over 10 years, I will not read every issue of the New Yorker magazine (though I will probably read all of the updated fiction).
2.) Increased use of stimulants.
3.) I will neglect my dog.
4.) Less attention to personal hygiene.
5.) I will refuse to fish or canoe on any Tuesday.
Matt Bell rocking out on the Caketrain Chapbook Contest. Good work, Matt. I will add thee chapbook to the many others coming to my icy cold mailbox in Muncie.
I already pre-ordered his chapbook with the most blurbs in the history of chapbook blurbing from Willows Wept Press.
I have a bunch of others coming but I sometimes order books while intoxicated so am not sure what titles, or really how many, or even where they are coming from, or going.
It is -8 in Muncie today. FUCK THAT. I feel like my depressed younger brother. This is a photo from my parent’s house, holidays past, and really one of his “better” moods. I think I beat him in some Playstation game right before this photo, or maybe in Jenga; and, as you can see (note bandage on R foot), he walked outside and cut his foot on a shard of broken dreams.