1. BLOGGER has violated me by removing be from Google listings due to mischaracterization of my blog as spam (aren't all literary blogs technically "spam?")
2. I am "off my feed" and off my "cut-and-paste."
2. I use my pen mostly to write checks or doodle doom.
3. Cloud of illness. Warmer cloud of bed. Cloud of television.
4. Most books I read lately reveal themselves to be 1)indicative of a parochial intellectualism 2)cute 3)movie-ending mawkish 4)rah-rah cavalier savior-like with a marketing plan 5) a thinly-disguised manifesto with a bloated male or female prostate 5) negative capability-abusive 5) robotic-timely in their already nearly-passe zeitgeist or 6) simply intolerably bad, before I am one third of the way through them. This applies mostly to poetry and novels. Some of the non-fiction is okay and has the virtues of the better television fare.
5. Chicks and dicks manifestos on the net which make me crave that extra pill. I am convinced that cacoethes loquendi is responsible for 99.99999999999999998% of these. And usually this is academic or geographic (read: urban poet) cacoethese loquendi.
6. Poet menopause now seems to begin around 25--and since there are few poets who blog who are under 25--poet menopause is more of a pandemic than H1N1. Here, let me toss you a Boniva, even if you are male and 28.
7. I have this weird addiction to emergency rooms and physicians lately (no kidding). Process. Process.
8. The belief that one book by Lewis Caroll (hell, Neil Gaiman!) will trump nearly every poetry book written by American poets in the last fifteen years.
9. Cleverness is like a sinus fungal infection now in poets. Sly digs even more so. If you can find a poet who does not engage in either cleverness or sly digs on a nearly daily basis please refer them to the Reprocessing Center for immediate "alteration."
10. Sing the Bjork Song from the Lars Van Trier movie here ("I have seen it all...") Or substitute Trash Can Sinatras' "I've seen everything..."
REASONS I AM STILL LITERARY
1. I read in weak moments. Like in a hot bathtub. Another Etgar Keret book came yesterday. It made my doom smile.
2. I still write things in my head and in dreams, but the light erases them.
3. I still check certain blogs like that pile of dog doo doo in the yard that you watch turn white as it hardens throughout the winter.
4. There are still poems that return to me and misquote themselves and make me giggle as I trip over death sometime between dinner and bed.
5. I wait for the genuine thought, the genuine sentence, the genuine feeling, the empathic leap and the bad monkey virtue to emerge again.
6. My mind's stomach still works.
7. I am dying like all of you and you have to "put down newspapers" (or poems) when you're dying. It's messy.
8. It's fun to watch the epistemological car crashes.
9. That annoying fucking poem some asshole is crunching like celery at the funeral.
10. The love of the lowing animal lost in the cerebral douchebag.
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