I have a reading tonight on a vast field of empty grass. On our backs, silly. It drizzles on our faces; it make us feel like possibility, like clammy, clutched hands, crackling fingers, of just meeting, before it all fades. No, no it does not. The reading is at a martini bar in Muncie, Indiana. Over at metazen they just shook up my Seven Things About Gin poem/flash/whatever thing. I don’t really know a damn thing about martinis. I tried to get into them years ago, but it didn’t catch. I licked a knife and liked the taste. So stopped licking the knife. It was like when I tried smoking a pipe, or the time I leaped out of a moving truck. Some things just aren’t worth the time and effort.
“The martini: the only American invention as perfect as the sonnet.”
H. L. Mencken
Yes, I feel like leaping. Why?
My secondary nacho bowl just served its 100th nachos! You nacho aficionados understand the significance: I am more than likely going to “accept” the bowl after 200 servings, so this looks positive. It might just make the rotation. I have discarded maybe 50, 60 bowls that never made it to number 100. So I feel good. This bowl was purchased at a ceramics sale at BSU, and maybe I did it thinking, “I am a BSU prof so should buy a bowl.” Initially. But then the bowl spoke to me, late at night (this is when bowls speak). My primary nacho bowl was none too happy and still serves me well, but, like running shoes, it is best rotate. Less mileage on both bowls. More life.
You do rotate your running shoes, right?
Serving # 100!! God this makes me proud.
I have words about Memphis in Word Riot. I love Memphis. It be low-down. Most of this flash is simply things that happened to my brother and I twisted it all up into a flash and threw in a cellphone and some guppies. Enjoy.
Speaking of cellphones, if you are in prison and you want me to put a cellphone in a potato cannon and fire it over the concerta wall so you can use said cellphone for illegal purposes while incarcerated, I’m not going to do that. I mean aim and fire the potato cannon. Sorry. One point of prison is that you can’t use the damn phone. OK?
I have an interview at The Collagist. I talk about death.
I consider Andy Warhol to be in my Top Ten Muses list (see here…at Willow Springs), so was pleased to see Meghan McCain (daughter of John) reading a book about the artist. This is the photo she posted on Twitter, I guess to prove that she was indeed reading. Or something.
The above photo Took Over Twitter for some reason. It caused an internet squall–waves and fury and wholly terrified tea cups. I guess Andy’s 15 minutes of fame are still ticking. People are still into Warhol. I suppose his art and arguments about substance versus gloss, internal significance versus external appearance, the role of art in America, the role of advertising, of beauty (lowest form as best, mass produced as best, gloss, glam), his ideas on capitalism’s hegemonic and selectively politicized discourse on the self-objectification of…anyway, seems people still like Andy.
I want to give a serious shout-out to Tao Lin (Hey, Tao, could your fucking Shoplifting book get more run? Jesus) and Kendra Grant Malone for the (Happy Cobra) ebook Conor Oberst Sex. I’ll write more later, because I found it funny and fascinating work. I kind of approached it thinking, “Is this going to be some of this Tao Lin stuff I don’t really get?” (I find some of Tao’s writing off-putting, though I also find some engaging). Then I thought “Is this going to be wayyy KGM, like too confessional…?” (I find some of KGM’s writing melodramatic, though I also find some honest and endearing and sad). But you know what? Fuck me. I was wrong (again) to be concerned–Conor Oberst Sex is pretty damn awesome. Seriously. Read it.
BTW, I have now seen three reviews/essays that link KGM’s writing and Tao Lin’s as similar.
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
I just blew a back wall out an incinerator out my nose. I just coughed up a theme song. It was titled LIES.
How about you read the two authors before you say stupid shit?
My head feels hollow. I am going to go run on my treadmill now. Run like a kangaroo hoping to get pregnant.