Friday, June 10, 2005

 

You are John Ashbery. People love your work but have no idea why, really. You are respected by all kinds of scholars and poets. Even artists like you.

Hee. I had long thought myself unable to get into the longer Ashbery stuff, but I must admit that I picked up a copy of Flow Chart the other day, and after three pages of "oh god, nothing makes any kind of sense," it did start, after a fashion, to make sense. It was kind of like a very soothing drug.

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Thursday, June 09, 2005

 

Mmm, barbecue. I'm lunching on Carolina pulled pork this weekend. And I don't even have to go south of the Mason-Dixon.

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Tuesday, June 07, 2005

 

There was a mouse in my room when I got in last night and today I have a cough and I'm totally dying of hantavirus, aren't I? I am.

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Monday, June 06, 2005

 

Last night I dreamt of Daniel Nester in a Chinese emperor's costume.

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My giant poetry weekend c'est fin. Feeling a little of the work-week fear coming on; fighting it off with strawberry cream cheese.

On Saturday I edited thirty-odd poems about drunk sailors, meat, and bees, and then headed off to Book Court in Brooklyn to hear Lauren Russell and David Vogen read. I also purchased the latest copy of 6X6, which is soft and fuzzy, like a poetry cialis online tribble.

Sunday I woke early, printed out a bunch of poems, toured my local farmers/flea market, and then headed out to the Magathon at Housing Works. I allotted myself 20 dollars and picked up Pool, Lungfull!, Rattapallax, Gargoyle, crazyhorse, Conduit, Tin House, American Letters & Commentary, and well, two others I can't remember off the top of my head. Talked with fellow PBQers Jason Schneiderman and Marion Wrenn, who were outfitted in their Fund Me t-shirts, and then lugged my haul of journals off to the Four Faced Liar, to hear Shafer Hall and Matthew Thorburn read. Shanna Compton, Jen Knox, and Sean McNally trooped in afterwards for a refresher after their day at BookExpo America, and I snaffled a broadside of Jen's poem, "Spring and Still Some Short," which I am pleased to report I managed to get home and secrete within my giant art portfolio with nary a wrinkle.

Then I ran off down MacDougal Street for the Feast Reading, where I read poems of oceanic import with Jason, Michael Broder, Kirsten Andersen, Richard Allen, and Steve Roberts. A good crowd, and a good pear/honey/ice cream crepe. Yum. After the reading, I scared Richard with tales out of law school. Mwa-ha-ha! Dropped back by the Four-Faced Liar and caught up with Marion Wrenn and Ben Murphy and bored them with legal conundrums.

Then I went home. Huzzah!

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