Went to a good reading on Wednesday. A good reading: How do?
1. Employ a hip space.
The Irving Theater was exposed wood beam ceiling/dark corners/suicide/chandeliers drooping like mid-70s/various colors of paint I associate with dust cobras or deep scratches in vinyl cars or the time I jumped over a tall fence and wrestled a deer to the ground, cut its throat with a knife, etc. My head did the whoosh whoosh. I felt like maybe my house could have hardwood floors and a furtive cat, if I so wished. Naked woman painting!!!! I am so cool people wait in line to eat me. I think it’s funny when people say pass the time. Pass the gravy, pass gas, pass the time. There were rows of seats and maybe church pews someone stole from a church. The ceiling was tall as a tall ceiling. The lighting was dark. I felt a level 5 hipness factor, like maybe an ironic T-shirt or The Hipster Olympics.
3. The new summer JMWW is fucking nuts. Wow. I mean it is loaded like a pepper gun. A gun that shoots peppers.
I seriously want to thank the editors. Good work.
I glow Brian Evenson flash.
I glow Robert Coover.
I glow Terese Svoboda.
I think it’s funny when people discuss a magazine or whatever and they are actually in the magazine but pretend they sorta aren’t or something I don’t know. I don’t think that’s appropriate. Ha, ha. I’d like to ask myself to be my friend and tell myself to go to hell or just ignore the friend request altogether. Maybe when I get older I’ll call an ambulance to my house–like chest pain or maybe I’ll say my ears are made of Styrofoam–and none of that will be true, I’m just calling the ambulance to have someone to talk to, someone to visit me, another expensive friend.
Here you go, fucker.
Did I mention I love Ken Sparling and he is in the new JMWW? The more I publish in venues with Ken Sparling the happier I feel.
14. Have beer at the reading. Always have beer. I can’t tell you the amount of situations in my life that have improved just by the presence of beer.
[Sex in hot tubs is uncomfortable]
[I got a telemarketer calling me from Florida]
[Two bucks and a coffee mug]
[Salad I pretend to enjoy]
[Awkward greeting your dad]
[Accidents happen now and again]
[Tiny trees grow out my house gutter]
[A bunch of wasps just fucked me up]
Thank you Sun King Brewery.
11. Take shitty, blurry iPhone photos:
10. You could have nachos. Why don’t you people put rice on your nachos? Do I have to tell you how? Everyone goes beans, beans, beans, but think about rice. Think about rice. Think about it. Rice.
Or maybe you go to lunch by yourself and read the papers and feel like you are in a novel.
[Seeing the smoke rise]
[I am French today. I am action but thought, like mixed]
Nacho’s blog is confusing as all get-out. What the fuck does this even mean? It’s like some odd poem:
- Ported the remaining C plugins to libpeas.
- Port plugins to use the enum thingie provided by gsettings.
- Released gedit.
- Fixed some annotations in gedit and gtk+.
- Ported pythonconsole to gi, gsettings and libpeas.
- Ported quickopen to gi and libpeas. See bug #623359 because it is not yet finished due to several bugs in pygobject and gtk+ annotations.
- Port gedit to use autogenerated enums and flags. This feature has been introduced in glib a few days ago.
- Port the filebrowser plugin to use the flags thingie added to gio yesterday.
- Fixed the problems commented by my mentor about the splitview.
- Several bugfixes.
5. Fiction Daily interviews me. Interview me.
6. DC with an amazing Sad Keanu post.
2. Keep it short. I said keep it short. KEEP IT SHORT. Jesus Christ, you people that blather on and on at readings–you have lost us, your audience. Our minds are thinking about cleavage and the exposed wood and dust whorls and credit card debt and orange crows and man this fucking IPA is tight, light yet succulent and Old Spice who’s wearing Old Spice? and coffee shop down the block and sake, sake tastes like candy corn and are you supposed to drink it cold or hot, like maybe the tourists drink it hot but actual Japanese drink it cold it’s like in Mexico all the restaurants have two menus–one for the stupid gringos, one of real Mexican food–and I’d love to break some windows right now and a dark mass of blackbirds or maybe starlings in the sky, European imports and that dude is hot/that chick is hot/I’m hungry/need a promotion too and why is there a hole in my shoe are my toes too long is that the problem, are you saying my toes are like Appalachian or something?
So, you know, keep it short….
Andrew Scott (of Freight Stories, etc) read first. He did a persona screen-play/script type piece, and you know I glow any persona fiction. Then he read his Esquire flash. He kept it lively and short. Good work.
Donald Ray Pollock read next. Wow. He glowed it. You have heard of KNOCKEMSTIFF, right? He read about murder and huffing Bactine (!) and Kmart realism if Kmart was a fucking alleyway full of Appalachian whores and homeless killers and beer cans, etc.
I almost bought Pollock’s book but I needed to purchase more beer and I have too many books to read right now.
7. Persona piece Paul Bowles I wrote getting good run at Fictionaut.
77. OMG hole 5 is right up against the creek on R and that’s a headwind 90 % of the time–you are all fucked.
11. Or a pepper in the shape of a gun?
44. No joke, I was on the roof today and wasps fucked me up. I nailed down a shingle and this wasps jumps out and stings/stings/stings me. 3 times on the left side of my knee. I screamed, hopped, but I was on a roof. Calm down, Sean. OK. OK. But why is my right side knee swelling up like a balloon? Anyone had this happen? Fucking wasps.
2. I swerved to miss a squirrel and hit the damn squirrel–tha-thump. Well, fuck me. That’s philosophical and shit. I made a purposeful act to avoid harm and caused harm.
At some future time, meet Lady Gaga for drinks at a bass pond. The idea is BYOB + fishing rods + some Hank Williams Jr. songs on your IPhone + whipping persimmons in the air with sticks + later frying the largemouth tails over a low fire + they taste like some form of potato chips + you have this summer heat/beer buzz pelvic stirring + you and Gaga wading into the pond, holding hands + frog thrum in the air + she says what did I just step on, it was like a smooth football made of marble and you say it’s only turtles, you stepped on a turtle’s back + both of your underwears sprawled out on the bank + warm currents and eddies and toe-sucks of mud + 14 geese over in a honking V + you and Lady Gaga slipping away into the torn tops/swaying reeds of the cattails…I don’t know how you’re going to achieve this but make an actual date. This is going to take some effort, some persistence, now that Gaga’s all famous and etc, but we are a tenacious people. I mean look what Nick Nolte did with his looks and talent. Check out Mandy Moore. So. So? Make the appointment with Lady Gaga. Do it. Today. Write down the actual time and date.
Now just wait.
This is the best formula I know to avoid depression.
8. you want me to shoot arrows at Blake Butler’s book, huh?