dennis cooper's dream police came

I was reading in it last night and very much feeling attacked, enjoying feeling attacked, defending myself, enjoying defending myself, wondering is this work going to continue to carapace, watching the carapace fall off and seeing the hideous red flesh of metamorphosis underneath, on a teenage boy, dead boys with hopeless glamor, insect boys, pity, the medieval manners of the trick and the john both, fear that it was moving towards the biblical....

but then i kept finding the perfect poems or the perfect moments, some of which i have known thanks to anthologies.

the dlugos flicker of an eyelash.

appears again and again.

dennis is human lol.

but don't tell that comemntator who was so overjoyed when dennis once celebrated "tao lin" day on his blog that he wrote: "great. now perhaps dennis cooper will eat tao lin."

isn't life strange?

such a lot of fuss over a little bit of style.

oh it's fine when hannibal lecter does it.

i never lost "B.L." once i had read it many years ago.

that poem should be printed on every welcome ticket to the "gay community." "lambikins, you might just wanna read the small print, 'kay?"

and i can't take any artist seriously who has no vulnerability or ability to laugh at himself or herself so of course i loved it when i read this...

(dennis was doing a dennis cooper satire of the flintsones, "Hitting Bedrock," and mid-satire he gives up and writes this....)

The poet leaned back from his writing. Why can't I get through a piece nowadays without filling it up with sex and violence? Even in Bedrock it was all I could do not to have the police find the Rubbles dead too, Bamm Bamm with a club up his ass. Why do I think it's so smart and amsuing to place the innocent heroes of my and everyone my age's childhood in contexts which darken and ridicule them? And now this cheap device as a way to resolve what is really no idea how to finish the Flintstones story itself. And now I'm incapable of the energy to put the young animator in his boss's bed. Or the guts. Or the concentration. Besides, I'd probably have the boss rape and strangle him anyway, knowing me. Nobody needs that...


This made me laugh and opened the writing up. Sort of like you're doing an autopsy and suddenly confetti pops out of the corpse's bloated stomach and you hear those party clown horns going off lol.

And then these happy people start climbing out of the stomach...Surprise!...


It tied in perfectly with the Banana Yoshimoto vulnerabilities I was also reading.


To be naked without being lurid can be very attractive.


Not like a lotion or soap commercial.


More like a Fischl funeral.


The gang's all here.


Something like that.


No. Not about morality but about process self-aware.


Process self-aware correcting coloration or tint.


Washing the pixels.


Kneel by the flower water and wash your pixels.


Like a Puvis de Chavannes maiden. Or summat.


Oh, and the cover is amazing art. Two part vertical panels in lilac and graphite silver showing police riot gear hung up on hooks but no body in them. The Dream Police really just empty costumes, ecdysiast insect husks. Nayland Blake.

Fight the power?

This could be difficult.