davidfishkind.com

Wikipedia-Style Plot Summary of Armageddon (1998 film) by David Fishkind

2012-01-29T20:56:00.002-05:00

norwegian zine publishing press house thing America's Funniest Home Videos published a chapbook-like thing by me titled "Wikipedia-Style Plot Summary of Armageddon (1998 film) by David Fishkind"

here is a trailer i made for it:

here are some pictures of it:

you can purchase it here. it is in norwegian krones, but 35 NOK is 6.0335 USD so that's pretty good, shipping included and everything

buy it if you want. i haven't seen a copy yet myself but i've heard good things

poems from 'let's go eat the factory'

2012-01-04T12:56:00.002-05:00

guided by voices released a record this week with their—oh, wait for it, wait for it baby!—golden era lineup. not sure exactly what that means. i think they mean the dudes that helped record 'alien lanes' and 'bee thousand' but whatever that means. anyway, here i am, it's 2012, and i'm going to liveblog my first listen. who knows, maybe i'll even find time to write about the music

1. Laundry and Lasers

i've been playing a lot of angry birds lately. oh wow, while i was typing that someone gmail chatted me, let me go check that out. this sounds lo-fi. oh that was zachary german who gmail chatted me. how about that kids. i think i could like this music if i tried. lately i've just been lying around playing angry birds. man that game is something. the game. i'll get to that later though. what i'm trying to say is i like those angry birds. the big one banging through shit like a fucking hammer. i want to play more of that game right now but i'm afraid i'll beat it all and have to buy more shit for it or something.

2. The Head

i feel pretty distracted from live blogging already. this sounds like the white stripes a little. ha. ha. oh it's already over

3. Doughnut for a Snowman

zachary's gone now. oh boy, that guy. i like this song i think, sounds beautiful. i'll be listening to this shit on the daily for at least a few days. i've been having a lot more trouble typing lately and i have a sneaking suspicion that has to do with the auto-correct function on my iphone. yeah, i got one of those. i'm not embarrassed

4. Spiderfighter

should i be? seems like a punk song for sure. i wonder how long this album is, lemme check ok quick. 39.8 minutes. wonder what i'm gonna do after that. i said i was gonna start a one hour writing regimen everyday. i don't really write much anymore and i figure this is a way to make myself a better one of those. i feel like a real artist yah know wha uh mean. this is too punk for me it's almost like. hahahahaa. i don't know what, the fucking—what are they called—sex pistols. now i've been listening to a lot of the game lately. noticed he changed his name to game recently, but i don't go past doctor's advocate. what i like about that album is that he just apologizes to everyone he wronged in the rap game. game. says he wronged like dre, 50, jay, i don't know who else. g-unit. interestingly enough the great g-unit yell occurs on the first half of 'the documentary.' 'and now is the time to make up your mind' - guided by voices

5. Hang Mr. Kite

this one opens up with strings. real mature shit. a few days ago i moved into a new apartment in the alphabet city of new york city. my apartment gets almost no natural light. i'm really excited to see what this will do to me. my bed is broken sorta, not sure how or why. i'm tryna buy a chair for a desk in my room. if you know of a good one hit me up. i feel beauty dipping into my feet and shit.

6. God Loves Us

it's been very cold in new york for the past couple days. i'm wearing long underwear and a thermal shirt and a hat sitting on the floor of my kitchen. i'm gonna have a roommate in this place but the guy i'm subletting from hasn't found me one yet, so i just have this shit all to myself. i don't like this fucking song it fucking blows. i like the pipes in this building. they're all really hot, radiating heat all over the shit. i have a kombucha bottle by the trash.

7. The Unsinkable Fats Domino

[something happened and i had to stop everything. upon beginning the 18th track, i realized the album was slightly mis-sorted, and this song was missing. i will pick up where i left off with this between 'cyclone utilities' and 'old bones'] my sister is gmail chatting me hold on. oh so she was asking me about sylvia's restaurant of harlem, where i went last night after yoga. nicole and i got fried chicken and waffles. smothered that shit in syrup. everyone there was so nice. man i would go there every single week if i lived in harlem, i tell you that honestly. fuck cooking, i only go out to eat, you should know that. except i know i shouldn't. i have these pickles from the lower east side and i have these bialys but i ate those. tonight i'm going to make a salad at my girlfriend's apartment. she lives close to me.

8. Who Invented the Sun

here comes a sad song i wonder if about love it is. sounds like a bullshit excuse for the beatles. just kidding. i wonder if i can say just kidding after everything forever. but how do you write everyday as a poet, he asked himself. see i don't care much for fiction, i'm an adult. i really connect with that poet shit.

9. The Big Hat and Toy Show

the songs move by so fast. like the days. it's been 17 days since i left berlin, germany. it'll be 19 days before i start up my classes for the spring semester here at the new york university of new york city. i just deleted some shit about that. i'll be taking a class on my favorite writer don delillo and it will also be about a writer i've never read thomas pynchon. if any of you has a copy of 'the crying of lot 49' you wouldn't mind parting with, email me up and i'll give you an address to send it to, considering i've got to read that book. i've heard nothing about that book in my life, actually, except the name. and somewhere in high school i read that 'v' was the first postmodern novel.

10. Imperial Horseracing

not sure if i'm gonna be able to listen to this album anymore after this. talking about fighting. so yesterday, i went to some of my favorite spots in the city. bought six new pairs of underwear at uniqlo. i wear boxer briefs. i first tried wearing boxer briefs at age 16 after getting surgery on a hydrocele on my left side. i never turned back. i have to say uniqlo is the greatest spot for underwear in the city. used to be $5 a pair, now it's $6.45, but that's not so so bad. wearing a pair now. i bought them in colors black, grey, and dark grey. usually buy a navy blue pair too but they were out of those in size medium (30-33 in waist). by the way i have a 30.5 or 31 in waist.

11. How I Met My Mother

funny that there is a song titled as this. i have been watching 'how i met your mother' nonstop on netflix. it is very funny and easy to watch. jason segel and neil patrick harris are very funny.

12. Waves

let me talk a little more about the show. what else is there to say? a little on all the characters? ted: whatever. robin: oh fuck you. lilly: oh she's the bandcamp girl from american pie, huh. i have watched two seasons of the tv program since dec 30. is that fast or what. yesterday i did yoga for the first time in about a year. i do this donation based shit on st. marks. it's vinyasa style. i like it, i sweat a lot. often i don't donate any money even though i could. i feel fucked up because of that. 2.5 years ago i really fucked my shoulder working on the farm. sometimes it really gives me trouble, especially during the winter months, but i'm toughing it out. yoga really helps a lot, let me tell you what. my skin's so dry this time of year too. and i'm talking all over. just kidding. my hands get it the worst. i'm a notorious handwasher, you see. i am a 'germaphobe' or maybe a hypochondriac. it's debilitating.

13. My Europa

tonight i'm going to see megan boyle read. i hope some of my friends will be there! i haven't seen very many people since i got home from germany. had a nice time watching basketball with my friend miles and drinking champagne with my friend tim and playing nintendo 64 with my friend theo. i have spent every night with my girlfriend nicole. you know, i really love her. she really is something else.

14. Chocolate Boy

this song sounds great so far. i remember i first heard of guided by voices from zachary german, the man himself. really got into that album alien lanes a couple years ago. really moved me emotionally. i bought it on vinyl this past summer and sang almost the whole thing of it with nicole reading the lyrics from the pamphlet that came with the record. erik stinson told me he didn't get guided by voices. i understood his dilemma from an objective place.

15. The Things That Never Need

oh now we're getting experimental, huh. neil patrick harris's character is called barney stinson. ironically he seems a little bit like erik stinson to me. not sure how. one time last year erik and i went to supreme. it was pretty cool—NOT! no but really, it was fine. anyway, i've been back to that store a few times on my own. own a few shirts from there. it's a pretty alright place. overpriced for sure though. after uniqlo, nicole and i went to top shop. i bought myself two collared shirts on sale. i feel handsome in them. on the walk home we ran into our old friend jamie. strange i've run into three people on the streets of new york since i moved back six days ago and probably haven't run into that many people randomly in all my years combined. not true, i guess. i'm waiting on the world to change. i dream of the apocalypse so much.

16. Either Nelson

oops didn't hear the song change, that includes the last stuff too i guess.

17. Cyclone Utilities (Remember Your Birthday)

i don't care for the title of this. what is irony anyway. my hot water pipe is popping. it sounds like someone dropping a ping pong ball onto a wood floor. i was truly scared of this sound last night. oh i dream of death and terror so often. who doesn't love to sleep though? the poles are bound to reverse in the near future. it could happen tomorrow. what would that do? have people asked that question? the ping pong balls just fall and fall and crush everything in their path. i am in their path always on the brink of dying. oh i'm really scared of death now. i would not want to face any kind of death.

18. Old Bones

well here i am after that fiasco with that song i don't even remember. fat dominos. i really hurt from yoga, i really do. and my nintendo 64 is below this table, but i don't have a tv, it's uptown at my sister's apartment. oh shit, since i added that song to the mix, this album is now—wait for it—41.7 minutes. so much more time to be creative and connect with you. 'my love for you is real' - guided by voices. 'secrets in a world of blue' - david lynch and julee cruise. i could cry how afraid i am of strange death. every time i enter this apartment i wonder if someone is

19. Go Rolling Home

hiding and waiting to kill me. here are the alcohols i have in my apartment: two opened bottles of wine

20. The Room Taking Shape

one is mumm nappa sparkling wine and one is some kind of rosé. we drank those for new years. mine is all but gone, nicole's has a little left.

21. We Won't Apologize for the Human Race

thirteen carling black label beers that i bought on my birthday from a liquor store near the rmv. two bottles of maker's mark bourbon. one is bigger than the other. one i got for my birthday from nicole. one i bought myself at the liquor store near my house on sale. i haven't drank them, but i drank patron on my birthday with my dad. i really like the game because he just raps about other people in the industry. talks about wanting to fuck maya how 50 fucked vivica a fox. he talks about dre so much. how he wouldn't even fuck mariah carey even if she was in bed with ashanti (who we can implicitly decide he finds attractive) because she (mariah) has a big forehead like tyra banks. i wonder if i spelled all those names correctly. he talks about the magic stick too. g-unit. oh god where to stop. i am so afraid of strange death. i think about nuclear bombs. i dreamt one went off not so far away and the smell was so bad as it enveloped all around me and everything was yellow and it felt so warm.

out of berlin

2011-12-21T08:53:00.002-05:00

and into your heart

here are the pictures from my 21st birthday party

'nothing' by blake butler

2011-12-09T17:54:00.004-05:00

- tried to unwind by watching louis c.k standup

- turned off lights

- closed laptop

- noticed ‘nothing’ by blake butler was glowing in the dark

- smiled

- thought it was a distraction

- picked up the book and observed it

- opened laptop

- emailed gf about incident

- realized i’d last read book on subway and that subway is dirty and thus my fingers are probably dirty

- put book facedown on desk

- applied hand sanitizer

- closed laptop

- turned off lights

- realized that book glowed in dark on backside as well

- picked it up and observed it

- realized i’d last read book on subway and that subway is dirty and thus my fingers are probably now dirty and I don’t want to touch my bed and pillow with dirty fingers

- applied hand sanitizer

- lay down

- realized i should type about this

- opened laptop

- while typing realized i’d last typed on the laptop after holding book which i’d last read on the subway, which is dirty, and thus my fingers were now probably dirty and I didn’t want to touch my bed and pillow with dirty fingers so after i typed this i went to go apply hand sanitizer and went to go to sleep goodnight and then changed this to past tense later and pasted it into a blog post and was about to press publish post on the blog post when

art from german intellectual tradition

2011-11-28T13:13:00.006-05:00

"Sweden" by The Mountain Goats

2011-11-19T11:15:00.003-05:00

(The Recognition Scene)

you broke the doorknob off the door the door swung open easily you sauntered into the poorly lit store and looked around lazily we stole every bit of candy they had inside gobbled it all up greedily on our three month ride i'm gonna miss you when you're gone i'm gonna miss you when you're gone we headed out to the getaway car and hit the open road i saw something written in tall clear letters on your face but i could not break the code we had hot caramel sticking to our teeth the only love i've ever known burning underneath i'm gonna miss you when you're gone i'm gonna miss you when you're gone i'm gonna miss you when you're gone i'm gonna miss you when you're gone

(Downtown Seoul)

there was a new song on the air i saw you coming across the square and a white bird broke the dark korean sky as the rest of my life went by i had your warm hand on my face i took your index finger in between my teeth and i held gently in place it was resting lightly on my tongue in there i saw you shaking in the cold korean air there but for the grace of the lord of song i would be this very second and i'm coming right along you had your cardigan on i looked toward the sky and the white bird was gone i remember your eyelids i remember your body now

(Some Swedish Trees)

well you were standing in the door well i wondered what you were waiting for i saw the wild strawberries on the vine out of control well i was trying to think of something clever you were saying nothing whatsoever i saw the berries throw their hooks into the soil felt the blood between us churning thick as motor oil we'd come from california the air around you was familiar to me now and you were gazing westward i was looking at you again yeah

(I Wonder Where Our Love Has Gone)

all i know is i'm love with you even though you say that we are through i know without your love i just can't go on i wonder where our love has gone always thought you'd love me more and more never dreamed you'd ever let me go i know without your love i just can't go on i wonder where our love has gone now what did i do and what did i say i never could lead you to treat me this way if i've been untrue i'm willing to pay and darling if that's not enough i'll do anything you say so darling please wherever you may be hear my plea and hurry home to me i know without your love i just can't go on i wonder where our love has gone

(Deianara Crush)

one day in september you come here you pull head down and you whisper in my ear and you tell me the sidewalk is as far as the world really goes but that's a secret everybody knows you head in your hands you say my name how is it that thought you say it some 20,000 times it's never quite the same and you tell me that hercules died burning consumed by an article of his own clothing that's something i'd rather not be reminded of

(Whole Wide World)

the last of the repercussions died off real slow the sky was still and the cold sun sank down beneath the snow i hung by my hand from the tree outside i looked on the whole wide world the voices came quietly i shut them down a tricky young southerly wind came at me with its high whistling sound i turned around to face it with real arrogance burning inside and i drank in the whole wide world

(Flashing Lights)

i am wearing a white long sleeved button down the pink colors behind the clouds tonight mirror the softer shades of your nightgown as the neurotransmitters go crazy inside of me i swear you're leaving town empty promises empty promises i am watching the way the wind seems to pass straight through your body when you run your fingernail along my neck you spill some water on me you say you're as good as good well don't look now but here comes the dawn empty promises empty promises empty promises empty promises

(Sept 19 Triple X Love! Love!)

i cut down that withered peach tree just like you asked me to and i hacked it into pieces and set it on fire with your face in plain view at the near window where you stood watching me split the wood i will do as i am told i will keep away the cold the fire pit in the snow gave off a rich bright orange red glow a familiar scent rose up into the air and i remembered something special from a long time ago you opened up the door stepped away from the killing floor your footprint on the snow was fresh and new when you touched me i felt fire coming through i will do as i am told i will keep away the cold i will do as i am told i will keep away the cold

(Going To Queens)

the ghostly singsong of the children playing double dutch i felt the wind come through the window i felt it turn around and switch back in the second story room in jamaica queens your hair was dripping wet your skin was clean and the children skipping rope tripled their speed you were all i ever wanted you were all i'd ever need in new york city in the middle of july the air was heavy and wet the air was heavy your body was heavy on mine i will know who you are yet i will know who you are yet

(Tahitianambrosia Maker)

we were real hungry half dead when you broke out half a loaf of sourdough bread and in the tropical air the scent rose like a spirit moments of grace like this being wholly unmerited ah you were newly alive and i felt your hand on my arm i was awake to the sensation and immune from all harm you pressed your soft cheek up against my gut pure gold nothing but gold and i'm gonna bake you a nice coconut cream pie 'cause i saw the sky coming down to meet you

(Going To Bolivia)

i cut myself a two foot switch from some tropical hardwood nearby and the sounds of a carnival drifted miraculously through the air from a thousand miles away the monkeys jumped from tree to tree it sent a deathly chill through me in bolivia wildcats i had never seen claimed places in my room and animal noises rang through the thick brush like voices from the tomb i saw the freshly polished chrome gleaming in the midday sun and i knew that you were coming home to bolivia hey

(Tollund Man)

i was sitting at the edge of the marsh when the council came to bring me the news they handed me a bowl of cooked wild grasses and they gave me the ceremonial shoes goodbye young danish women goodbye danish sky goodbye cold air i am going away goodbye goodbye goodbye

(California Song)

i know you see mars in the sky tonight i know you can see venus rising and veering off to the right but can you see that young star overhead it's the one that designed my undoing i know that in california the waves break on the beach and i know that the fog on the breaking waves is as white as household bleach but do you see that particular white right now it's the color of the young star coming on down i got joy joy joy in my soul tonight i got joy joy joy in my arms all right although you treat me badly i love you madly you really got a hold on me you really got a hold on me

(Snow Crush Killing Song)

when i ask you to look at me you look away when i ask you to tell me something nice once you come at me with all your hot lights on display i know you're changing damn you i know you're changing god damn you for that when the snow stacked up outside you looked around i could see you from the window i could see the snow coming down i know you're changing damn you i know you're changing god damn you

(Send Me An Angel)

in an hour or two the sun will rise on you and it will be clear what has happened between us in an hour or two the wind will come through the window the wind will tear through the house i am creeping up the staircase one step at a time bringing roses and chocolate roses and chocolate roses roses roses

(Neon Orange Glimmer Song)

there's a capsicum pepper plant growing out in the backyard there's a capsicum pepper plant growing out in the backyard and i i am a monster i can't believe the thing i've done i can't believe the thing i've done there's a friend of mine living in dallas about a two days drive from here got a friend of mine living in dallas and that's a two days drive from here and i i am a monster i can't believe the thing i've done i can't believe the thing i've done and there's a cold wind blowing and there's a silver bell hanging and there's a silver bell ringing and i i am a monster i can't believe the thing i've done i can't believe the thing i've done

(FM)

hurry the bottle mama it's grapefruit wine kick off your high heeled sneakers it's party time the girls don't seem to care what's on as long as it plays 'til dawn no static at all give her some fucked up music she treats you nice feed her some hungry reggae she'll love you twice the girls don't seem to care tonight as long as the mood is right no static at all no static at all hey

(Prana Ferox)

i went down to the basement to check up on the sour mash i looked down to the nonreactive ceramic tub it was bubbling i had stirred up the dust on the stairs coming down i saw the dust devils swarming around incoming sunbeams cut them apart and i watched a shadow pass across my heart you were upstairs in the kitchen with your head against the sink trying to cool down trying to cool down i know you don't believe me but i could hear you breathing i looked into the tub and there the mixture was seething with new life new life all around i stirred up the dust on the stairs coming down you were upstairs in the kitchen with your head against the sink trying to cool down trying to cool down yeah

(Cold Milk Bottle)

rainbows shone on the glass dew drops gathered on the grass and the yellow sun into view another god damn message from you well despite your best efforts i feel all right against my better judgement i feel all right despite your random acts of violence i feel all right despite the force of your fury i feel all all right you're mean to me why must you be mean to me you shouldn't forget you see what you mean to me

iæm in norway

2011-10-26T03:54:00.001-04:00

going to look at paintings soon

my boots hurt. that ever happen to you_ you feel fine but ya boots hurt_

going to look at paintings by edvard munch soon

going to eat an apple and a banana out of the fridge of the apartment iæm CRASSSHINNGG at

what else am i going to do_

well iæm going to the opera house thatæs wat<<<<

october 15th

2011-10-15T08:07:00.004-04:00

in the city in the city october 15!

last night i tried to go to this famous chicken place but it was all reserved for three days

i swear that shit ain't make me happy no it does not

so me and my friend tammy went to a different chicken place

i got all the sauces:

the sauces are garlic i think, spicy sharfe, ketchup and mayo

i hurt my back dancing to wu lyf

woo, life!

anyway ima go get pizza now

keep it clean and dirty

kimchi

rap lyrics/split chapbooks

2011-10-04T16:46:00.001-04:00

My woman's going for her PhD.

I'm jus peeing out my HD.

(hard dick)

:~P

it

2011-10-01T16:11:00.003-04:00

the blog became a place to go to

when there was no creativity or happiness

or trying

involved

it is the irritable bowel syndrome the blog is

Constantly Afraid

2011-09-26T07:53:00.002-04:00

The two biggest fears of mine

while I'm on the street.

Are inhaling other people's

Disgusting Cigarette Smoke

and inhaling other people's

Disgusting Wanton Coughs.

As I'm on the street constantly,

I am constantly afraid.

I'm growing a beard.

Goodbye baby face.

When my girlfriend compliments my lazy eye

I am overcome with confidence.

The poem jumps over the river and out of the poem.

I look up synonyms

and avoid someone's disgusting output.

not really a thing actually

2011-09-26T07:41:00.006-04:00

Yesterday I got a beer stein from a flea market.

I drank a beer out of it at home, but first cleaned it.

That's how I do. I clean glasses.

At someone's apartment they said

take a cup out of the sink

for whiskey.

That's disgusting and they should feel ashamed.

I'm literally frowning right now.

sleepy

2011-09-24T18:30:00.002-04:00

been riding a lot of public transit these days...

not so public though is it? costs money... that's like no more public than anything else

like splitting a cab with 500 other people, am i right?

anyway sometimes i'm sitting there basically twiddling my thumbs

other times i have my ipod

been listening to that new girls album. i like it a lot

played a little solitaire today

live and totally outrageous

2011-09-18T04:01:00.001-04:00

wiggin out

2011-09-05T18:31:00.004-04:00

so there was this gay bar

but i ain't gay don't get nothin from this wrong

we just went there

because there was this socialist party group

a group of young socialists

and somebody pointed to it

and i only had one beer

so get off it

chill out

and leave me alone

jjkk

no i ain't

but... maybe... just maybe...

i'm prepared to leave the country

2011-08-29T08:24:00.004-04:00

there's a new story of mine that i tweeted about like a year ago published on a website that a guy named zachary whalen started

it's called pocahontas of red hook

****

the list of books i'm bringing is this:

The Body Artist by Don DeLillo

Cosmopolis by Don DeLillo (if that bitch amazon shit ever ships)

Underworld by Don DeLillo

Miami by Joan Didion

The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

Collected Fictions by Gordon Lish

Nausea by Jean-Paul Sarte

A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again by David Foster Wallace

Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

the list of books i plan on buying this fall is this:

The Angel Esmeralda by Don DeLillo

Blue Nights by Joan Didion

Leaving the Atocha Sation by Ben Lerner

1Q84 by Haruki Murakami

i'm pretty all much packed up

my residence thing on the side next to my name will change in a few days

open container law ey ya

"Eats with Ozick and Lentricchia" by Gordon Lish

2011-08-12T18:48:00.005-04:00

I am writing this the night of 30 January 1994.

Barbara is in the next room.

She is being fed by two nurses. On spoons the soupy food onto Barbara's tongue, the other promptly pushes between Barbara's teeth the canula that carries what Barbara cannot swallow down into the canister where what is suctioned out of the contents into the bedroom toilet so that the procedure might be continued without spillover or mechanical breakdown.

Barbara will be fed, in this manner, all night, which means, as a rule—all night, that is—until about four in the morning, at which time Barbara will be prepared for bed, and then finally laid down onto it at about six-thirty. She will be gotten up from bed and positioned back into her chair at about nine-thirty, whereupon the feeding will begin against throughout the day and the night again, this in the care of three shifts of a pair of nurses who come to us as Mercy Persons—until about four in the morning of 31 January—if, in fact, there is going to be a 31 January this year.

I don't know.

I turn sixty in February.

I mention these matters not to press you with the force of conditions now in sway in Barbara's life but instead to create the context for the one literary memoir—if this is what it might be claimed this recollection of mine is—I am ever likely to impart to print.

It concerns the critic Frank Lentricchia and the novelist Cynthia Ozick.

It concerns eating.

It concerns an item that belonged to Barbara but which I took from Barbara—actually, from the chifforobe in the room Barbara now sits in now being fed in as I now sit writing in this one—the evening last July that Ozick and Lentricchia asked me to come out to dinner with them.

It was, the item, vintage spectacles that pinch the nose to keep themselves stationed at their post and that have a ribbon that, looped through an eyelet formed from the frame, goes over the head and takes purchase around the neck and hangs down.

Pince-nez, yes?

Barbara never wore them.

The glass in them was plain glass.

I had picked up this novelty for Barbara from some sort of fashion emporium back when we were first setting up housekeeping together.

The pince-nez were like so many of the things I was then snatching from everywhere for Barbara—notions I had, frenzied notions, of ornamenting her, of delineating her, in her beauty.

Barbara was a very beautiful woman.

Barbara is still, inexpressibly, incredibly—reduced to a depletion more sever than anything I would have imagined possibly without death present in complete dominion—a very beautiful woman. You can see thism Barbara's authority in this category, registering in the styles of approach made to her by the women who come to nurse Barbara—a sort of recognition, I think it is, a sort of satisfied acknowledgement of the insult nature reserves—justly!—for the very beautiful.

Barbara is regnant in there in our bedroom with two such nurses right now. They feed her, or struggle to feed her, as Barbara, for her part, struggles to swallow little sips of what was yesterday cooked and pureed for her, everybody in there, none more blindingly than Barbara herself, getting a good look at what most of us never see: the work that can be done to the body by amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.

Lou Gehrig's disease.

But what I want to tell you about is about another experience in eating and about other persons—and about, please remember, the pince-nez.

Which last I had taken from the top drawer of Barbara's chifforobe in order that I might feel I was in prospect of holding my own—as a full-fledged participant—in the company of Lentricchia and Ozick the night of the dinner I am remarking.

I took them with me, the pince-nez, for just that reason—or for no reason that I can honorably say.

I don't know.

Say that I had been in all day, been in for days, had not been out of the house—not at night, anyway—for weeks and weeks—and had certainly not been out for anything social in months, months, months.

Lentricchia and Ozick, Ozick and Lentricchia.

They—one or the other of them—phoned, said come out to dinner with us, said come meet us in an hour at The Grand Ticino, said come look for it just north of Bleecker on Thompson.

I said yes, yes, oh yes, hun up the phone, went with tears in my eyes—it's crazy—to the bedroom, to the chifforobe, took out the pince-nez, got my shoes trapped under one of the canulas or catheters or electric cords everywhere underfoot, got the shoe loose, went to the bookshelves, took down Ozick's Bloodshed, took down Lentricchia's Ariel and the Police, went to the kitchen, made out a note for the nurses then on duty and for those to come on at ten, said I'd be back no later than eleven, added the telephone number where I could be reached, and went, left, fled, took myself out into the street in the temper of one released.

Now to the little joke in this.

What I know I called a memoir but can now see will never accumulate itself into anything so grand, and God knows into nothing anywhere on speaking terms with something traveling under papers as a literary one.

It's just a bit.

I can tell it to you, the whole bit, in no time flat.

They were late.

I sat there being exasperated with them.

Why were they late?

Wasn't I on time? What right did they have to be late when there I was—right when they said I should be—right on fucking time. And what right did they have to make it up between them that we, that the three of us, would come eat at The Grand Ticino when—fuck, fuck!—doors away, also just north on Thompson off Bleecker, was Porto Bellow—where with Bloom, with Donoghue, where with Ozick and Lentricchia—where all the years with Barbara, goddamn it!—I had had such good times, such happinesses—releases to, not releases from.

I tried thinking of topics.

Then I was glad of it, glad for it—glad the dirty fucking rats, the bums, were late.

Because I did not have anything to talk with them about—no topics, not a topic—did not have anything to say for myself, did not feel anything in me sufficient in worth to swap for the gift of anyone's time with me—except to hand these people my tears again in thanks again for their thinking again to ask me to come out with them for eats again.

I had one topic.

Barbara.

Barbara dying.

So I sat there being exasperated a little bit, and weeping a little bit, and being pleased with myself for the pince-nez hanging zanily from my neck and for the copy of Bloodshed and for the copy of Ariel and the Police I had thought to pack along with me for no motive I could state to you with any more good sense backing it up than I could summon in defense of myself for my getting myself primped up with the pince-nez.

I thought: Tell them I'd just made up my mind my favorite sentence is Edward Loomis' "Mary Rollins was born in a high white frame house shaded by elms."

I thought: Tell them I am getting ready to make my second-favorite sentence "The icepack has melted, and the American River is running fast."

I thought: Do I tell them it's mine, this sentence—ah, shit, compound sentence!—or tell them instead that all I really did was steal it from where it was scribbled up on some wall somewhere?

I thought: Tell them I've got money in my pocket and I'm going to get bad drunk and then get on a bus, get on any bus, so long as it's going away.

I thought: Tell them I'm pretty damn burnt-up they didn't deal me in when they didn't settle on good old Porto Bello.

I thought: Tell them they're my first- and second-best friends?

I sat there thinking.

I say there thinking, sat there waiting, sat there making believe I was actually reading the books I had laid out in my lap when I had pushed back my chair back away from the table when the waiter had come and had put a cup of espresso in front of me and had filled the bread basket with some great-looking bread in it for me and had poured out for me a little dish of olive oil for me, and had, in every ordinary thing the fellow had done for me, in every conventional ministration the waiter had enacted for me, that the man had—the strictness, the covenant with protocol—got the tear to come from me again, carried me into a sort of small weeping again—so that, sure, sure, sure I guess I could not actually have sat there reading anything even if I had actually been trying to.

I sat there thinking: Hey, what do they make of me, the other people back behind me in this place, me, this pose-taker I am, this show-person sitting here, the ridiculous specs stuck to the nose, the broad black gosgrain ribbon swagged martially across the chest, the legs arranged at an important three-quarter torque,the auspicious-looking books laid out in the lap, the chair shoved back away from the table in an exhibition of a sort of magisterial, expansive remove?

I sat there thinking: Where the piss are they, the dirty stinking rats, not to be here now, not for them to see me looking like this now, not for them to be right this instant coming up on me from the back of me seeing me looking like this now?

I'm ready! Please see me now—I'm ready!

But are the bastardos here and ready for them to do the fucking viewing?

I sat thinking: Tell them about how on my way downtown I spotted on Broadway between Twenty-second and Twenty-first a store called "GORDON" with a sign saying something like, wasn't it, Sells Tricks, Sells Novelties, Sells Disguises?

I thought: Tell them they made me cry?

I thought: Tell them everything makes me cry?

I thought: Tell them I put on a dirty movie when Barbara was sleeping or when I thought Barbara was sleeping and there was a girl in it getting it from all sides in it but who never once looked at any of the ones giving it to her in it but who instead was only always looking off somewhere away from where everything was going on in the holes in her as if—in a gaze, in a gaze!—where she looked off to was paradise?

I thought: Tell them, of the three chairs, that of the three chairs, that I, Gordon, was the first one here first but that I, Gordon, took the one chair facing to the kitchen because what wouldn't I, Gordon, not do for my two first-best friends if not eat shit for them, if not face the kitchen doing it for them?

I thought: Tell them I took the pince-nez when Barbara wasn't looking, tell them I never told Barbara I was taking them, tell them I couldn't really read with theme, tell them I wasn't really reading with them, tell them they didn't have anything but just plain glass in them, tell them I am not going to be ashamed of any of this, tell them I am not going to be ashamed of anything anywhere to do with any of this, tell them no, no, not if at least, not if I, Gordon, can at least be somewhere on time at least when I am goddamn told to be at least and they—the bastardos!—can't!

In the midst of which consideration I take up a big piece of bread up from the bread basket and tear off a little piece of it from the big piece and put the little piece down into the little dish of olive oil and soak the little piece of bread with olive oil and then take up the salt shaker and salt the oiled bread with salt and put the little piece of salted, oiled bread into my mouth and start chewing and keep chewing and then take up the cup of espresso and take a sip from the cup of espresso and sit chewing and sit posing and sit making believe I am sitting reading but sit really actually just thinking—fuck, fuck—this fucking bread here is pretty fucking good bread here, this bread here at The Grand Ticino is pretty fucking good bread here—and just getting more bread, getting it all salted, getting it all oiled, getting more of the coffee into my mouth, getting the whole glob of it all good and chewed and soaked and mashed, thinking: Tell the bastardos what, what?

I think: Tell them there are Mercy Persons coming to us from Saint Firmus, tell them there are Mercy Persons coming to us from Saint Eustatius.

I think: Tell them there is no person merciful enough coming to anyone from anywhere.

I think: Proust! I think: That's it, Proust!

What a topic, Proust—the bum, the bum, the stinking dirty rat, forgetting the cookie, and whose damn cookie is it but the braggart's own damn cookie!

Tell them the filth can't even remember to remember his own damn cookie, can't even damn remember to remember not even three little pages hence concerning naught but remembering, can't even, goddamn it, remember it's the two of them, that it's the totality of the two of them, that it is the totalitarian unicity of the blend of the savors of the two fucking two of them that authorizes the emancipation of anything, that it's the tea and the cookie, that it's the tea now and now the cookie now, that it's the both of them now, this reciprocation goddamn it!

Tell them I think.

Tell them the instant they show up that I think.

And then I think Holy God Jesus, how about asphyxiation for a topic!

Because it is all of a sudden fucking occurring to me I am fucking sitting here in fucking The Grand Ticino fucking strangling!

I mean it, I mean it!—I have gone and got a lump of oily salty coffee'd-up mush that's gone and got itself caught halfway down and will not go anymore down than halfway down anymore because there is laid out beneath it this swag of big broad black grosgrain ribbon I somehow got caught in under the bread when I was sticking the fucking bread in my mouth and then got the ribbon halfway swallowed down under the bread and it's hung up on me halfway down, like this bundle of it, like this terrible bag of it, and it won't, the whole killing sack of it, it will not come back up because it has gone to far down for it to come back up and it won't go all of the way down because my neck has got it by a rock and won't let go.

And I think: Idiot, idiot, quick quick!—act fast before you have actually suffocated yourself!—either give it a yank and rip out your teeth or see if you can swallow your head!

That's the thought I thought.

I don;t know for how long.

All I know is, hey, Barbara knows.

Legs still crossed in imperious pose, books—books!—still exhibited upon my person—while death hurries to do an honest job of it from the props bullshitting has furnished.

Okay, so that's the literary part.

The memoir part is did I or didn't I sit here and not forget that it was all of them, all?

Coffee, salt, oil, ribbon, bread.

Six, actually—actually the components constituting the effect, don't they all come, all in all, to six?

And what about eyelet?

And vanity?

And canula?

But it is swell by me if you and the critic and if you and the novelist want to take the list anywhere off into your first-best schemes and rhymes and figures and portents.

I mean, hey, as the fella says, reim dich oder ich fress dich, you got it or you got it?

Except just don't go accusing anybody of ever pulling anything too Prousty on you, deal?

I said it, my darling—didn't I?

Didn't I just—him, your husband—just say deal?

this is so beautiful to me

2011-08-08T23:19:00.003-04:00

just another rainy sunday alone with my demons

2011-08-07T12:12:00.001-04:00

i started to write a story

2011-07-25T16:49:00.001-04:00

She wanted to be a famous poet, but she didn’t write. Didn’t want to write. Sat down in front of the computer and felt bored. Started to bring around a twenty dollar pen and a Moleskine, but that didn’t help either. She drew pictures of butts in it. She wrote down names for the butts. The butts of everyone on the subway in the morning. All the butts.

It was Sunday. Everyday is Sunday when you’re unemployed. Someone on TV had said that. Or quoted that. She repeated it in her head. It was a poem maybe. Everything was a poem, and so she was a poet, and she didn’t have to write to prove it. She thought about this. She walked outside. There was a flower near a flower store. She looked at her phone. A text from Brad. A text from Brad. A text from Brad. It seems, she thought, that Brad had something to say. She closed her phone, walked quickly and with determination, hopping over the division of each sidewalk square—the little creases separating the concrete, like butt cracks. The butt cracks of the city. Her city? She spit and it went into a one of the cracks and disappeared into the pavement.

It had been several months since she’d seen Brad. It would be several more. She was happy, but she was also content. Less than she was content, she was happy. She was not angry, sad, or upset. In the mornings she would make her own coffee. She’d been planning to do this for years. She always admired her father for doing it. For finding a brand that truly pleased and represented him and for going after it. For making mistakes. For the massive power of self discipline it provided. Wake up at eight. Put the coffee on. Feed the cat. Throw away the trash. Pop pimples in the mirror. Shower. Always remember to wash the butt. Easy to forget washing the butt. Measure the butt with your eyes in the mirror. Size up the butt. Is the butt too big for the body? Too small? Is the skin on the butt smooth? Pop pimples on the butt? Then the coffee was ready! Everyday had a regimen. Not a regiment. Not a regiment. She’d said that in an interview and punched her fists together at home with the humid airiness of rejection perforating through her little wet mind. Days have regimens. Armies have regiments. Cats have to be fed. She didn’t jog anymore. That was out of the day. Boring! She smoked cigarettes now to stay skinny. She didn’t do that, but she would if she wasn’t afraid. She imagined herself doing it. Smoking an invisible cylinder in the mirror, batting her lashes. She went outside and walked by the flower store. Each morning was beautiful and hot. The regimen stopped there. She didn’t plan anymore of any day.

That Sunday, she was excited. Her mother’s birthday hovered on the calendar, sort of moved around, always edging nearer, yet simultaneously, keeping just enough distance. Now it was closing in. She could feel air flapping gently from its wings. She could smell cake. The cake store half a block west. A grinning sister-in-law. Dollars bills falling down everywhere.

Sometimes Brad would call. He left messages. His voice always sounded different. He spoke with foreign accents, at various speeds. She could hear his teeth clicking together across the line. Sometimes he said romantic things. Other times he didn’t. She wondered if she ever blushed when she deleted them. Could she sense his feelings based on the time of year?

That Sunday, she drank more coffee. Down past the flower store, past the deli (this all being east of her apartment (she never passed the cake store (ever!) if she could avoid it)), past the hardware store where the clerk had recommended a fumigator who she’d slept with nine months earlier. The fumigator who’d smelled so good despite his work. Or maybe he’d made an effort because of his work. Maybe he was spiteful toward his work. Or her expectations. She walked passed that hardware store. Crossed the busy street, the lazy avenue, and smiled at the morbidly obese man outside the thrift store. There was the coffee store! She sat inside and read the Sunday paper. She ordered a massive cappuccino and loved everything. The sun came through the window and danced on her face.

Her mother lived far away, but close by train. She went north on the train, out of the city and the outer limits of the city and the mangy outskirts of those outer limits and then started to see trees. The trees were speckled with spray paint. They smelled like toasted almonds. She said next to Alberto. That is what she’d named him. He wore a thick cologne and slicked back hair. A silk shirt. He wore other things too. A gold necklace. His teeth were gray and pretty. She could hear the music through his headphones. His name was Alberto and he was probably very tall.

The trees started to smell more like apple cider pretty soon. The warm kind, with cinnamon. The sugar maples sang little songs. Her eyes were closed. She sang along. A man came around and clipped her ticket a second time, and then she was off the train. A field of Joan Rivers ran in front of her mother’s car to reveal her mother inside the car. Her mother didn’t look like Joan Rivers. She was skinny, but not skinnier. Maybe even less skinny than last year. She was smiling. Glowing! A song from a popular TV show was playing on the radio and the two women kissed on each cheek.

It was the same town, the same 7/11 and the same Mobil station. There was the same municipal building and the same hairdressers. Her mother chewed the same chewing gum. Everything was the same, and the mother had purchased a new house, and that too was the same. The house had a terrace. It had bay windows. Or bow windows? The house had three large borzois, smiling and slobbering and bobbing their heads up and down. The house had marble everything. The house was not entirely furnished.

can i have your attention please?

2011-07-14T21:05:00.005-04:00

will the real slim shady please stand up

please stand up

oh, what a beautiful day it was today

here is everything i can remember doing:

i woke up

i peed

i pooped

i checked my email

i checked some other websites

i went back to sleep

i woke up

i peed

i pooped

i brushed my teeth

i used mouthwash

i washed my face

i checked my phone

i texted with my girlfriend

i ingested fiber supplement

i ingested zinc supplement

i drank orange juice

i put on my jeans

i put on a tshirt

i put on socks

i put on boots

i ate a granola bar

my mom drove me to work

i stepped out of work and felt the air and sun on my body

i unlocked the store

i went into a giant refrigerator

i moved things from the refrigerator to the store

i organized things in the store

i went down into the greenhouse

i turned on the hose

i watered things outside the greenhouse and then in the greenhouse

i ate a banana

i sat in a chair

i swept the patio

i put my ipod in my pocket

i walked up a big hill

i picked raspberries

i talked with my coworker while we picked raspberries on opposite sides of the row of bushes

i smelled my coworker's cigarettes as he smoked them

i peed

i drank water

i felt a headache

i thought the headache might be from sweeping earlier

i talked to my boss

i walked down the hill

i drank water

i took 'today & tomorrow' by ofelia hunt and my lunch out of my backpack

i texted my girlfriend

i ate my sandwich

i took things out of my boss's rental van

i ate wheat things and an apple while reading 'today & tomorrow'

i talked to my coworker (we were sitting)

i walked up the hill

i picked raspberries in a different row

i listened to my ipod

i listened to john maus, the cure, and destroyer

i poured raspberries from the can into pint containers (earlier, before lunch, i did this too but into half-pint containers)

i peed

i talked to my coworker who was on a tractor and is more like the foreman, because we're not equal and he makes double my pay

i felt the sun on my neck and arms

i thought about putting on sunscreen (i had put some on earlier after drinking orange juice)

i walked down the hill

i put on sunscreen

i got some pails and a knife

i walked up a longer, less steep hill

i cut summer squash from the vine

i cut zucchini from the vine

i drank water

i talked to a coworker

my boss came in a van and i got in

i said nice things to his dog

it licked my chin

i got out of the van and talked to some coworkers

i ate ice cream

i went into the greenhouse

i got trowels and divels

i walked up a hill

i poked holes in the ground

i planted brocolli

i listend to guided by voices on my ipod

i talked to my coworkers

we planted together, working together

i walked down the hill

i wrote down my hours on my timecard

i said goodbye to my coworkers

i got in my mom's car

i took off my boots

i asked what was for dinner

i went upstairs

i turned on my laptop

i took off my jeans

i took off my socks

i took off my t-shirt

i opened safari on my laptop

i checked my email

i looked at facebook

i went downstairs

i got my towel from the hamper

i went upstairs

i went into the bathroom

i turned on the shower

i pooped (i probably peed too while i was pooping)

i washed my face

i got into the shower

i washed my hair, then my body

i dried myself off

i downloaded music

i listened to the music until my mom came upstairs and said dinner was ready

we ate together while watching 'hardball with chris matthews'

we talked about rupert murdoch

i put my plate in the sink

i opened my laptop

i chatted with my girlfriend on ichat

i moved from the kitchen to the living room

i moved to the bathroom

i peed

i pooped

i went back to the living room

i watched 'jeopardy'

i watched 'the big bang theory'

i put grapes that my mom had brought from the kitchen on the couch and watched my dog try to get them, and then eventually get them

i watched the yankees game

i looked up baseball stats

i looked at pete rose's wikipedia

i talked to my mom

i chatted with my girlfriend on ichat

i started blogging

my mom went upstairs

my dog followed my mom

i looked at the tv

the yankees were losing

Poison Sumac Poems

2011-07-11T10:45:00.009-04:00

Move Me, Baby

I just read something I liked.

Or I started to read something I liked.

I must actively avoid reading things I like,

Lest they make me want to write.

I don't ever want to write again.

Not for any particular reason.

Tomorrow I will go to Nicole's.

First I will go to work.

I watch the poision sumac move around my wrists.

Sexy at first,

Then sexier.

****************************************

Israel, Son of Isaac

Oh God, bring me a son...

just kidding.

It's time to sit in the doctor's office.

My face covered in no poison sumac.

It's different—

this way of life.

We have to leave by 10:45...

just saying.

It's the choice of an onion bagel

or it's the choice of something glorious.

****************************************

HarHar, Not Funny

A poem written

without quickness

and precision

is something laborious.

Haha, mark me down for 2.

Whenever I remember

the time I learned about

how Texas hold 'em

was confirmed in 2007

to be born in Robstown

(near Corpus Christi),

I just can't hold onto my cards.

Jeopardy has followed me

everywhere,

like bugs under my skin.

Outside in the garden,

my body covered in ants,

Thank you for the poison sumac.

Visage

2011-06-14T21:35:00.014-04:00

in case you haven't heard, i'm working on a feature length film

it's called Visage and has been described as a "visual thriller"

there aren't characters or a plot. i'm posting it in its entirety on my vimeo in chunks, or 'parts'

here are some selections:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***BONUS***here is a bonus performance art piece, which i documented and published in june 2011. it is unassociated with Visage***BONUS***

thanks guys. hope you're having a great summer. i'm not. jk, or whatever. lol

420

2011-05-24T18:30:00.007-04:00

born april 20, loved scottish terriers, leader of the 420th reich

420-forever-never-forget

i want to party

2011-05-19T19:55:00.003-04:00

jees life is weak

htmlgiant

2011-05-18T11:04:00.003-04:00

i'm going to be blogging at htmlgiant for a while

here is my contributor site so you can bypass everything else and get to the goods: htmlgiant.com/author/fishkind/

i have a post up there now about the twilight zone

here is a list of things i'll probably post about in the future:

- dog books

- book covers

- rappers and writers

- pitchfork media and standing behind your opinions (re deleting old reviews)

- interview w/ person

things i read in the boston globe

2011-05-15T12:06:00.005-04:00

red sox dump on the yankees

woman throws baby in hospital trash can

al qaeda planning to attack in september

mike huckabee's heart tells him to not run for president

flood gates open on louisiana towns

maxing out ball deep

2011-05-06T11:32:00.002-04:00

i was interviewed by paul cunnigham at radioactive moat. he asks me about poems, books, and the future, among other things

copies of a chapbook i self-published titled 'OK Great' are now available at st. marks bookshop for $1

i'm about to go to the post office

then i'm going ball deep in this paper about emily dickinson and walt whitman

i'm about to talk about hyperconsciousness re death lol

been watching 'the twilight zone' now. look out for more on that... gonna be huge

put your head in a toilet dumbass

some thoughts on 5 shows i watched in entirety

2011-04-27T18:37:00.007-04:00

i've been... like watching a lot of tv lately. read 'moby dick' and um... 'portnoy's complaint.'

but over the past month or so i've watched 5 shows in their entireties. here are some thoughts on the shows.

The Larry Sanders Show

very damn funny. 6 seasons. stars garry shandling, rip tom, jeffrey tambor (the dad from 'arrested development'), janeane garofalo, and other people like bob odenkirk and the gay guy from 'kids in the hall.' i tried to watch all of 'kids in the hall' but it got repetitive after 2 seasons. anyway, the show is an hbo show about a talk show host working in the early to late 90s during the big transition period of talks shows. contemporaries include jay leno, david letterman, conan o'brien, arsenio hall, jon stewart, etc. funny jewish humor. funny sex humor. very attractive seeming cast of females. i watched it while sitting at my desk, cooking dinner, in bed, drunk, high, sober, asleep. strong contiguous story lines about drug abuse and relationships. sometimes laughed aloud. felt genuine sadness when the show ended. funny moment when the fictional larry sanders asks about literal actor (himself) garry shandling and someone says he's annoying and shitty. generally one of the best shows i've ever watched.

Archer

really shit-ass funny. 2 seasons (ongoing). animated show about secret agents set up in 'arrested development'-esque context of long running jokes, short flashbacks, almost entirely built through witty, highly-stylized lingual jokes. also a lot of sexual humor. sexually-animated characters. lots of alcohol abuse. stars the voice of the mom from 'arrested development' and jeffrey's tambor's voice is also in it. solid amount of physical/violence-based comedy. makes fun of cancer at one point. there is an alligator in an episode. on fx so they can say 'shit.' i watched this mostly drunk in my bed, but sometimes while cooking. 2nd season just ended, but i think it's gained a lot of success so i guess i look forward to a 3rd season in the future. archer is a funny character who is really narcissistic and awful, but always seemed to come out on top. kind of an anti-hero show. not for kids, so if you have kids, even thought it's animated, you know. watch it alone.

The Stand

1994 abc miniseries based on the 1000+ page novel by stephen king, which i read in 2002 at the suggestion of my 6th grade science teacher. comprised of 4, 90-minute episodes covering a massive, apocalyptic viral epidemic. seems that .1% of the population survives. they all have vision-dreams to travel toward the great american west. half of the survivors--'the good guys'--go to nebraska, then boulder, co at the prophesy of a 100-year-old black christian woman. another half, wooed by power, and ultimately 'evil,' go to las vegas at the persuasion of a demon-esque supernatural man/being named 'randall flagg.' for those of you who read a lot of stephen king growing up, or i guess, possibly, still do, randall flagg is a reoccurring evil presence in the world of stephen. kind of interesting to see this novel adapted to film, and achieved rather seamlessly. there is like an inevitable sense of power-struggle between good and evil, but the first 2 episodes just deal with the apocalypse, which is awesome. lots of stars... rob lowe plays a deaf-mute, molly ringwald is a sexy woman, laura san giacomo is a temptress, kathy bates makes a cameo, the old doctor from 'scrubs' is in part of it, sam anderson plays an old man, stephen king and sam raimi make cameos, there's a warm-hearted retard. there's sex and violence and death. seems to have it all. get into it.

My So-Called Life

i guess this is a girls show. had a 1 season run in the early 90s. i was going through netflix-instant newly added tv shows and this was on it, so i started to watch and was kind of immediately bored. the episodes are 45-minutes and tedious and established a lot of things that are now considered 'clichés', so i didn't want to watch. but i sort of just kept watching anyway. it stars claire danes and some other people who never really had careers after the show, but the kicker i guess is jared leno. he plays a heartthrob bad-boy who can't read. the show deals with child-abuse, sex, love, social anxiety, etc. basic high school girl stuff. show originally aired on abc. i watched it almost entirely in bed over the course of a few days of crippling depression. really intense christian undertones in a number of episodes. sort of interesting as a cultural thing about the 90s. really strong scene where claire danes' character is lying in bed listening to 'dreams' by the cranberries. **spoiler**: really disappointing that claire danes' character remains a virgin throughout the entire series. very unbecoming since the show is supposed to be coming (cumming) of age. whatever: **spoiler**

The League

maybe one of the best shows on tv right now. another fx one. stars mumblecore icon mark duplass ('the puffy chair,' 'baghead') and other funny c-list actors nick kroll and paul scheer, both involved with 'human giant,' which is one of my favorite shows. great. so, ok, great. the show is about fantasy football, but it doesn't matter if you know anything about that, i don't, and it doesn't matter. the show is mostly about drinking and making fun of your friends. it's overtly masculine. even the female characters seem really just about beefing and saying 'faggot' and 'shithead' and 'ride my suck stick' and stuff, so that's pretty cool. there's a lot of sex/porn/weener/poopy humor, but it's also really smart, lots of witty wordplay and stuff, etc. very funny characters, situations. this show has 2 seasons, and is ongoing. just you know, check it out if you're into chill-ass humor. or whatever. i don't know what else to say. mumblecore fans might like it, or maybe they wouldn't. football fans would most likely enjoy it. people who hate everyone would probably like it. misanthrope-core.

------

here is the original vlog, on which this blogpost is based:

Davids Picks Weekly Netflix Talkshow: S1E1 from david fishkind on Vimeo.

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ok that's all i had to say. leave comments of more shows i should watch based on my enjoyment of these shows. read less literature. watch more tv. kill yourself even more than that. peace (forever).

some news/we major

2011-04-14T13:36:00.006-04:00

you can now read a story by me titled 'bastille day' at metazen. andrew weatherhead has called it "Nice," "tight," "So sweet," and "a great story."

i will be reading poetry and fiction at the lillian vernon writers house, located on 58 w 10th st (between 5th and 6th ave) on friday april 29 at 7pm. a bunch of other nyu students will be reading too. darin strauss is hosting it.

also, i will be leaving nyc from may 2011 to january 2012, so i've decided to sell my bike. here is the craigslist ad: feel free to just email me at dfishkind@gmail.com if you're interested in buying it... i'll give you a discount if you mention my blog/writing or something else cool

email this posting to a friend new york craigslist > manhattan > for sale / wanted > bicycles

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70's Vintage Schwinn Hybrid - $300 (East Village)

Date: 2011-04-14, 1:17PM EDT
Reply to: sale-vhen4-2324926937@craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

I'm leaving the city for about 8 months, so I have to let go of my beloved bicycle.

This bike is a legit, vintage Schwinn, handed down to me by my parents.

It's in great condition, and literally just went through a FULL TUNE-UP (NEW BRAKES, NEW TIRES, etc) -- so you can rest assured, this is an amazing deal that you won't find anywhere else!

Bike is great for cruising, getting to work, and it is very light for its make. I have no trouble getting it up and down the stairs or the subway.
Also, it's a hybrid, so you get the best of both worlds. It's got three speeds and a very comfortable seat (trust me, I've taken it up 80 blocks no problem).

Perfect for adults of all sizes, though probably if you're a girl it would be good if you're at least 5'3"

I'm in the East Village and pretty flexible about meeting up. Shoot me an email and we can discuss the exchange!

it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

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poem written in master class in poetry (april, 2011)

2011-04-08T00:36:00.001-04:00

ya herd

2011-04-01T02:01:00.001-04:00

3 gymnopedies now that's a good song

a year ago i would go around more

i can't tell if more or less of my life is on the internet

2 years ago went to prospect park

yelled at my friend or got yelled at ate an italian ices

ate a red velvet cupcake that day too cried also

3 years ago sat in 7/11 parking lot confused

then sat in honda i think at speed of 90-100 mph for a while

i'm scared of fast moving objects i like the larry sanders show

today drank a 40 and ate a burger

oh it's ultimately a lot worse things are not as good

things have gotten a lot worse but i'm not so bad off it's ok

davidfishkind.com

2011-03-30T18:04:00.004-04:00

it's that now

just like i won't change it again ok

get into it

i'm not a hyphen anymore, leave it alone

/*/forever/*/

my politics

2011-03-23T00:25:00.007-04:00

think about the way i walk when i walk. i want to really have a part of that to be the way i walk.

i can control my breathing and my heart rate. i have worked on it.

i don't throw up. i work hard. i walk forward. i keep walking forward. walking sideways means something and if you're doing it, be aware.

tried to imagine having a job. i simply can't do that.

i walked through ridgewood all week. i moved and my feet sort of hurt because i don't buy new shoes.

email that you won't be in work, quit your job, vote for the person who you think will help poor people because you yourself will be poor, i am poor, i walk around. i walk forward.

by the river last summer i learned to control my heart rate. i practiced this for the first time in a long time last week. i failed.

i stopped drinking so much coffee. i started eating much more vitamin c.

zinc supplements. fiber supplements. doing pull-ups. sleeping sitting up.

ignoring the rest of your life and literally actually working to improve it. fix things with your long term (ex)girlfriend. don't get a job but do some sort of jobs to make money. temp office. farm. drive to the border of new hampshire to buy your beer. sleep in the car while you feel good and get out of the car and camp for the rest of your life.

my politics is cutting my own head off and doing it efficiently.

hey, or a comphrensive analysis of a long term relationship through the frame of 'pet sounds'

2011-03-05T22:59:00.007-05:00

for a long time i used to claim that 'pet sounds' by the beach boys was my favorite album. i don't think i'm in the position to make statements like 'what is my favorite' or whatever, but i'm still fond of it. like i said in some vlog i put up at some point, there have been a lot of changes in my life recently. i wear basically the same clothes and still wear my baseball cap with 'westborough' on it a lot, but i am grappling with a lot of shit. i'm sorry i haven't blogged very much. whatever. it's ok whatever. 'sorry' isn't the right word

anyway, i just want to take some time to think about 'pet sounds' while i listen to it drinking some french beer that isn't mine

1. wouldn't it be nice
this song reminds me of when i got the album. i had heard the song a lot of times. i was alone. i spent a lot of time alone or pretending that i smoked a lot of pot. later, i equated it to wanting to spend time with my long term girlfriend who i started dating in the second half of high school. now i think about how i approached my dad, asking him if my girlfriend could sleep in my bed instead of my college-attending-absent sister's room. he said yes, and i think i cried a lot over the following nine months.

2. you still believe in me
it's nice to think about love. i've never really had a on/off relationship. we usually just fought and stayed together. you still believe in me, that's so nice. i wonder if that's true. it's hard to really know what we're talking about when we say we understand one another. being patient with each other. it's just a bunch of sad people.

3. that's not me
yeah. moving to the city and trying to be independent. it's just a big joke, right. in the end we just want to be on the ground not trying to kill ourselves. the song makes me think about what i'm doing. whether i have a drinking problem. how life-lasting relationships work. will you end up attending your long term girlfriend's wedding to another man? what matters to me is what i could be to just one doo doo doo whatever.

4. don't talk (put your head on my shoulder)
i used to try to tell the basic message of this song to my long term girlfriend. i think more or less she used to tell it to me. it's hard to say who can be in charge in a relationship to tell the other person to relax and just focus on being ok. once i got in a fight with her brother at her parent's house. i used to fight so much, i can't imagine even having that much energy or opinion to try to fight anymore. anyway, she drove me to the farm near her parent's house and parked the car and let me cry for a long time and then talked to me. later that weekend i think we watched 'baghead' or something on her laptop while in a silent argument about trust.

5. i'm waiting for the day
i can't relate to this song at all. if a girl is all torn up about her boyfriend that she needs time to love again. i don't know. is this song about somebody on the rebound? it sounds fine or even good. the entire album sounds good.

6. let's go away for awhile
so fucking emotional. i can imagine sitting on a boat. in fact, i've been on boats before. probably not since i've heard this song. driving around massachusetts and new hampshire listening to this song i have felt deeply moved. the title makes me want to move to hawaii, which is what i plan to do at some point. i am moving to europe soon. just kidding

7. sloop john b
this is definitely my least favorite song on the album. it's not about love. i don't know what it's about. his grandfather? i've never really felt that close to my relatives. my long term girlfriend's ex-boyfriend was named jon stone. it's hard to think about this song. it doesn't make any sense. my friend asked my why i didn't like it. i yelled 'there's nothing to it.' it seems like all the bad parts of my novel.

8. god only knows
i'm extremely lonely. this song is so beautiful. it's really about how you feel sometimes when you're deeply in love. in the fall i went to fort greene and then central park with my long term girlfriend. i think that was two weekends in a row. i felt deeply connected with her to the point that i had trouble differentiating our selves as entirely separate people with separate perceptions. i wanted to walk around with her and lie down. i cried very strangely in those moments and i'm very sure she didn't know.

9. i know there's an answer
it's a good song. it's very good song. we do this. we always spend a lot of time on things like this. when i figure the answer out, i'm ready to die. i don't like finding answers by myself. i want to dig a hole and sleep in it. the french beer is under the couch now. i could get it. i could do a lot of things.

10. here today
i don't care about brand new love affairs, but i know what he means. when you meet a girl and feel excited and you sit in your bed and she's there and other things happen. is this the most sexual song in the album? if so, then brian wilson seems impotent and that is exciting to me.

11. i just wasn't made for these times
i guess i understand the alienation he's talking about. he views himself as smart and possibly interesting, he wants friends and love, but he just can't get it. blaming that on the time he lives in is a cheap excuse. he's fucked. i'm fucked. if you're reading this blog, there's something wrong with you too. just blame it on other things. these times, whatever. sometimes i feel very sad too, but it's just something and i get that.

12. pet sounds
maybe this is the best song on the album. i remember working on the farm and crying with dirt on my hands and ipod thinking about love. i used to pass the time by taking pictures on my cell phone and sending them to my long term girlfriend. i read dozens of books those summers and wrote some of the worst poetry of my life, but i can't remember ever being so happy. i have to pee.

13. caroline, no
i put this on a mix cd for my long term girlfriend. i put 'god only knows' on a different one i think. it's a sad song, but makes me only think of being happy. i have to pee so much now. i'm drinking the beer. god, is this song about getting into a fight? or maybe just being alone. songs about girls with their names are risky. we all change. we all feel like someone has control over the abstraction of our hearts. i just want to sit on the trains where i sat with my long term girlfriend. we took the subway to fort tryon park and the subway stalled for twenty minutes before the stop and then we went to a bodega to buy beer but they were out and i bought a grape soda and in the park we saw a person we knew, went to the cloisters museum and looked at new jersey. it was so cold and some urban people were having a wedding in the park and when we rode the train home i couldn't think of anything at all. by the time we were home i can't remember anything. earlier in the day we'd had brunch with her mom and grandmother. we took a cab at some point.

the swag week of living

2011-02-19T12:45:00.008-05:00

outside my window it snowed for seconds. even less.

i was the only person who saw it.

i stopped by the library to type every street in manhattan that i've been drunk on.

my blog header

2011-02-17T13:20:00.004-05:00

what a beautiful day. i have the window open.

let me tell you about my blog header. it used to be 'david-fishkind.com.' then for a while it was "David-Fishkind.com." let me tell you about that. that happened for a reason. i can't remember what it was anymore. one day i was looking at my blog and noticed that it had been uppercase for a very long time. wow. so i changed it back. good for me.

i am wearing my imitation blue starter jacket and walking down prince street.

it is the beautiful weekend. i will get drunk and open the window.

i sat in the basement of mcnally jackson and read all of 'a plate of chicken' by matthew rohrer while listening to the odd future mixtape.

life is a small bag of trail max, don't you think. munch munch die.

matthew rohrer is reading in brooklyn!

strangely enough, rick moody has a p.o. box in fishers island. that place basically doesn't exist as far as i can tell. pretty interesting stuff though.

miranda july credited rick moody in her new movie. rick moody makes the most serious faces in the world. his faces are profound and should be documented as such.

i am working on several films right now, none of them will be released.

i get suckerpunched daily. i wrote that line with the help of my friend andrew weatherhead.

anthony mccann's book is total swag, i've heard from a number of email addresses. going to read it tomorrow night i guess.

i bought a heineken last night and drank it with soup! my sore throat went away!

rick moody makes facial expressions. matthew rohrer makes copies in the basement of a brownstone on w 10th street. henry roth had a prolonged consensual sexual relationship with his younger sister. he wrote about it and published the book when he was 90.

oh god. what am i going to do. never go to grad school. move to hawaii or new mexico.

supreme nyc is closed until thursday, february 24 when it will reopen with it's spring and summer collection. i am so happy. i am so excited. i am so brimming with happiness that i know i can make it last forever while i clean my filthy apartment, drink a kombucha, and listen to earl sweatshirt.

swag. me. the. fuck. out.

such a profound moment...

2011-02-09T23:02:00.001-05:00

soul food

2011-02-06T03:24:00.004-05:00

i was on ave b tonight near sort of where i used to live

i went to a restaurant and ate fried chicken, beets, and some sort of coleslaw

i kept editing a story today. it had to be really specific. i highlighted different sentence structures in different colored markers. it was about variety. i have a picture of it, but it's not very good, so i'm not going to post it

tomorrow is the superbowl. ugh. going to drink to commercials i guess. man, i hate the steelers. i wish i was sleeping inside a giant guacamole covered nacho. like when nachos get a little damp and soft. that's it. that's what i'm going for

i inadvertently created a list of my favorite albums of all time. there were 16 of them

while i was walking back toward where i live i kept thinking that i might run into someone i know and keep the night going

i went to a party

2011-01-30T01:56:00.004-05:00

there was a party and i sat in a couch.

earlier that day i went to a museum and watched andy warhol screen tests.

i like andy warhol. who else does?

here's the cheese area of the bowery whole foods etc:

two poems written in literary interpretation (october, 2010)

2011-01-27T01:18:00.001-05:00

some books i read in 2010 that were published in 2010

2010-12-30T12:54:00.018-05:00

Eat When You Feel Sad by Zachary German
I read the Bear Parade e-book of Eat When You Feel Sad sometime in December 2008. I read it 2-3 more times before 2010. In late January or early February, I met with Zachary German in Washington Square Park and purchased EWYFS. He bought a copy of my chapbook, and then we walked to M2M on 3rd Ave and he showed me "the best nori," which I have now unfortunately forgotten. I read EWYFS in a couple sittings over the course of two days. I recall reading it in a lecture hall for a class called From Quarks to Cosmos. I finished the book and then reread parts. I went to see Zachary read from the book and then went to a bar with some people. A few months ago, in a deli on 51st St., I sat with Andrew Weatherhead and Zachary and talked about something from the book. I like how the mustard stains on the cover are of a certain different texture, which stands out against the title's text. I think i have read the book 2-3 times total.

The Blueprint 2 by Andrew James Weatherhead
Andrew Weatherhead contacted me in early 2010 and we exchanged chapbooks in the lobby of Bobst Library on February 18. He gave me a copy of The Blueprint 3, which he had written and completed in late 2009, while enrolled in NYU and Matthew Rohrer's Advanced Poetry Workshop. A few months later, in the late spring/early summer, Andrew emailed me with a rough draft of The Blueprint 2. I wrote comments on all of the poems and remember reading the poem about space camp between five and thirty times, laughing out loud sometimes. Andrew emailed me a copy of the final draft, with my name listed an acknowledgement. He gave me a physical copy in the Union Square Barnes and Noble. I read the book, and then gave the book to my girlfriend to read. I commented on how the cover was made from Whole Foods shopping bags and expressed my desire to have thought of that first. I have read The Blueprint 3 4-6 times and The Blueprint 2 3-5 times total.

Imperial Bedrooms by Bret Easton Ellis
I first heard about the sequel to Less Than Zero sometime in 2009 and thought it was a sort of joke. I read an excerpt of the beginning of the novel several times and thought "meta" and typed "meta" in Gmail chats to people. I bought Imperial Bedrooms the day it came out at the NYU Bookstore, where I worked (and still work). I made a White Russian and took pictures of myself reading the beginning of the novel and posted a picture on Tumblr. The picture was liked and reblogged. I read the first half of the book very slowly, thinking things like, "This is not engaging me," and the second half of the book in one sitting, thinking things like, "Damn" and "Shit." One end part of the book seemed really strange and out of place to, but I felt good about it anyway. I went to see Bret Easton Ellis read/talk at the Union Square Barnes and Noble with my girlfriend, Andrew Weatherhead, Jake Fournier, and Eliza Weber (that was the day Andrew gave me a physical copy of The Blueprint 2). We stood in the very back of a large room and I could not really see anything. The guy who played Clay in the Less Than Zero movie was there too and they talked about making an Imperial Bedrooms movie. When we left, there was a long line to get your book signed, and we saw Zachary German and Jamie Sterns on the escalator. I never reread the book, but at a party I had in August, somebody opened capsules of Adderall and used the book as a surface to break up the powder and blow lines.

The Ask by Sam Lipsyte

On May 26th, Adam Humphreys said he really liked Sam Lipsyte's new book on Gmail chat. I had not read or really even considered Sam Lipsyte up to that point in my life. I forgot the conversation and recommendation and went on with my summer. One day, I took a fifteen-minute break at work and bought a medium iced coffee from Think. I picked up the latest n+1 (issue 9 at the time), and looked at a piece titled, "The Blue Newt Faction," by Sam Lipsyte. I read it quickly and then looked at parts of it again on a different break. It said it was an excerpt from The Ask, so I talked to Humphreys, who recommended it further, but said he did not have a copy to lend, that he had lent it out elsewhere and it had not been returned. I purchased a copy from the NYU Bookstore, intending on returning it when I finished, but decided to keep it, enjoying it greatly. I read an excerpt from the novel in a video as a part of my major performance art piece, which took place in August, titled 5 Days in the Upper West Side. I went to see Sam Lipsyte read at the New School some time ago with Andrew, and we texted about how fat he was going to be. When we got there, he didn't seem fat at all and I felt depressed. He read from a lot of different sections in the novel in a distinctly Justin Taylor-esque manner.

Richard Yates by Tao Lin

I wrote a Bookforum quoted review about my early experiences with Richard Yates. In August, I lent my mother and girlfriend the printed manuscript and had long conversations about the book with each of them. In Septemeber, I went to see Tao read from the novel at BookCourt. Here I sat with Miles Ross and Megan Boyle, whom I met for the first time. After the reading, many people literally piled into Megan's car, and we drove to a bar somewhere in Brooklyn. At some point, some cops pulled Megan over and asked us questions regarding there being too many of us in the car. They made some faces and then went off and talked for a few minutes. People seemed nervous. The cops then came back and said we were free to go "at [our] own risk." I ordered a whiskey sour at the bar and went home pretty early. I planned on attending several other readings in the city, but missed all of them due to extenuating circumstances, such as having work or a cold, but I have reread many parts of the book, probably about 2 times.

Freedom by Jonathan Franzen

One day, I was looking through Jimmy Chen's HTMLGIANT archive and happened upon his review of Franzen's Freedom. I read it a couple times and felt extremely heightened interest in the extensively hyped novel. My parents came to New York to visit me, my sister, her husband, their new puppy, and my girlfriend. My mother gave me a $20 gift card to Borders, which was unfortunate because there are not very any Borders in downtown Manhattan, while there seem to be myriad Barnes and Nobles. One evening, I decided I was going to bike to the Borders on 31st and 2nd the following morning before classes. When I woke up, it was raining and chilly. I decided to go anyway and felt pretty shitty and out of breath and sore. I bought the book for $21.[??] and biked home. I felt very shitty when I got home and took a picture of my hand holding the novel, which has since been slated for display at the Grey Art Gallery of NYU as a part of an installation titled The End of American Consumerism, according to my Facebook. I read Freedom at an alarming rate of increasing speed, culminating in an emotional moment in which I cried, rereading the final pages of the book.

Toxic Flora by Kimiko Hahn

Sometime in August, Matthew Rohrer posted the syllabus for his Advanced Poetry Workshop, which I was enrolled in for the Fall 2010 semester. I read the list of assigned books and emailed a copy of the list to Andrew. Andrew said that he was excited about Toxic Flora, and had a good relationship with Kimiko Hahn, having been her student in an NYU workshop. I bought my books and looked at Toxic Flora. My girlfriend said it looked awesome and read parts of it while I flipped through other books. I read the first three sections of the book on a Thursday afternoon and walked to the New School. There I attended The Best American Poetry 2010 launch reading. After the reading I talked to Kimiko Hahn very briefly and she signed my copy of Toxic Flora. I read a couple more sections over the weekend, the book and response for Rohrer being due the following Wednesday morning. On Monday night, I took drugs with friends and fell asleep at 11pm. When I woke up the next morning I felt very dizzy and threw up in my toilet. I ate toast and drank orange juice and took a shower. In my building's elevator, on my way to class, I threw up in my hands and on my sweatshirt and went back to my room. I called the health center and asked for them to write a sick note for me. I emailed my professors and said that I was sick and promised not to miss anymore classes that semester (which I didn't), and lay in bed for several hours. Later I walked to the health center, picked up the sick note, walked to my girlfriend's apartment, where I was lectured, and finished reading and doing a response on Toxic Flora. I ended up really enjoying the book, especially the repetition of the word "carrion."

Mean Free Path by Ben Lerner

I read Zachary German's books i read in 2010 negative review of Mean Free Path. One night, I saw a copy on Adam Humphreys' bedside table. When I inquired about the book, he said he loved it. Soon, we were assigned to read Mean Free Path for Rohrer's class. I read it in two sittings separated by lunch on a Sunday afternoon, after calling out of work and watching Meet the Fockers. I liked it a lot and felt unconfused throughout most of what I perceived as things that should be confusing. In my response for class, I wrote "earnest" and "emotional" to describe the book. I reread a few more parts, and Andrew showed me some of Lerner's previous book of sonnets. I pointed at some things I liked.

Poetry Is Not a Project by Dorothea Lasky

I saw Dorothea Lasky read with Matthew Rohrer at a bar in Brooklyn sometime in October. I got very drunk and sat next to Eliza Weber, and we both said we enjoyed her poetry. Later I learned that Eliza really, very much seemed to enjoy Lasky, which was encouraging and I read some of her most recent collection Black Life, before purchasing it for my mother for Chanukah. The final week of Rohrer's class, we were assigned to read Lasky's Ugly Duckling Presse pamplet, Poetry Is Not a Project. I read it very quickly sitting in Bobst Library, sweating before my fiction workshop. I thought something like, "This is okay. I agree with parts of this." I talked to a friend in my fiction workshop, who was also in my poetry workshop. She said she hated Poetry Is Not a Project. I said I felt impartial. She pointed out a lot of flaws in the argument. I went back and reread the pamphlet the following evening and felt infuriated. I was extremely tired, and wrote a ~1400 word response, in which I stated, "I think it is completely ridiculous and unfair to say what poetry is and isn't. That's the same idea that destroys art. In Nazi Germany, Hitler defined what was art and what wasn't, which led to the subjection and destruction of the avant-garde." In class the following day, I spoke in a loud voice, saying Lasky had no right to bound and define poetry and that she is a terrible essayist. People looked concerned.

Christmas Poem(s)

2010-12-25T09:45:00.006-05:00

Metazen is a online publication magazine and they have a Christmas charity E-book.

There is a poem by me in there titled "Christmas Poem." Read it Here.

Jordan Castro's story in it is also really great. My favorite fiction by him thus far. Check it out, definitely (p. 12 "Stray"). Download/Look at/Read/Dig the entire publication Here.

Anyway, it's time to go see Little Fockers. Have a good thing. Even you juggalo homies, it's your day too. It's everyone's day. Have a day.

Agrarianismo

2010-12-18T12:13:00.004-05:00

Hi guys.

So Luna Miguel, a poet from Spain who has five books out, four of which were published this year, and is a month older than me according to Facebook, translated and published a poem by me titled "Agrarianism," or "Agrarianismo" in Spanish, for an ongoing anthology of young American, Spanish, and French poets, including Ellen Kennedy, Jordan Castro, and Ernesto Castro.

Because I have been taking Spanish classes for eight consecutive years, having finished my final Spanish class in college just yesterday, I reviewed the translation and worked alongside Luna on this small project.

Here is the poem in English. It is part of something I am doing. There are poems saved in a folder titled "Visage" in My Documents. They are like this. Here we go:

Agrarianism

The stripper gave my money back and said

this one is on me, and I immediately lost

interest. I walked home, taking Broadway

for a long time for some reason. It was not

comforting, and soon my sister called.

This was when I found out the real news

about my father's business. Wow, I said.

In the kitchen I looked at a picture of

borscht on my Macbook and slowly removed

my headphones. I made spaghetti squash

and put tomato sauce over the spaghetti

squash and put a meatball over that. The

meat was so poorly arranged.

hey

2010-12-14T00:08:00.004-05:00

just... quietly giving up...

december you guys...

~~has it been a good year~~

come on- come on-

excerpt from a Gmail chat between my father and me

2010-12-08T19:49:00.010-05:00

me: hi dad

[Father]: hey buddy... how r things going? ;)

me: fine. just got home from work

going to make soup i think

how are you

[Father]: great... just checking gmail then going to watch Amazing Race..

Moms at meeting at CBS

me: i thought she stopped doing that...

when i went to college

[Father]: she loves to volunteer...

me: lol, yeah she does

[Father]: have u decided when you'll finish this semester and want to be picked up yet?

me: no

Alternate Titles for Miranda July Books

2010-11-30T22:33:00.009-05:00

Learning to Love Me More

Learning to Give Up More

Learning to Poop on Yourself More

Nobody Belongs Here

Bros Belong Here More Than You

Learning to Go to Sleep More

The Boy from Lamb Chops

No One Poops Here More Than You

The Boy from Tao Lin

The Boy from Nick Jr.

Dale from Twin Peaks

The Girl from Cake Farts

Learning to Understand Queequeg More

Learning to Love Lorrie Moore

No One Eats More Glue Than You

That Actor from Ken Park

Bill Callahan's Wild Ride through You More

A Student Cried in My Poetry Workshop

2010-11-22T14:45:00.003-05:00

HTMLGIANT published an article by me titled 'A Student Cried in My Poetry Workshop.'

It's about workshops and workshopping. Keith Waldrop is mentioned. Keep it real...

Going out of town now, peace.

Sandy Lipschitz

2010-11-17T20:11:00.006-05:00

I'm just going to be trying this thing out.

Anyway, I got into my apartment today and it smelled FUNKY! I opened the window and was like, "I'll let this shit air out." Anyways, I came back hourssss later and it still smelled funky!

Needless to say, I had forgotten to take the trash out :-\

So a few things. I took out a bunch of books from the library on Friday morning. It was really cool, using the library like that. I think I'm done buying books for a while. (but that doesn't mean I wouldn't appreciate a gift!)

Here is a list of all the books from the library I have out right now (I took a lot of suggestions from the blog books i read in 2010):

A Green Light by Matthew Rohrer

Yes, Master by Michael Earl Craig

Self Imitation of Myself by Gordon Lish

Run River by Joan Didion

Play It As It Lays by Joan Didion

Secrets and Surprises by Ann Beattie

Almost Transparent Blue by Ryu Murakami

Understanding Lorrie Moore by Alison Kelly

I did a little reading in the park that morning, after declaring my English and American Literature major at New York University. I watched some dogs and a guy came up to me and talked about dogs. I really like Self Imitation of Myself a lot. It is so funny. I read it on the subway at 3am on Saturday morning and it was a great travel companion. I also really really love the poem "Seahorse" by Michael Earl Craig. I basically can't stop rereading that poem.

I saw Sam Lipsyte read at the New School tonight. Andrew James Weatherhead was there and he has a brand new beard. Maybe he'll send you a pic if you ask, but if he doesn't want to, don't tell him you got the idea from me ;-}

Anyway, I was really hoping Justin Taylor would be there so I could take a picture of him with Sammy, but he wasn't and I was sad.

I'm almost done with my workshops this semester. They were Matthew Rohrer and Irini Spanidou in case you forgot. What a year it's been. Next semester I'll be taking fiction with Rick Moody and poetry with Marie Howe. I'm excited. It's going to be a cool winter. (Literally!)

I bought apple cider and ANOTHER spaghetti squash. Hopefully I'll remember to take the trash out next time. Spaghetti squash was the stinky culprit. Also in case you were wondering I did change my profile picture on Facebook and it is my sister's brand new puppy. I know him really well because I dog-sat him for a week in September and stepped in his peepee multiple times.

Well that's that. Hope you're all getting ready for Turkey Day! Except you vegan faggots.

Lifethyme Natural Market

2010-11-08T18:06:00.005-05:00

I was in the West Village. I'm not usually in the West Village. I'm usually in the East Village. I saw someone from my class. We talked. Then I sat in a place. I walked on 6th Avenue. It is also called Avenue of the Americas. I walked into Lifethyme Natural Market. I looked at food. I looked at a woman. I walked around. I walked in a circle around the store. I saw the woman again. She offered me a green drink. I drank it. It tasted good. I bought a thing and a cookie. The thing was okay. The cookie was good. I listened to Modest Mouse and walked around. I looked at Washington Square Park. I walked past buildings. "Whenever You Breathe Out, I Breathe In (Positive Negative)" is the best song ever, yeh?

holiday gimmick for masses

2010-10-31T15:16:00.001-04:00

Transcendental Studies: A Trilogy by Keith Waldrop

2010-10-26T00:55:00.009-04:00

Keith Waldrop’s National Book Award Winning collection can definitely be said to cover a lot of ground, and, being written over more than twenty years, this should come as no surprise. Transcendental Studies is not just one book, but three, and it chronicles the speaker’s journey through the vast nature of existence, perception, change, time, surroundings, and self.

The first book is called Shipwreck in Haven and is the shortest and perhaps least concrete and obvious portion of the collection. It holds Waldrop’s earliest work published here, dating back to the 1980s, and introduces the reader to the detached, disjointed, and frequently intense approach to language and form. Many of the poems are written in stark, sparse sentences, denoting a sharp, strict, constantly moving and connecting thought process. The second poem of the collection is a preparation piece: “Strew the table. Let the hall / be garlanded and lit, the will / to break away. / Welcome your couches,” continuing in this way and ending with “Prepare for rout.” This sets the tone for the rest of the book and Transcendental Studies on a whole. Rout is what the reader feels and sees on the page, yet, there is more to the life of these poems than the disorder and tumult they cause and comment on.

Reading Shipwreck, one experiences the heavy-handed feelings, or avoidance of, projected by Waldrop. He continues to strike the reader down with deep, lingering, streaming deliberations: exploring the thought process itself (p. 12), the distrust of other people and the surrounding world (p. 14). One gains a higher sense of aloofness and isolation in the work. The second section of the first book establishes images of life under vague emotions. “Before the laugher was heard, night / with its varied lights. Steal / out. Drink the cooling night.” The poems work to create a sense of the fundamental state of existence, and through these cryptic images, one can gain insight on the speaker’s internal thoughts, though never outwardly projected: “Passion, breaking the orders it / so resembles. Darkness, like familiar / darkness, my lamented desert.” There is a great deal of change and movement, new life to thought to new moment, but over these changes and movements we find something else, “You have not moved.” The self and reality are viewed through a new scope, a philosophy of movement and change amounting to the original position, the sameness, and this idea becomes one of the most important parts of the collection.

The third section continues this idea of unchanging over movement. Things happen, yes, the poem poses, but everything ends up all the same. The fourth section, an assortment of short poems, sea-oriented, estranged, detached scenery. The sea is great and static—the backdrop for existence and perception. The fifth section lists brief images and thoughts, maintaining the feeling of isolated scenery, the thought process, and the fixed nature of life: “the snow, with ominous steadiness,” “but losing everything at sea / . / not crawling or creeping, but spreading.” The final section of Shipwreck in Haven explores death, contrasted by spring, birth, and the relative static state of existence. It is hinged on the moment “Endless / causation” as nature and segues perfectly into the second book.

Falling in Love through a Description focuses on the concept of time via memory and perception. The book begins, concentrating on personal experience and the perception of this. “Competing Depth” and “Excuse for Festivities” downplay experience, avoiding emotion and relying more on description and statement. “Meaningless patterns distorted, so as to make them look familiar,” plainly and bleakly describes a moment. Waldrop preserves this pattern and tone with short sentence remarks like “Speed irrelevant.” and “I detest drama.” In “The Fountain of Quiet,” he suggests that between thoughts and ages and time and life and importance, all is simple and quiet, and things don’t matter. “Each element to its / natural level. Not a word / about physical properties. The earth / turns less and less quickly; day by / day, each day is longer.” The piece downplays religion and nature by linking them to simplicity and time, and states his disinterest: “I am neither asleep nor at rest, I am occupied with something.” “Instances of Echoes” asks what is the relevance of any experience or memory. It is “Inexplicable, sporadic, alien.” “The whole incident gives one a lot to think about: loss / of interest, lack of desire.”

Here, Waldrop’s poems begin to dive deeper into the concepts of memory and perception versus time. “Internal Evidence” chronicles a life: a collection of “firsthand descriptions of wounded / journeyings. Everything grows fleeting, vague, / loses its structure.” He emphasizes the “psychic fragments,” the only things left to memory and experience. The “Images derailed.” “Long Terms” and “Looming” explore the differences of perception, thought, and memory, working to reveal a greater truth about the disconnect of the mind over time. “Misfit River” comments on the relationship of time to people and nature, and the highlights the solitude of life and perception. “Natural Bridge” chronicles the formation of great infrastructure, “Dreams of icy satellites / on ancient extinguished suns,” and “New heaven and new earth.” It comments on existence and creation with relation to time.

Then, nearing the end of Falling in Love through a Description, Waldrop gets even crazier with his discourse and examination of time and perception. “Plurality of Worlds” strips life down to mere nothingness, repeating the word “unapproachable,” describing “[The] soul’s / fictitious body,” and ends with an intense two stanzas pitting time against perception against change. “Things age and, when old / enough, no longer able to resist, become animate. Unable to stay / free of life. / / What remains of / ancient rites? Grammar. I / would never give up anything I have, in / return for mere certainty.” “Pointless” discusses the nature of memory and perception, hence the title, and the following poem “Poorly GroundedNotions” literally comments on the state of existence through thevague disconnect and dichotomy of memory and perception: “I am reminded of another / table. I place table beside table. Separate / worlds. In what sense are we talking?” “Terrestrial Castle” connects perception with experience and comments on the interpretation of experience, its impossibility, its strewn wild divide. The book ends with “Will to Will,” an epic commentary on the passage of time, with allusion to The Odyssey: “Nobody / knows him, he’s so dressed up. / / Not particularly striking. The dog runs to him and / licks him,” and a great general summing of his commentary on perception, memory and experience, a highly amusing conclusion on the subject: “The rest I am forgetting.”

The final book, The Plummet of Vitruvius, is the most recent work of the collection, and the only part previously unpublished. Vitruvius is of course regarded as a great architect and one of the earliest engineers and the context of location and venue are of great importance in these poems. There is also the dichotomy of time set up as a changing element as well as an element representing the very nature of perm

anence. The first section of the book, “Plummet,” is an assortment of the sensory variety. “Altars” conjures the sense of sight and the relevance of position and parsing visuals, while “The Acoustics of the Theater,” unsurprisingly, focuses on sound. “Baths,” the shortest poem in Transcendental Studies, simply, “Clay mixed with hair,” creates one of the most intense sensory experiences of Waldrop’s entire collection. The reaction that is shaped is so clear and available to the reader; immersed in this section, one can almost literally feel it between their fingers. The following divider, “The Unreliable Narrator,” is just one poem. Unnamed, it hinges on a string of thoughts, mimicking the connections of the mind and reflecting on the idea of logic, through absurdity and relentless movement: “the logical hero.”

The third book then changes pace and moves into “Carriage —A Transition—,” which projects a travel through space and over time, separated by three consistent vertical bars after every short stanza. The vertical bars represent time passing and the separation and disconnect of thought. Waldrop’s “Carriage” moves through this continuum with ease, giving way to vast observation and self reflection, and projecting an air of isolation. “Hours later flying past / trees poles cross / streets and I’m / still it seems in the station,” states one stanza, and soon after, divided by a great deal of space on either side, “I live at a distance.” It is important to note that this section is the only one without punctuation, and also the one with the most movement and disjointed thoughts, a great string and stream of travel and time and thought and memory. “My gravity distorts / the neighborhood every / quality adrift rub / the panes roar / of escaping steam.” It moves into memories, held in by perception, reflecting on Falling in Love, but so much more sparse and separate, creating a new view, the discordance of time with action interpretation. The transition ends with allusion to Zeno, whose arrow paradox states that everything occupies a single space is at rest, and things in motion are always occupying a space. Therefore, all is motionless. And Waldrop sets up his own paradox here: “Zeno must have been / wrong since time’s arrow has flow from / him to me / and is flying and / yet something his argument / gives me pause.” The section here, was nothing but a travel through time, space, and consciousness, over great movement and novelty, thus disproving Zeno’s theory. Yet, somehow, all does feel the same, and after everything that has occurred, it is impossible for the reader or the speaker to state one way or the other.

In “Variations on a Paraphrase,” there is a journey not unlike the ones made up to this point in Transcendental Studies, and the long poem suggests that beauty is not described, but put in context, moved around. The poem is sparse and steers away from direct conviction, avoiding definition, purpose, and meaning. The final section of the book is “Plummet,” and it works to tie everything together, as best as Waldrop would ever do that. “The City Walls” represents the unchanging, timeless sense and context to existence and “Remarks on the Winds” sets wind up as a metaphor for trying to change the static state of existence. “Vitruvius” states, “The undeveloped / man conceals his very existence.” Like an architect or engineer, the speaker emphasizes the importance of foundation and proposes that existence can change shape and relevance with time, and hereafter setting and shelter become key points for the end of the book.

“The Origin of the House” sets up the reliance of life on shelter and structure and “Space for the Dwelling” works similarly, suggesting that setting and shelter change context and form over time. “Of the Primordial Substance” affirms “Through time e- / ternal they retain an infinite / solidity.” Time’s relation to setting is heightened and affected—the concept of timelessness and the immaterial nature of construction. “Methods of Building Walls” and “Several Monuments” depict the breaking down and destruction of the material over time: everything returns to what is was: nothing, and this concept is emphasized beautifully and perfectly in the final poem of The Plummet of Vitruvius, “Walls of Beauty,” simply comprised of the words “Such walls cannot / last more than years.” This connects setting, form, and time, summing it all up—the seemingly permanent material and strength of a wall against the true permanence of time. Thus, things change over time, and continue to change constantly, eventually becoming what they were before creation. Thus, no change occurs at all.

This is all followed by a brief epilogue, in which Waldrop shapes the idea of a self through motion, time, figures of illusion, and detachment. “Nocturne at high noon,” it concludes, another paradox, and a fitting one to end the Studies.

The Most Popular Places NYU Students Can Be Observed Partying

2010-10-14T11:33:00.002-04:00

'thought catalog' published an article by me titled 'the most popular places nyu students can be observed partying.'

it's also about that. find out what drugs are typically consumed where. or don't, it's whatever.

going out of town now, peace.

friday night

2010-10-08T22:43:00.006-04:00

**play all simultaneously**

five three-line poems written alongside andrew james weatherhead re stairs of michelangelo hotel of new york city on october 2, 2010 around 11:30 pm

2010-10-03T04:16:00.003-04:00

The narrow stairs in the Michelangelo

A man walks up them

To the muzak

***

He walks back down

This time faster--and worse

He knows we are watching

***

Another man

He walks up

I almost miss it, but I don't

***

Walks around a chair

Jeans and a belt

He walks down, stops, touches everything

***

When I did it

When I walked down the stairs

I counted out of order

I Attended The Best American Poetry 2010 Launch Reading at the New School

2010-09-29T14:37:00.014-04:00

Proem

I walked to 66 W 12^th St. and opened a door. A guard looked at me and I said “I’m here for the poetry,” or something and he pointed. I walked toward where he pointed and saw a table with a stack of orange books, titled The Best American Poetry 2010. I entered an auditorium. Andrew was in the auditorium and had saved me a seat. We talked and I ate a turkey and cranberry sauce sandwich. I drank some water. People from my poetry workshop and Andrew’s poetry workshop showed up. We all talked a little. The reading poets walked onto the stage and sat in
their seats. David Lehman stood up.

David Lehman

David Lehman walked to the podium. He said he was “a happy man.” He talked about editing The Best American Poetry 2010. He read three sonnets by John Updike about some of the characters from his books, his mother, and New England.

Amy Gerstler

Amy Gerstler walked to the podium. She said “Zoloft,” “AIDS,” “black presidency,” “condoms,” “fidelity,” “standardized tests,” and “breasts.” She read a poem by James Schuyler about a man in love with another man, describing his lips, hair, and looking at a clock.

Sandra Beasley

Sandra Beasley walked to the podium. She talked about The Princess Bride. She read a poem about a vague object or animal. She used her hands.

Mark Bibbins

Mark Bibbins walked to the podium. He read a poem with “the devil” in the title about something I didn’t really understand. He said, “hell as metaphor” and “sex grows gigantic.” He used a disturbing voice toward the end.

Peter Davis

Peter Davis walked to the podium. He read four poems: one about “bad guy fighting,” one about transcending beyond hunger, tiredness, and sex, one about retards or something (I couldn’t hear, but many people laughed), and one about prison and prisoners. He used a funny voice.

Thomas Sayers Ellis

Thomas Sayers Ellis walked to the podium. He talked about “waxing poetically” and “blackness.” He read a prose poem about race, especially regarding the black community. He said, “swagger” and “kiss my black ass.” He used his hands. He used a funny voice.

Lynn Emanuel

Lynn Emanuel walked to the podium. She read a poem about the depressing state of the world (or possibly just America).

Elaine Equi

Elaine Equi walked to the podium. She talked about Tim Dlugos. She read a poem by Tim Dlugos about… something, using nonsense words and making references. She talked about the iconic imagery of hands. She read a poem about hands. She wore a yellow and black striped t-shirt.

Jill Alexander Essbaum

Jill Alexander Essbaum walked to the podium. She talked quickly about something I couldn’t hear. She read a poem in the first person with a lot of allusion to and self-reference regarding religion, mistakes, and sadness. She used a sad voice.

Amy Glynn Greacen

Amy Glynn Greacen walked to the podium. She talked about northern California and yoga. She read a poem about yoga.

Kimiko Hahn

Kimiko Hahn walked to the podium. She talked about the magazine Court Green. She read a poem about a person looking at and reading a copy of a book that had belonged to her father, of which they had both written inside.

Jeffery McDaniel

Jeffrey McDaniel walked to the podium. He read a poem about watering a plant, I think.

Eileen Myles

Eileen Myles walked to the podium. She said “Hi,” thanked the readers, and talked about the poem she was about to read. She read a poem about a meal talking to a person before it is prepared.

Sharon Olds

Sharon Olds walked to the podium. She read a poem about the competing letters “K” and “Q."

Gregory Pardlo

Gregory Pardlo walked to the podium. He talked about “the slave narrative.” He read a poem about a black slave’s life and “birth.”

James Richardson

James Richardson walked to the podium. He talked about a fifty-part poem. He read an abridged version of said poem in twenty parts. The poem was in short sentences, not “about” anything but regarding little thoughts and perceptions. He used a funny voice.

David Shapiro

David Shapiro walked to the podium. He talked about anthologies, the editors of The Best American Poetry 2010, using names in poems, sad poems, Frank O’Hara, his son, a teacher, and told jokes. He read a poem about life, sadness, and loss, I think.

Gerald Stern

Gerald Stern walked to the podium. He said the page number that his poem appeared on in The Best American Poetry 2010, talked about the word “stoop,” and drank some soda. He read a poem about New York City, burdens, and mules. He wore a fedora hat.

Dara Wier

Dara Wier walked to the podium. She read a poem about… something (I lost concentration).

Terence Winch

Terence Winch walked to the podium. He talked about The Best American Poetry 2010, Tim Dlugos, and working in an office. He read a poem about the pettiness of people and, like, how all people are full of shit and negative. The poem was also about the end of the word.

Matthew Yeager

Matthew Yeager walked to the podium. He talked about how his poem was very long. He read a very long poem, which was a list of arbitrary questions. He used a charismatic, rhythmic voice. Many people laughed.

David Lehman (cont.)

David Lehman walked to the podium. He talked about The Best American Poetry 2010’s blog and the readers. He thanked the audience. Many people clapped.

Coda

Andrew and I stood up. I stretched. Andrew walked to the bathroom. I stood outside the auditorium and saw someone from my poetry workshop. I avoided them and moved from one room to another several times. I walked back outside the auditorium and Andrew was standing there. He talked to someone from his poetry workshop. I walked back inside the auditorium. Andrew followed. We walked toward Kimiko Hahn. Andrew climbed onto the stage and hugged Kimiko Hahn. They talked and she signed his book and he gave her a card. Kimiko Hahn said, “You have my book,” to me, and I confirmed that I did. Andrew said I was his friend. He said I was enrolled in a poetry workshop at New York University. I told Kimiko Hahn I had read two sections of her book and liked it. She signed my book and said, “David?” and I said “Yes, David,” or something.

**rejected for publication by Thought Catalog and The Rumpus**

what's up (heavily edited)

2010-09-14T23:06:00.038-04:00

**below is a heavily edited version of a blog post i wrote in a 'stream of consciousness' style/manner between 11pm september 14, 2010 and 12am september 15, 2010. '[removed content]' signifies things that i felt may be taken as 'extremely controversial,' 'disturbing,' or 'means for [something negative-seeming 'to me'].'**

hey guys

[removed content]

so i guess i've been sitting around a lot lately. doing work. the fall is back guys. don't i always do this. so much, always. i um, i have just been thinking a lot of concrete stupid statements to myself in my head lately. things like 'i'm a weirdo' [removed content]. somebody like bought my chapbook last weekend and kept touching me and saying my name. i said things like 'don't touch me' and 'thanks.' [removed content] is anybody else into washing their hands. seems like the thing to do. [removed content]

i play so much goldeneye now. [removed content] i make the most retarded things to eat. [removed content]

[removed content] september [removed content]. just imagine exclamation marks, like i write exclamation marks. imagine that.

god damn, socioeconomy. like, i mean, is anybody going to say they prefer personal values to social pressure, when asked. that's the... social pressure. to do that.

it's just so much like that every day.

there are more people who look like moby. they sit outside of think coffee on bowery and have their bald heads and framed glasses and light beards. i could punch them. or kiss them.

[removed content]

my stories are all going to be post-apocalyptic. does mcsweeney's publish blog posts. could i be like michael cera. he capitalizes off of what other people actually have to deal with. how come he gets so mad laid all the time in those movies. that's unrealistic. he should be sliding his head down in the bathtub and then be like 'no, just kidding.'

[removed content] i'm just so affected by the book '1984.' i sit around and think about the government like a tv. like the tea party, if they had a government. wouldn't that be fucking sweet. nothing would change except people would complain a lot more and be more angry/depressed and we could write about that. i would have so much in common with people. i could sit down on the subway and talk to someone [removed content].

[removed content] i can't speak the way i want to speak in spanish or at work. i just look at people who have mutual friends with me on facebook and think 'ok, ok, ok.' twelve stupid bad stupid poems. eighteen bad stupid dystopian short short fiction things.

sitting on a rock, i wrote about.

i've been wearing a hat so much lately. do you guys like my hat. do you like my knee. do you like my weird thumb. do you guys like my copy of matthew dickman's 'all-american poem.' do you guys like my new apartment. do you guys like my 'watchmen' poster. do you guys like my todd p nyc poster.

i am sure that everyone i know is exactly the same as me. and everyone i see all the time. they are all thinking 'what, what,' and walking around trying to do things without other people looking at them and thinking bad things, but looking at them and thinking 'this person makes me want to sit with this person and eat quietly while smiling.' i don't know. now that i really think about that, i want that about maybe 2-15% of people. i want all people to want that about me.

i started reading dennis cooper but can't find any other books other than 'ugly man.' will anyone send me a dennis cooper book. will anyone trade me a dennis cooper book for something else we can agree on. email me at dfishkind@gmail.com. this goes for matthew rohrer books too. this goes for other things.

i'm so tired, everyday is like this.

in spanish class the teacher said what i thought was 'life is so long. it is too long.' i was like yeah, yeah. he was actually saying 'life is so hard.' but that seems okay too.

i just want a dog. my own dog. a house [removed content]. i have a cigar. i just want to make organic egg salad with free-range eggs and put salt, pepper, mayonnaise, lemon juice, celery, spices, other things. will someone tell me the best egg salad recipe. can't stop thinking about that since i read sam lipsyte's thing.

i can keep doing this forever. falling asleep on a bed, playing videogames, reading literature, drinking american beer. i can keep editing a story forever. i can keep doing anything forever. [removed content] making choices between the organic and non-organic cold pressed olive oil. standing in whole foods, looking for organic popcorn with a hint of sea salt. the people in the lines in whole foods. sitting upstairs in whole foods. organic produce. buffalo wings. walking on bowery. walking on 2nd avenue. [removed content] calcium. vitamin d. closing the refrigerator door wrong so that the butter gets soft and i feel retarded. i can collect so many paper bags for trash bags.

i'm so excited [removed content].

my parents, my sister, my dog, my sister's dog, my hat that i wore when i worked on the farm for two years two years ago. my novel... [removed content]. what is going to happen to my novel. hey melville house bros. i met one of you last week. publish my novel bros.

[removed content] on broadway at 12th street there is a place where they only sell dvds for six dollars each.

2010-09-09T10:57:00.001-04:00

every night seems fine

2010-09-04T03:03:00.002-04:00

went to a thing in queens... took the m train

haven't been to queens ever, i think, except on the highway

miles fell asleep on the subway platform

don't mean to, like, mean anything, just think that was funny

listened to my headphones...

talked about pitchfork top 20 songs of '90s

i don't know, don't want to think about stuff

want to talk about things

on bowery and stanton, i imagined a candy bar company i like making a cell phone

going to connecticut, got a new apartment

if i'm drunk every night for the rest of my life that would be okay

2010-09-02T02:17:00.004-04:00

no, i don't know

i like to sit with you

on a bench in a park, i like to sit with you, and go to dinner

and other things, creativity, i'm not sure anymore, am i drunk

i like to sleep in in the mornings

if i can, i like to make egg salad... hard boiled eggs

i imagined writing this while walking on third avenue

this is entirely different, one hundred percent

5 days in the upper west side: day 5

2010-08-18T21:05:00.005-04:00

i left the upper west side today

i exited around 1pm, at 59th and columbus, while talking on my cell phone with my mother.

before leaving, i took out the trash, closed the windows, turned off the air conditioner, and closed all the drains. did you guys know that in the upper west side, bugs crawl up the drains when they're not in use.

i'm back in westborough, ma now. going to nantucket for a while. drank some rolling rock. ate ice cream.

final thoughts

was it worth it: yeah, i think so.

how i feel: i feel good sticking it out. it wasn't easy, i was even invited to go to dumbo, and like, central park. but, as i said, art isn't supposed to be easy.

best memory: buying lemon juice.

most emotional moment: my mom called me.

lowest moment: jiggling the toilet flush handle.

will i return to the upper west side: i don't know. it didn't do that much for me. food was expensive. lots of white people. probably not.

what i learned: nothing.

5 days in the upper west side: day 4

2010-08-17T23:46:00.004-04:00

woke up at 9am. went back to sleep until 11:30. the yankees game from last night was on. i watched the last inning and felt sad. they won today though, so that's good.

today was fine. just played a lot of grand theft auto 4. i ate chinese chicken. toast. i had a hot dog on a poppy seed bun with mustard, relish, onion. cucumber, pickle, tomato, sport pepper, and celery salt.

nicole and i went to zabar's and looked at coffee makers. $2999 espresso machine. poached egg things. um, garlic presses.

at riverside park, i fell down and pretended to die.

there are three kinds of honey in the apartment

i had a beer and some friends came over. we talked about racism, which was funny. we all seemed to have the same opinions. or maybe like, just agree with each other a lot.

we talked about somebody misusing the word ignorant.

also, drugs. and um, we sat by a fountain by the natural history museum. talked about dogs. i'm going to read more later tonight. i described 'in cold blood' to someone. seems like one of those books i should have read by now.

going to fall asleep now. okay.

5 days in the upper west side: day 3

2010-08-16T23:21:00.003-04:00

damn. what a day.

not much to talk about really. not a good day. don't even want to write this.

played grand theft auto 4, didn't read, i don't know.

nicole joined me. we went to riverside park. ate food.

i discussed some stuff about this art piece on zachary german's 'shitty youth' radio show last night, the fourth episode. you can download it here.

anyway, i'm not feeling too good about myself. get some sleep, you guys.

5 days in the upper west side: day 2

2010-08-15T22:27:00.008-04:00

i woke around 7am and then again around 8. i lied in bed waiting for sleep, but eventually got up and started mulling around.

it is so quiet in this apartment.

it was a gray day and a sunday on top of that. i contemplated a coffee shop the tenant told me about on columbus. i even said i was going a few times to people, but i didn't.

i showered and watched some television. made toast. two pieces. one with honey. one with butter. after toast i made some middle eastern rice thing from whole foods. that wasn't very good, so i ate some greek yogurt with a peach and felt better.

in the kitchen, i was mostly naked, looking out the window

later, i went to the bathroom and stuck my head out the window and looked outside for a long time and stood up further with my chest out the window too. it smells nice in the upper west side and a couple was eating dinner on their terrace across the way.

things seem fine.

i read a lot. i finished 'the ask' by sam lipsyte, which i highly recommend and puts up a strong fight as one of the best books of 2010 so far. i also started 'in cold blood' by truman capote. i bought a copy for $2 at a bookseller table near washington square park sometime in the spring. i asked andrew if it was graphic and he said, not really, but he liked it and could read it every fall. that sounded nice. we agreed to go to ohio in september with a pratt student in a rented car.

i made a video centered around some literary things, i guess

anyway, i did leave the apartment once today. upon exiting, it immediately started to rain and i went to met foods to buy lemon juice. met foods seems exactly the same on the upper west side--somehow i sincerely expected otherwise. i made whiskey sours and hard boiled eggs.

5 days in the upper west side: day 1

2010-08-14T23:22:00.003-04:00

i arrived in the upper west side around 11 am. it was in some minivan rented via zipcar. that was pretty good. we got across the park, and i knew that i was in it.

i emptied the car of my possessions with the tenant of the apartment i am staying at. she, who will remain anonymous, drove the zipcar back to the upper west side. i thought, 'sucker,' and moved my things up to her apartment. i organized my things and sat down on the couch. the tenant came back and we talked and she told me some things about the apartment.

i felt calm and collected. i looked seriously at my surroundings.

i was hot after moving things around, and i took a shower. i thought, 'this shower-head is a force to be reckoned with.' i turned the water on hot and then cold. i stood in the cold water for several minutes, and looked out the window.

this is the view from the shower

the tenant and i walked south on amsterdam. we went to a diner. the diner seemed, to me, very much a part of the upper west side. many rich-seeming chill people sat inside and out. we got a pitcher of sangria and chicken avocado sandwiches. the food was very fresh and nice tasting and when we finished i had a soft buzz on. we went to h&h bagels and zabar's.

back at the apartment, i settled in and the tenant left. i put in the chain lock and turned on the television. over the course of the day, i peripherally watched 'bedazzled,' 'grandma's boy,' and 'the 40 year old virgin,' while doing things on my laptop.

'seinfeld' was on and i looked up what jerry's address was on the show. turns out it was approximately 5 blocks south of me. that seemed cool.

i made a video, featuring diet dr. pepper, modelo, pimm's no. 1 and fresca, and some baby carrots

anyway, i got a little drunk and looked to see if there were any drugs in the apartment. there weren't, expect for like melatonin and tylenol pm, and those seemed pointless. i talked to my friend dennis who is a student/independent animator/filmmaker. he told me a story about how when he was shooting earlier today on an indian reservation in arizona, a native american, or i guess, an american indian ("according to a 1995 US Census Bureau set of home interviews, most... refer to themselves as American Indians or Indians") drove up in a purple suv and told dennis and his crew to get off the reservation. dennis presented an approved permit to film on the reservation, but the man would not back down, reportedly clutching something in his pocket, acting aggressive and drunk. dennis left with a member of the crew, and was followed by his colleagues. later, the other members, who followed minutes after dennis left said that the american indian drew a gun and told them to 'get the fuck out.' seems so fucking intense. i guess that story was the last thing that really happened on day 1 of my 5 days in the upper west side. makes me happy that i'm in the upper west side and not in an indian reservation in arizona.

i'm going to change the sheets on the tenant's bed and go to sleep.

5 days in the upper west side: mission statement

2010-08-14T11:59:00.007-04:00

hi guys, i moved out of my apartment today. i'm sad to leave chinatown/the lower east side/two bridges/the projects, but i'm getting through it in a serious and emotional way.

for the next 5 days i will be housesitting at an apartment in the upper west side, at 86th between columbus and amsterdam. it's a one bedroom with a kitchen and a bathroom and a living room.

i have spent, throughout my life, maybe less than 20 hours in the upper west side. i don't really get it. it seems good, quiet, fun/funny, a chill place to relax/read/die.

i have decided that until i leave new york, on the afternoon of wednesday, august 18, 2010, i will not leave the upper west side.

this is an artistic venture, inspired by some of my favorite performing artists, including tehching hsieh and marina abramavić. it is about endurance and tranquility, self control and discipline. calmness.

according to wikipedia, "The Upper West Side is a neighborhood... that lies between Central Park and the Hudson River above West 59th Street and below West 125th Street." that doesn't seem entirely right to me... i always thought the upper west side ended at 110th st. just to be safe, i will not go above 110th street or below 59th street, east of central park west, or west of the hudson river greenway. those are the only rules.

it won't be easy, i guess, but art isn't supposed to be 'easy,' i feel. i just want to get in touch with myself in the upper west side. a lot can happen in 5 days.

i will update day-to-day on this blog. i feel good about this. i feel good.

three documentaries i watched this week, focusing on adam humphreys' 'franz otto ultimate highballer' in particular

2010-08-09T01:07:00.016-04:00

beautiful losers (2008)
i watched 'beautiful losers' on tuesday, august 3, 2010. nicole and i decided that we should really commit to watching a movie, as we had talked about watching movies a lot of the past several weeks, but had done nothing but watch scenes from movies we had already seen. at one point we watched what we considered 'highlights' of 'amadeus,' cutting the film down from three hours to twenty-five minutes, or less, maybe. i looked through movies on netflix instant watch and decided upon 'beautiful losers,' as it starred, as one of many, harmony korine, whose early work, especially as a writer, i really appreciate ('kids,' 'gummo,' 'ken park'). i had heard of the documentary, but didn't know what it was about. i assumed it was about chill-ass skateboarding filmmakers and artists in the nineties, based only on what i knew of harmony korine.

the film turned out to be, in my opinion, an over-glorification of street art, really just graffiti, and like, shitty okay drawings. many of the artists profiled in the film talked about depression and alienation fueling their art, but then they also talked about how close they all were and how they chilled at this baller-ass storefront/gallery in the lower east side, i think, and they all did drugs or something and hung out all the time and displayed art together. to me, it seemed, if they were all friends and hanging out every night, how could they really be that depressed. they talked about how they were really weird and didn't fit in and were outcasts, but they seemed basically like normal bros that all got along fine and were social and excited and happy all the time. at one point they talked abut getting paid to go to japan and feel inspired to make art. they all looked and acted like jerks, i thought. really pretentious and holier-than-thou feeling kept going through my head. it seemed like they couldn't be outsiders because one of them painted the cyclone roller-coaster at coney island. i couldn't think of a more, like, accepted, consumer art thing to do than that. it seemed like a lot of them just revamped fifties advertising fonts and profited off that. i don't know, just my opinion. nicole liked it. i liked one part in which harmony korine talked about how in high school, his friend's head was cut off and thrown in a park where a lot of people used to chill.

danielson: a family movie (2006)
i watched 'danielson: a family movie' on saturday, august 7, 2010. i came back to my apartment after what seemed like a long day, feeling extremely depressed and fucked. i lied in bed and texted nicole like maybe thirty times. i didn't know what to do. eventually, i calmed down and talked to my friend ethan. he said he was watching a documentary called 'danielson' and sufjan stevens was in it. i decided to watch it on netflix instant watch. i didn't know what the movie was about, but i have been a big fan of sufjan since i was given a burnt cd of 'illinois' by a girl i had a crush on in freshman year of high school. it must have been 2005 when she gave it to me. or 2006. i think it was 2005.

danielson was about daniel smith, some christian freak-folk, psychedelic musician, who sings in an extremely high voice, with a direct and original, almost insane-seeming delivery. he also happens to be extremely devoted to jesus christ. the film revolved around the creation and evolution of his band, danielson, which consisted almost entirely of his many brothers and sisters. the film seemed good because it chronicled the family member's reactions and feelings toward playing in this band, which originated as a thesis project for smith's undergraduate art degree at rutgers. most of the family members expressed they didn't really know what smith's intentions or stylistic methods regarding the band were, but that they felt really positively toward the message of the music, always directed toward joy, togetherness, and christ, and that they felt good and interested in playing in the band because they loved and supported their brother. that seemed really great to me. wow, i wish i had a family like that, or felt that way toward people. that seemed like really, true love and respect toward the people close to you, which seems difficult to find/experience these days.

the film discussed ideas of how spirituality and goals in making music can affect the perception and appeal of a sound. danielson, for a good long while, it seems, has been the only directly christian band that has maintained popularity and respect in the indie music scene. daniel smith also plays under a solo act, br. danielson, and 'discovered' to some degree sufjan stevens, who played in the band's first really major gig, the all tomorrow's parties concert in england in 2004. daniel smith talked about wanting to make music with a message that connected with people in an emotional and inspiring way, without alienating an audience, which is basically devoid of christian faith. everyone seemed to agree that this was possible based on the ways that smith approached his art. i felt extremely impressed and interested in daniel smith and his family. they also showed some interesting stuff about sufjan's career and how he rose to fame/acclaim. the film was enjoyable to me, visually and musically, and i guess, in informing me on something i didn't know anything about.

franz otto ultimate highballer (2010)

i watched 'franz otto ultimate highballer' on sunday, august 8, 2010. that morning, i woke up and decided that it was necessary to be productive. i still felt shitty and almost physically weak from the depression i had experienced the day before, but i recognized that by lying in bed and watching episodes of 'peep show,' i wasn't going to make myself feel any better. i went to kossar's bialys and ate and then walked to cafe pedlar and bought a cup of coffee. i took out my laptop and worked on a short story i had started the night before. i wrote a 1000 word email. i worked on the story more, got another coffee, brownie, chocolate chip cookie, water, and listened to modest mouse records while working. about three hours later, i wrote a follow-up email, after receiving no response from the 1000 word email. the follow-up email was also 1000 words. i finished a satisfying draft of the short story, maxing out around 3700 words, and erik stinson met me at the cafe. we talked and did things on our laptops. erik and i then went to urban outfitters, best buy, dos toros taqueria, and finally to bushwick, where adam humphreys was screening his first film, the documentary 'franz otto ultimate highballer.'

i met adam at a poker game in november, and he seemed interesting in that he didn't dress like a hipster and didn't seem to hold any pretensions, but was rather, just an extremely nice and calm person to be with, and also seemed somehow loosely associated with some artistic movement going on that i was just beginning to become aware of. i saw and talked to him infrequently over the next several months, and learned, maybe six months after meeting him, that he had completed a documentary about the tree-planting industry in british columbia. i watched the trailer to 'franz otto' maybe ten to forty times between may and august this year. i talked to adam briefly about the film several times on gmail chat, about how interested i was and how engaging the trailer seemed. it was, as i could gather, some film about this tight-knit culture based on reforestation, and highlighted to some degree by this enigmatic character franz otto: the greatest tree-planter that has ever lived. i didn't know if the film was about adam tracking this guy down or about how the legend of this man influences the movement happening in canada. it just seemed like something i didn't know anything about, presented in a style that seemed extremely appealing to me, personally.

the film, as it turned out, was less about franz otto specifically, and more about what tree-planting meant to the entire group of people directly involved. the film documented a wide range of the industry, from serious planters, to founders, to foremen overseeing the business, to people just finding themselves involved for short periods of time, to highballers. a highballer is, according, in some part, to urban dictionary, a tree-planter who consistently plants a lot more trees than anyone else. one highballer in the film set the world record for most trees planted in a day, at 15,000, explaining that he lost three toenails in the process. another highballer is not the fastest, but is in his fifties, living on a planting block, a so-called 'lifer.' franz otto is a highballer who literally plants more trees than anyone in the business, everyday, every season. period [yeah, period.]. the film seemed, to me, informative in a non-forceful, non-academic way, but rather, through the eyes and [jesus, i am going to use this word] souls of the people that care about their work in a profound way. i found the film incredibly inspirational, as it evoked a sense of seriously putting everything into a career and a passion. the highballers presented pour their entire selves into what they do, day after day, for their own satisfaction and worth and for the land they reforest, and the world, and everything else, really. this is something i felt that i, myself, could really find solace in. the idea that people really just care and put their hearts and bodies into something before them is beautiful to me. whether it be tree-planting, ditch-digging, art, this idea of full-on immersion of one's self physically and emotionally in his/her work is atemporal and highly affective.

i have lived in new york for almost a year now and i have met so many people and seen so much art and have experienced so many things in such a short time that i couldn't have imagined doing last august, and it seems 'franz otto ultimate highballer' was a culminating point for this. i feel really blessed to have been able to go to a quiet backyard in bushwick and sit with a small group of people and watch what was stylistically and content-wise one of the best documentaries i have ever seen. humphreys' film brought forth interest and excitement toward creation and work in the same way that things like zachary german's 'eat when you feel sad' and ben gocker's 'there is really no single poem' worked for me, becoming some of the most relevant and progressive works of 2010, and changing that which is real and moving and possible in art. at this time in my life, just being able to be so close to the products of young, hard working, talented and devoted artistic people has really fueled my own artistic and literary interests, and seeing 'franz otto' definitely brought this to another level, in my mind.

four copies of 'the stranger' by albert camus

2010-08-02T12:38:00.012-04:00

'the stranger' by albert camus (translated by matthew ward, vintage international, 1989)

this is a soft-cover version of the copy of 'the stranger,' i first read in may of my senior year of high school. i bought it for $4 from a bookseller table near washington square park in spring 2010. i remember really loving the book, reading it in two sittings, and talking about it a lot in class, using the word 'existentialism,' 'self-control,' and 'happiness.' i said that the main character wasn't crazy or wrong in his actions, but he defined his own morals and this made him strong and emotionally powerful as a character. i remember we also talked about 'the myth of sisyphus' before we read the book, but i don't remember what was discussed. i kept talking about how the main character from 'the stranger' was the greatest character we had read in literature in high school. i defended the book to doubters and seemed to convince everyone that everything the character and the book did was okay on a psychosomatic/moral level.

'the stranger' by albert camus (translated by stuart gilbert, vintage books, 1946)

this is a copy of 'the stranger' i bought for $4 from a used bookstore in the east village in spring 2010. i bought this book, wanting to the reread 'the stranger,' before i bought the copy above, translated by matthew ward. i liked the cover and was happy it was an old copy because i always think that makes reading an old book better for some reason. when i started reading the book, i immediately could tell something was off. the first line read 'Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can't be sure.' i knew this wasn't the same as the first text i had read of 'the stranger,' but couldn't understand why. i went on wikipedia, and sure enough, i found my answer:

The three translations differ much in tone; Gilbert's translation is formal, notable in the initiating sentence of the first chapter. The French original is: "Aujourd'hui, maman est morte. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas. J'ai reçu un télégramme de l'asile: Mère décédée. Enterrement demain. Sentiments distingués. Cela ne veut rien dire. C'était peut-être hier"

Gilbert's 1946 translation is: "Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can't be sure. The telegram from the Home says: YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL TOMORROW. DEEP SYMPATHY. Which leaves the matter doubtful; it could have been yesterday."
Laredo's 1982 translation is: "Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don't know. I had a telegram from the home: 'Mother passed away. Funeral tomorrow. Yours sincerely.' That doesn't mean anything. It may have been yesterday."
Ward's 1988 translation is: "Maman died today. Or yesterday maybe, I don't know. I got a telegram from the home: Mother deceased. Funeral tomorrow. Faithfully yours. That doesn't mean anything. Maybe it was yesterday." [Maman is informal French for the informal English Mum/Mam/Mom; a strict translation of the opening line is "Today, mama died."]

this was upsetting for me. i felt off-put and 'cheated,' to a degree. i looked at the back cover, and discovered its description of the book: 'the Stranger by Albert Camus is a short novel about an ordinary little man living quietly in Algiers. Life begins to stalk him quietly and slowly, but inexorably. The pace quickens until the little man commits a pointless murder -- and reaches its climax after his trail. The Stranger presents an indelible picture of a human being helpless in life's grip.' i felt that i could find fault in every line of that description and discussed it with jordan castro ['jordan,' 'the,' and 'stranger' highlighted as i used them in a search for the conversation]:

me: LOL

the back cover

of my copy of the stranger

seems so wrong

the description

hold on

5:07 PM Jordan: which version is it

me: pretty old

emailed u a picture

of description

5:08 PM seems camus would be offended

Jordan: seems so wrong....

jesus christ

me: like hes not ordinary

life doesnt stalk him

hes not helpless, hes in total control

5:09 PM Jordan: i agree

at this point, the whole thing just seems funny to me. hehe.

'the outsider' by albert camus (translated by stuart gilbert, penguin books, 1982)

this is a copy of 'the stranger' i bought for $2 from a bookseller table near washington square park in spring 2010. after the 'debacle' with the stuart gilbert translation of 'the stranger,' which i deemed unreadable after a few weak tries, i bought the first copy discussed in this article. i talked to the bookseller, who was a fat, bald, seemingly well read man, wearing glasses and a little annoyed with [everything]. i talked to him about how bad stuart gilbert was and how much better matthew ward was as a translator for 'the stranger.' the bookseller agreed and i said that i wanted to read the short-survived middle translation, the writer of which, neither of us could remember. he said he didn't know of any copies around but if i checked up once in a while, he would let me know if he heard of any. i said i wanted to read all and any versions of 'the stranger,' that i was collecting different copies, which was, i guess, partially true. he told me that in a storage closet where he kept his books, he had a copy of 'the stranger' titled 'the outsider.' i said i had heard there were copies like that. he asked if i was interested in owning a copy. i said i was, very much, interested. he told me to come back in a week and he would have it. a week later, i returned. he seemed surprised to see me, and then said he had seen the copy in his warehouse, but never expected me to return, so he had left it. he told me to come back another week later and he would have it. i returned a week later and he sold me the book for $2. he said he was impressed that i showed so much interest and actually followed up with what i said. i said something like, why wouldn't i do that. i have never read from this copy, as it is the same translator as the shitty copy, but i brought it to my creative writing class after i bought it and showed people and they seemed impressed.

'the stranger' by albert camus (translated by matthew ward, vintage international, 199?-200?)

this is a copy of 'the stranger' i bought for $11.95 + tax from the borders in shrewsbury, massachusetts in summer 2009. i bought it for my girlfriend as a gift, as i was still feeling passionate about the book, not long after i first read it. as far as i can tell it's exactly the same as the first copy discussed in this article in every way but the cover and the price on the back ($11.95 versus $8). this leads me to believe it was a later reprinting by vintage international; however, i have not been able to find any information as to when or if vintage international did a reprinting of their soft-cover matthew ward translation of 'the stranger.' obviously they did, but like i don't know. anyway, it turns out nicole had only briefly started the book last summer and brought it over this weekend with intention to restart/read it.

comparisons

2010-07-25T13:56:00.008-04:00

nonlocal nonorganic < nonlocal organic < local nonorganic < local organic

unhappy with people < unhappy alone < happy alone < happy with people

drugs < alcohol < music < sex < literature < friendship

sleep < lying in bed < wakefulness

< <

'richard yates' by tao lin

2010-07-12T01:05:00.013-04:00

my experience with tao lin's second novel 'richard yates' goes back to sometime in 2008. my girlfriend gave me a copy of 'bed' to read in the summer. i started reading 'bed' on a greyhound bus after crying for ~20 minutes, wearing big sunglasses, my face pressed against the window. i rode somewhere between 15 and 30 greyhound buses that summer from worcester, massachusetts to new haven, connecticut every other weekend from may through august. sometimes i transferred to a bus in hartford, connecticut and would sit in the station reading waiting for another train. i read 'bed' on the bus, in a hammock in my parent's backyard, at a plastic lunch table at the farm i worked for my 30 minute break four days a week. i gave 'bed' back to my girlfriend and ordered copies of 'cognitive behavioral therapy' and 'eeeee eee eeee.' i read each book one week apart, 'cbt' in a car from westborough, massachusetts to newport, rhode island, 'eeeee eee eeee' in my bed waiting for my girlfriend to come over to my house on a friday while my parents were away somewhere for the weekend. we talked about tao lin. eventually i went on the internet and read about tao lin. that he was a recent graduate of new york university, the only school which i was applying to in the fall, lived in brooklyn, and was writing a novel called 'richard yates,' selling shares of it before it was supposedly finished. he seemed funny and good, and a couple months later i ordered 'you are a little bit happier than i am' on amazon and read it maybe four more times that year, lying in my bed, thinking about suicide. i read all of the writing linked on 'reader of depressing books' and many interviews and profiles on tao lin.

'richard yates,' i read, was scheduled to come out in september 2009. i felt excited and read about the characters names being haley joel osment and dakota fanning. later i noticed, it was pushed back to winter 2009/2010 because of the release of 'shoplifting from american apparel.' later, it was pushed back to september 2010 and i felt sad. i had been reading about this book online for what felt like a long time. i remember, before the announcement of the release of 'sfaa,' i imagined all of tao's books published by melville house would follow the style of the first three books' cover design. i assumed 'richard yates' would have a yellow cover and a picture of an animal. i thought maybe it would have a drawn picture of richard yates' face. for a long time i thought about what 'richard yates' would be like.

when i first saw tao read, he read from 'sfaa.' each time i saw him read after that (~3-10 times), he read only from 'sfaa' and i felt angry and annoyed, each time returning to see him read hoping to hear an excerpt from 'richard yates.' when i finally did hear an excerpt for the first time, i laughed out loud at an altered version of what became the beginning of the book.

i originally asked tao for a galley of 'richard yates' sometime in june. he said they had run out of copies and that he was trying to get more printed. later i saw him in the library and he said that they were going to print around 100 more galleys. about a week later, i asked again for an advanced copy, but he said no, that he had done additional final edits and wanted that i should read what would be officially released in september.

last wednesday i skipped work and lied in bed. i watched episodes of '30 rock,' making a one-avocado guacamole and feeling bad about everything. i gmail chatted tao about 'richard yates' and he said he would print me a copy. i met him in the library the next day. the copy he gave me was 65.5 8.5 by 11 inch pages. it was in small helvetica font and i said something like 'helvetica' to tao and he said 'helvetica.' i told him i planned on writing comments on the printed pages and that i would transcribe my comments onto my blog and publish it as a post re 'richard yates.' i finished my food (i was eating when tao met me) and a chapter from 'the wind-up bird chronicle,' the book i was reading. then i checked my email, signed off, and sat down on a soft chair. after i had read ~3-4 pages, i realized i had forgotten to write any comments on things that i liked. the story had immediately become what tao had referred to as a 'page turner,' so quickly, that i had become lost and immersed in the work beyond my memory of a vow i'd made only minutes earlier.

i read the novel quickly, mostly in bed and in the library over the next 24 hours. i liked pretty much everything about the book. 'richard yates' is almost entirely comprised of things happening between two characters. rarely are others involved and if they are, it is only in conjunction with the relationship between haley joel osment and dakota fanning. the conversations, emails, and physical interactions that take place between the two are so honest, engaging, and 'dare i say' 'raw.' i talked to my girlfriend about the book and i think i said 'raw' twice describing its effect on me.

i felt extremely emotional reading 'richard yates.' tao leaves nothing to the imagination. the story is there and it is forward, direct, and non-assuming. it didn't, to me, expect or demand anything, but offered so much. i honestly felt entangled and involved in the relationship. it was a polarizing experience, exposing two ends of something that really didn't feel like it was going to work but seemed as though it was required to work. the story was dark. in a lot of ways it was depressing, alienating, but at the same time, disturbingly relatable. the relationship was destructive and discomforting, the love unreasonable and unrealistic. but the whole thing was also 'beautiful' and 'emotional' and in a way perfect, to me.

i liked pretty much everything about 'richard yates.' i liked the dialogue especially. i liked the descriptions of thought patterns. i liked its openness and its accessibility. i liked how i just kept wanting to read it, and i liked how fast i read it. i expect to read this book ~1-3 more times in the next year. i expect to tell people to read this book and to go see tao read from this book in the coming future.

'vaguely political' excerpt from 'step cousin'

2010-06-28T11:39:00.011-04:00

I received an email. Then a call. Then a letter. It all happened in about the course of two days. There had been a war, yes. And a draft. These I had heard about. They had been happening on the television for a time, then the Internet. Mostly it had stopped. Once in a while we would hear about someone we knew from someone we knew and they would be there. It wasn’t as if we were paying attention. This was not due to a lack of want, but more so to a lack of availability. How many years it had been going on was unclear now. There had been a victory, I thought. Peacetime. There had probably been other things. Battles. There were certainly deaths.

There had been a president, an angry, simple man. There were reasons, and he listed them. There was a vote, and a choice to go there. There was outcry and resistance, and for some time it looked as if there would no longer be any war. There had been an election. A celebration and an assertion to end the fighting with urgency. Immediacy. There had been a crisis, though. And another crisis. Internal affairs overcame anything happening overseas. The war was quieted. It was forgotten. It was easy this way. People were chastised for bringing it up, and it was annoying when any news source mentioned it. Sometimes if I was in a car or a diner there would be a radio that would name names, judge statistics, measure threats, but this never lasted long. Popular music was about sex, and talk shows were about sex, and nothing was a greater turnoff than that war.

The war was not here. It was somewhere else, far away. I simply could not be bothered to understand or learn about it. We took classes throughout the war. They said nothing about a war. History classes. Current events. We discussed global warming and food politics. I purchased only organic, fair trade, local foodstuffs. I tried to be a vegetarian, a vegan. I tried to cut down on my carbon emissions—I used public transportation, barely ever touched the air conditioning unit. I could not ask myself a question about the war and know the answer.

some words on some books i've read since may 10, 2010

2010-06-14T15:24:00.002-04:00

wilson by daniel clowes

didn't really know what this book was about when i picked it up. read it in shakespeare bookstore on broadway after i finished my last final. thought maybe it was a collection of short comics 'starring' the 'same character.' turned out to be a continuous story line and a full graphic novel. it was really funny. more/less dark than other daniel clowes stuff i had read in the past. felt i truly appreciated the artwork and the stylistic layout. felt good while and after reading it.

caricature by daniel clowes

after finishing wilson, i went and picked up next clowes book i could find in the bookstore. this book included nine short-story style comics originally from clowes' 'eightball' collection. i liked the one about a caricature artist and the one about a teenager living in new york city in the late seventies who couldn't lose his virginity and liked punk music and found his roommates annoying. i felt connected to this stories on a profound and personal level and felt i drew directly from the writing style while working on my novel for the next two weeks after reading caricature.

like a velvet glove cast in iron by daniel clowes

i stood up and returned caricature to the shelf. i still didn't feel done with clowes and was afraid to return to my cold empty dorm room. it was fifty degrees or so that day and cold and gray and windy and maybe even raining. i had a corner room so there was no insulation and my roommate had moved out and i didn't have a lot of things so there was no insulation from that and the air conditioner was on in my building and i could not turn it off so i knew it would be freezing and miserable in my room. i picked up the next clowes book. this one was weird and confusing. i imagined david lynch directing it as a movie and then thinking it was just too ridiculous and burning the tape or something. it felt like it could have been a good tv series if done correctly. honestly, i didn't understand a lot of the direction and meaning of the piece and didn't feel like trying to, but i really enjoyed the art and the dystopian themes and the general stylistic movement. i felt very depressed and weird after reading it.

twentieth century eightball by daniel clowes

i was done with reading at this point and felt extremely unable to do anything, but i knew it was probably because like a velvet glove cast in iron was just too damn upsetting. i knew i shouldn't leave the bookstore feeling the way i did, so i picked up the next clowes book. this one was collected very short comics from the 'eightball' series from the 80s or 90s i think, redrawn and remastered by clowes for more recent, more professional-seeming publication. it was funny and ridiculous and remind me of like how young people that want to be artists/writers/musicians feel and express themselves when trying to build a following, in the same sense of self-promotion/perpetuation that early dave eggers and tao lin seemed to project themselves onto a literary scene. i liked it, but there were too many comics to finish the whole thing and i was feeling better enough that i knew i could leave the bookstore and be okay.

what we talk about when we talk about love by raymond carver

that weekend, after the bookstore, i took the train to connecticut. i read the first one hundred pages of this book on the way there and finished it on the way back. i felt really relieved and interested to be reading about suburban, realistic adult middle class working life. drinking seemed good and even better because it was in essentially every story. the use of non-sequitur constantly and consistently had a strong impact on me. i'd never really experienced it done so gracefully. the best stories were the ones about people on their lawns.

a farewell to arms by ernest hemingway

i started reading this in march. brandon scott gorrell suggested it for me when i inquired about a good hemingway book i hadn't read. i started the book in think coffee and stopped after forty pages for no discernible reason. while on the train home from connecticut, two months later, i finished wwtawwtal, so i picked up a farewell to arms where i'd left off and kept reading. i read the book at a slow pace, maybe only five to thirty pages a day at most. i felt good while reading it and i always feel really good and inspired when reading hemingway, focusing on the way he can talk about nothing with such a powerful, easeful, and forceful tone. that is, how it seems to me, i mean. i wrote in my novel, drawing directly from the book's style and that of the sun also rises, while reading this, because i really wanted to capture that pure literary sense of purpose, intent, and emotion in every word. less than two weeks after i'd left connecticut, i headed back on the train and finished a farewell to arms on the way there. i had already known the ending going into the read, but i felt emotional when i got to the sad parts anyway. i didn't full-on cry, but my eyes did fill with tears at the end, looking out the window, about twenty minutes from new haven.

will you please be quiet, please? by raymond carver

i read the first story from this book, titled 'fat,' sitting in superior court. i read about one hundred more pages of the book on the train back to new york. the book was good, and the stories were similar to those from wwtawwtal, but only a little worse, in my opinion. not as much about alcohol and work, and some books seemed to take place in the city briefly. the main theme i picked up reading this was that every character seemed to want to leave where they were. that seemed profound to me. i expected this book to have more non-sequitur and be a little more ridiculous than wwtawwtal because it was written earlier and i assumed that young people were more ridiculous, removed, 'experimental,' and 'silly' in their writing. obviously, that was a strange thing for me to think and i feel now, looking back on that thought, that i was making a massive assumption. this book, though i did not enjoy it as much as wwtawwtal, inspired me to want to write more short stories in different styles. stories in this book were from the perspective of children, which i found extremely interesting and exciting, in the first person, a style i rarely choose for short fiction, and about exciting events that happen in short periods of time rather than spanning over long periods of time. this all seemed very good to me and i read the rest of the book riding on subways, except for the last story, sharing the title of the book, which i skimmed quickly late one night and felt a lot of anxiety while reading. i felt happy to be done with the book.

vacation by deb olin unferth

i started this book a week or so after wypbqp?. it felt interesting stylistically, but i was unmotivated to read and i lay in bed watching my laptop while the book sat somewhere near me in my backpack or on the floor. i felt i was going to just quit reading it, but simultaneously obligated to read a deb olin unferth book, especially one that i obtained for free. i recognized that i wanted to read imperial bedrooms and that it was coming out soon (tomorrow now), so i forced myself to read the book. it was slow-going. i read bits on the subway, in the library talking to andrew james weatherland, and drunk at some house show in williamsburg. decidedly, as easton ellis' book would be taking up my time starting tomorrow and that if i did not read vacation now i would never finish it, this morning i sat and finished ~70% of the book in bed, pausing only briefly to urinate, drink water, and eat a piece of garlic naan. the book was very complicated and ridiculous and funny and believable with many characters and interweaving plots. the style seemed inspiring and unprecedented and if i felt more ambitious i would feel inspired to emulate this style. at the end of the book, i felt excited and proud of deb olin unferth and of myself for fulfilling my commitment. reading seems harder than it ever has this summer, as does writing, but a nice cool cup of [choose your favorite beverage, i.e. water, iced tea, whiskey, beers, malt liquor, (white) wine] will help you get through.

the future

next i will read imperial bedrooms by bret easton ellis. next, after that, i will read the wind-up bird chronicle by haruki marukami.

summer playlist

2010-06-06T02:37:00.005-04:00

keep those summer nights going. get into it.

lil update

2010-06-01T21:17:00.003-04:00

hey you guys. summer seems to have really sprung. really. thought about going to the beach so much this weekend. really almost did. really. it's like beautiful outside. a little too humid, but you know, it's all good.

a few things have happened this week on the internet in my favor, it seems.

for every year (a champion lit journal edited by 'the illustrious' crispin best) published a short story by me. the story is for the year 1556 and is titled 'forehead.' it seems 'progressively distinct' from anything else i have had published recently. also it's 666 words. feel unsure as to whether i did that on purpose when i wrote it... in any case, i encourage you to read it and re to this for further interest.

also, brett gallagher published a comprehensive, positive review of Baby Hedgehogs and American Apparel Dogs. thought that shit was over... people still thinking about reading it? hit me up...

impulse bought some red stripe. really my favorite beers seem to be some of that brooklyn brew. keeping it local. what other drinks you been rocking? scotch and soda. jack and coke. which is better. seems to really be a toughie. scotch and soda seems like the summer jam, though. get that schweppes.

anyway, stay corporate. stay chill. pppeace.

'Even now nature undoes it'

2010-05-24T00:17:00.005-04:00

storychord has published ~3900 word story of mine titled 'Even now nature undoes it.'

storychord is some sort of new online journal that publishes a story, a piece of artwork, and a song every other monday.

along with my story, issue 5 includes a painting titled teeth factory by omar bakry and a song 'beach bummed' by local nyc band weed hounds. it's all really great stuff.

anyway, i know all that seems like a lot effort. i understand if you don't feel like you can handle all that. i don't know. reading and looking at things for an extended period of time. seems like. hey, okay. in that case feel free to just play video below and listen to the story read in full.

hope you all had okay weekends. mine was pretty good. hope you guys check out that storychord business. trillin blud, trillin.

what i have been living

2010-05-17T18:03:00.008-04:00

hey you guys, i hope your summers are starting off sweet.

as for me a lot of stuff has been going on. i moved into a new apartment in chinatown with two female roommates.

i went out of town to connecticut this weekend. got some pizza. hiked a mountain. got some ice cream. went to a park. made couscous. hung out in some parking lots. watched 'billy madison.' fucked.

blogging seems hard these days. like i remember really wanting to consistently keep up with this blog in the recent past. it's hard though you know. i'm working full time now and i have to grocery shop.

i'm also working on a novel. it's titled 'step cousin' and it's progressing nicely. i feel calm and serious when working on my novel. i'm really working on developing and maintaining a strong, complacent tone. here are some excerpts (2, 3) i posted if you don't remember. i'll hit you with some more of those sooner or later.

i saw matthew 'the ferris bueller' broderick and jim gaffigan this week. celebrities seem boring. fuck em.

anyway, keep it real. i know you will. write with periods and stuff i guess. read my twitter maybe if you want more regular updates. ok then.

everyone is gone

2010-05-08T18:48:00.005-04:00

my roommate left. nicole left. my other friends left. new york city feels empty.

i am alone and it is saturday night i guess. my heart feels a lot of things. i can feel it feeling things. it feels overworked.

my emotions have been out of control lately. i have felt profoundly emotional things in a serious way recently. i don't think i have been expressing these things. they sit in my heart in a kind of sarcastic melodramatic way and then move around and go into my stomach and sometimes my limbs and they churn in a meaningful way.

the voice i used to hear in my head when i was a young child has come back sometimes. for extremely brief moments when i'm walking on 3rd avenue.

i just want to the moments in my future to all feel significant and long lasting.

i have been struggling to not think about everything happening in slow motion. i honestly have trouble not imagining things in slow motion. like jumping, walking, crying, staring out of my window.

i am moving to an apartment in the lower east side/chinatown on tuesday. i will be with two chinese-speaking girls. i will have a queen size bed. they say they are smokers but i haven't smelled it in the apartment any time that i have visited. there is a balcony.

sunrise mart

2010-05-03T20:37:00.013-04:00

sunrise mart is on 3rd ave near 9th st and st. marks.

sunrise mart is a 'japanese speciality market.'

last weekend, i was walking with nicole and we 'came upon' sunrise mart.

you have to take an elevator to get from the street to sunrise mart.

first thing i noticed was that there was a lot of green. obviously i mean, the produce, yeah.

but like

i don't know. everything seemed green. i thought 'green theme' a lot while walking through sunrise mart.

there were lots of squids in sunrise mart.

i felt emotional.

beverages seemed insane, possibly sarcastic.

we stayed in sunrise mart for maybe thirty minutes. i bought nicole candy and the 'ito en veggie shot.'

the following morning i drank the 'ito en veggie shot' and made this 'short film' (i remember thinking that this was very funny/clever while making it. feel unsure now. also, though i recommend this drink in the 'short film,' i would like to note, i felt terrible and sick all that day after consuming the 'ito en veggie shot' and urge readers/viewers to refrain from buying/drinking it).

i do recommend, however, going to sunrise mart if you live in the nyc 'area.'

'my "history" re "literary scene" "parties"'

2010-04-27T18:16:00.011-04:00

*
september 2009 - zachary german invites me to a party. the party is at the apartment of zachary german, jamie sterns, and tao lin. zachary says i can bring friends. i bring nicole, my roommate, and a girl who my roommate knows. we come late. there are already a lot of people at the party. i say hi to zachary and tao. i don't know anyone else. i am introduced to jamie sterns and sarah schneider. i am 'vaguely' introduced to people i don't remember (though i now know to be miles ross, james yeh, kendra grant malone, (possibly) justin taylor). i drink a lot of beer. i smoke cigarettes. i smoke pot. i sit nervously on a bench talking to nicole for maybe an alloted hour of the party. i stand in on groups and listen for a lot of the rest of the party. tao leaves the party very early. i listen to more conversations, try to talk, talk to some people. i get someone's card. later he throws a beer at me. i leave the party drunk and stoned.

october 2009 - zachary german invites me to a stephen elliot reading at someone's studio apartment. i meet zachary at his apartment. we walk toward the east river. we meet up with miles ross. miles buys beer. we go to the apartment. zachary gives me beer. i say hi to tao. i meet james yeh and justin taylor. i talk to miles ross about blogging. we compare blog 'stats.' stephen elliot reads. a lot of people laugh. i don't laugh. i don't remember if zachary laughs. i have to pee. i pee. zachary, miles, and i go on the roof of the apartment building. i take some pictures. we leave. i walk to a different subway station and go home.

halloween 2009 - i come home around midnight and sign on to gmail. tao lin gmail chats me to come over. i take the subway. it is crowded with people and takes a long time to get to tao's apartment. zachary is wearing a 'where the wild things are' 'pajama suit.' zachary and jamie are on the porch. i go out to see them. they tell me tao has something to show me inside. i go inside. tao says they were fighting or something. tao offers me a beer. i decline. victoria trott is at the apartment. i think she is in her twenties or something. she says she is in high school. she has a friend with her who goes to college in the empire state building, i think. nicole calls me a lot of times. i talk in a different voice on the phone. it is 'calm' and 'compassionate' compared to the way i normally talk. i feel depressed. tao tells me he's going to sleep, so i leave.

november 2009 - zachary german invites me to play poker at his apartment. i show up early. i immediately start drinking beer. i say i'm going to win a lot of money. we play some scrimmage rounds. i am doing okay. jamie prepares food. she offers me food. i decline. then i decide to take some. i eat pickled jalapeños, pizza, small sandwiches, pickles. tao comes in. adam humphreys comes in. some other people come in. we all put in twenty dollars and gameplay begins. i am already drunk. i am doing okay. tao loses his twenty dollar almost immediately and buys back in with ten dollars. someone i don't know wins the pot. at some point i start drinking whiskey. i keep drinking beer. i start to talk loud. i suggest music that seems unfitting. i make an 'ambiguous' joke about jamie's poker-playing ability. jamie seems pissed. i keep drinking. we start a new round, in which people can 'cash out' whenever. we all put in twenty dollars. i am doing poorly. i start to lose more money. i keep talking loudly maybe. i can't really comprehend anything that is happening except for the poker game and drinking whiskey. someone is playing gza. i say the intro to the song is too long. then i remember i really like the intro and the song. people seem to react negatively to my comment. i am talking too much. i get a good hand and go all in. i win the pot. i say i want to cash out. tao tells me to cash out half and keep playing. jamie says i can't do that. jamie says i'm 'bad' 'in earnest.' i say okay. i cash out entirely. seems like there is a lot of animosity between jamie and me. i tell jamie i like her and that i like everyone. i say i'm going to have another beer. i cash out with sixty dollars. eventually zachary seems to 'escort' me out the door.

february 2010 - i go to zachary german's novel release party at word bookstore. i run into tao on the subway. we walk together. i say hi to zachary and jamie. i have not seen zachary, tao, or jamie in several months i think. i go into the bookstore. downstairs i see kendra grant malone. i have not seen her since septemeber. we talk and sit together. i see adam humphreys. i see miles ross and james yeh. i meet audun mortensen. we sit together. we talk for a while. zachary reads. tao asks zachary questions. the reading is over. i drink wine and talk to people. people say they are going to a bar. i go with them. tao and i split a beer. i talk to adam humphreys. he says people are going to a dipset concert in manhattan. james yeh says people are going to get food. i go get food with tao, audun, james, and antonia blair. we walk around brooklyn. it is snowing. we go into a subway. we come out and walk to get mexican food. we eat tacos and nachos. we buy beer and limes. we go to james yeh's house. i meet ben blum. he teaches creative writing next to where i have creative writing. people talk about literature. tao checks his email a lot of times. i look at books and say something about roberto bolaño. i talk to audun about 'infinite jest.' i read a deb olin unferth short story. we ask audun about norway 'life.'

february 2010 (two days later) - i buy beer. i go to bar matchless. i am alone. nobody i know is there. james yeh arrives. we talk. he goes to talk to the manager. kendra grant malone arrives. we talk and i stay near her. we are the only people at the bar. we talk about our sisters. tao arrives. he steals me a cup. i go to the bathroom, chug half of my 'tall boy' and fill my cup with the rest of my beer. i order buffalo wings. i eat a lot. zachary and jamie show up. they sit together and don't talk much. they give tao some polish food. tao eats the polish food, my vegetables, pieces of chicken i left on the bone. tao orders onion rings. he orders french fries. i go to the bathroom, chug half of my second 'tall boy' and fill my cup with the rest of the beer. i go into the private room where people are reading. i say hi to justin taylor. i leave the room. i sit with zachary and tao. zachary buys beer. he goes into the bathroom and fills a cup. i do this too. this happens for a while. zachary reads. we come back out. i am drunk. we leave. zachary walks one way. tao and i walk a different way. we go into an organic food place. we look around, buy some things, then leave. i go home.

march 2010 - i go to the ppow gallery. zachary german is bar-tending. he makes me a drink. we talk. i say hi to jamie. i look around the gallery. zachary makes me another drink. i talk to one of the artists exhibited. i ask a lot of questions. i talk to some other woman about poetry and college. zachary makes me a drink. miles ross arrives. adam humphreys and someone else show up. i talk to adam humphreys. zachary makes me a drink. the gallery show ends. we leave. we take a cab. we talk about jordan castro. jordan castro calls. we talk to jordan castro. we get to a bar. it is miles ross's birthday celebration, but it is not his birthday. i buy a beer. i buy miles ross a beer. jamie leaves. zachary tells me to follow jamie. i look at him. he says 'go.' i follow jamie. she says zachary wants her to be safe. i buy popcorn. i think jamie smokes. we eat the popcorn. i buy more beer. more people show up at the bar. i meet cody reis. i talk to cody reis about college. he teaches in the english department. i smoke a cigarette. go to the bathroom a few times. i buy more popcorn. more beer. zachary asks if i want to see uffie. i do. cody reis says he does. we go to brooklyn. someone pees on the street. i feel very drunk. zachary says i can sleep at his apartment. we see uffie. she is touching people's heads. i want her to touch my head. she doesn't. i take lots of pictures. we leave. we eat falafel. we walk to the subway. i say i'm going home. i go home.

april 17, 2010 - i meet andrew james weatherhead outside of the library. i am drunk. we walk to union square. we go to the subway. he says he bought whiskey. i give him twenty dollars for the whiskey. we look at the whiskey. we take the subway. we walk to zachary and jamie's apartment. i say hi to zachary and jamie. andrew gives them the whiskey. i say we split it. i say hi to miles ross. i see some people i recognize. i sit down and drink beer. zachary says he hasn't been drinking. says he's been drinking only coffee. he makes coffee. we talk about his radio show. i eat some snacks. more people show up. i sit in a small room and drink and talk to andrew and zachary and miles. james yeh, justin taylor, and some other people seem to arrive at 'ambiguous' times. tao lin arrives with two people. one he says is from his high school. the other he says he met last night. i meet them. rion is the one from high school. thomas is the one from last night. thomas has a nose-ring. i say hi to them. i talk individually with them for what seems to be only seconds. zachary makes me a greyhound. i move around. i talk to justin taylor. andrew says he is surprised justin taylor even exists. andrew shows everyone his rasheed wallace tattoo. i play pictionary with people. i talk to rion a little. i talk to cody reis. i talk to adam humphreys and his girlfriend. i eat a lot of snacks. jamie says something about one of tao's friends having a nose-ring. she says no guys on the east coast have nose-rings. i agree with her. she says other things about this guy (thomas). i can't really register what is said. at some point tao tells me to go to another party with him and some people. outside james yeh, antonia blair, and ben blum are there. rion and thomas are there. i say i shouldn't have left. tao says he is part of the literary scene and more powerful. he says i am part of the literary scene. we walk many blocks. i talk to some girl. she says i'm young. she asks my age in a 'condescending' manner. someone says we went the wrong way. i cross the street and turn around. i go back to zachary and jamie's apartment. andrew asks where i was. jamie says she knows i went with tao. i said i came back. everyone seems to leave almost immediately. zachary, jamie, miles, and i dance to rap music. andrew is in the bathroom. he comes out of the bathroom. i tell him to dance. the song ends. zachary takes his shirt off and looks pissed. i drink some more beer. jamie says i have grown on her. jamie says she likes andrew. we say goodbye to everyone. we leave. andrew reads me stuff about the aba waiting for the subway. at the bedford stop, andrew's roommate gets on the subway. i go home.

april 24, 2010 - tao lin invites me to a party. i look in the email who else he invites. he invites andrew james weatherhead, audun mortensen, adam humphreys, miles ross, james yeh, and antonia blair. i go to the party with nicole. i bring bud light golden wheat. we show up at the apartment. nobody answers the door for us. i call andrew. i call tao. i call andrew. i call tao. tao calls me. he is lost. he arrives. tao is with the girl that seemed to call me young in a 'condescending' manner. he is wearing a 'sports jacket.' we go to the party. it is all older people. nobody seems to be associated with the literary scene to my knowledge. i eat beans and guacamole. tao eats a lot. andrew arrives. he sits with me and nicole. we drink beer. tao goes on the roof. we talk about the party last week. we talk about tao's 'sports jacket.' rion is at the party. thomas is at the party. i talk to thomas about the party. i talk to him about the 'after effects.' tao leaves with the girl sometime within the first hour. i sit with andrew and nicole. andrew and i drink beer. we leave soon after.

*does not include literary events unless event felt like a 'party' 'to me'...

snakebro

2010-04-21T23:00:00.002-04:00

i recently made a twitter, as a frequenter of this blog may know. i guess i am still working on 'figuring out the logistics' of said social network. seems pretty fun i guess. sort of know what '#' means, '@' seemed obvious/simple, not sure what 'justin bieber' really has to do with twitter but seems that he has a '"real" presence' on the website.

recently my roommate told me to read this twitter by a some bro known simply as 'snakebro.' seems that he may have discovered one of the greatest internet 'goldmines'/possible 'memes' ever.

tonight, i ended up reading snakebro's twitter for ~2 hours. i am working on 'editing'/compiling a selection of of snakebro's tweets in this style...

here are a few examples of what i consider to be snakebro's best work:

11:57 AM Dec 7th

At a bar killing time before work

9:34 PM Feb 28th

The deedge just puked in the sink and made another drink. Said he felt reborn like a phoenix

7:07 PM Apr 7th

Saw a dead skunk

12:49 AM Apr 15th

watching dennis rodman in "simon sez" and eating some microwave popcorn shrimp looking at shit on the internet

i feel emotional watching 'raging bull'

2010-04-17T00:03:00.004-04:00

fourth scene

seems like there is a lot of sex struggle issues

was feminism important when 'raging bull' came out?

i can't remember if de niro is supposed to be married at this point in the movie

pesci punches de niro

i feel tired

progression...

2010-04-16T14:42:00.002-04:00

i got a job

i got an apartment

i got skittles, lifethyme foods, beer

i should lose a little weight i guess

idk, just seems impossible to actually keep up with blogging

peace you later

'beer run'

2010-04-12T00:14:00.002-04:00

moving sideways and forward at the same time + three thousand calories

'validation'/twitter

2010-04-08T22:33:00.006-04:00

i was accepted into matthew rohrer's 'advanced poetry workshop' and irini spanidou's 'advanced fiction workshop.' seems i feel validated. seems good because they are 'once a week' classes.

in westborough, ma with nicole and abby.

i made a twitter. started following whole foods. that's cool, right?

andrew weatherhead dribbles basketballs in washington square park sometimes.

pretty sweet huh? too many links? going to go have a beer.