Today is a large motor that doesn't stop beating.
I"m sitting at the library watching bugs trying to get inside, to feel the air conditioning. I sat by the window so I can watch my bike. It cost $48 and it was probably stolen. It didn't come with a lock and I haven't bought one. If someone steals it I'll think less of humanity.
I'm trying to write fiction-y stuff again, but it feels a lot like pouring a lot of water into a tiny bottle. The best way I can deal with it is to think of it as WRITING, rather than FICTION or POETRY. I'm also staying far away from THEORY. It's such a drag. People are spending more time arguing about how to write then actually writing. I always thought it worked the other way around.
I want to start a movement called FUCK IT. Where we just write and drink beer (or wine) and act incredibly irresponsible for a few years but generate tons of writing and have lots of readings. Then we can have the OH FUCK movement where we have to pick up the pieces of our lives because we've drank away our lives and we need health care and our children need diapers. It's gonna be great!
ANYWAY, The story is called KARL MARX, and it's not very long yet. A friend of mine is going to publish it (Wonderlust Press) sometime this fall. It would be wonderful if tons of people wanted to read this and make me some kind of deity. I would like to be God of Cheap Beer or God of Blue Gatorade or God of Sentences That Hurt at First But Later Make You Realize That Being A Person Isn't Completely Shit. Yeah, that would be nice.
I think the two of my favorite FICTION writers are Amy Hempel and Donal Barthelme.
Here's a site that has a bunch of stuff Donald Barthelme wrote.
Thanks for stopping by.