[here is the cat helping to edit my book]
HI IM STILL HERE just sleepy and fairly sad a lot of the time. for the last month or two i have been reading a lot and trying not to look at the internet and working hard on leaving my house as little as possible and writing notes to myself that go like this
YOU ARE DOING GREAT
YOU ARE LOVED & CARED FOR
YOUR WORK IS IMPORTANT
SO MANY BEAUTIFUL THINGS STILL SURVIVE
FIGHT, BITCH, FIGHT
i do have a lot of excellent books to tell you about!!!!!!!! but i am really fucking tired right now so that will have to wait a little longer, sorry. i want to remind you that lyric’s chapbook MOTHERWORT is on sale now and it is so, so, so, so, so beautiful and good. if you are in brooklyn this weekend please come celebrate the launch of this marvelous tiny book & two new books from ugly duckling and gramma poetry with our brilliant friends catherine taylor and christine hou. then i'm going to take a nap and then i will tell you about what you should be reading, cross my heart. if you want to do your reading ahead of class: hannah lillith assadi, Sonora; rabih alameddine, The Angel of History, elana k. arnold, What Girls Are Made Of; romina paula, August; michelle tea, Black Wave. there will be more homework but that should be a good head start.
did you read this essay about david foster wallace by deirdre coyle? i guess part of the internet [men] got quite upset about this essay about david foster wallace, which upset feels very…. 2007? 2008?
Dead white guys and not-dead not-white not guys hate it when you dismiss revered canonical works of art and literature by saying, Uggggggggggh. I hate this. And give no reasons why at all. If I live to a hundred, do I really have to spend eighty-five or more of those years explaining why I don’t like this?
fucking A MEN JENNY).
i honestly did not realize people [men] still felt so strongly about david foster wallace! but i guess those people [men] are still going strong. anyway i quite liked deirdre coyle's essay about david foster wallace, this part especially:
It is enraging to have a straight man tell me a story about straight men telling stories to a woman about straight men acting like shitheads. I understand that this is the point of the text. I know. I understand that maybe other men wouldn’t absorb the message unless it was being told to them by another, probably smarter and better educated man. But then why do men keep recommending his work to me? BECAUSE I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW.
fucking A MEN DEIRDRE. this passage suggests to me that the point of this essay about david foster wallace is maybe not quite so much david foster wallace as people [men] who recommend david foster wallace to other people [women] against their wishes, interests, and tastes, and who accuse of critical incompetence any persons [women] who do not particularly care about [INSERT (MALE) WRITER HERE] but perhaps i am mistaken and the people [men] who dislike this essay are quite correct in it being about someone [a woman] who is too stupid to understand david foster wallace. it took me a long time to be able to say “if this art was good i wouldn't find it boring” to people [men] but now it’s a thing i say all the time. i don't even mean it always! but it's a fine way to end labor-intensive conversations that do not interest you. another good one is "i don't think there is such a thing as male genius, actually." getting older is great.
all of which is to say that last summer or maybe the summer before i was invited to be a guest lecturer at a university, and before my lecture the graduate students and some of the faculty took me out to dinner, and there was a graduate student at the dinner—quite nice, to be sure; bearded; in ugly shoes—who flirted with me genteelly and expressed astonishment that i have not only never read Infinite Jest, i have never even tried. for my lecture i read an earlier draft of my story Blue Is a Darkness Weakened by Light. the graduate student sat in the front row. when i read this part of the story i tried not to look at him:
The writers congregate at the watering hole, wary of predators. The writers would not hesitate to leave the weakest among them behind. I eat a bacon-wrapped shrimp off a tray and a tiny piece of toast covered in salmon and a single fried dumpling filled with pork. After a while the caterers avoid me. —Of course you’ve read Infinite Jest, a writer says to someone behind me. —But the essays? I turn around. The writer has an unflattering beard and shoes the vampire would not be caught dead in.
after the reading he got up right away and left. he didn’t stay for cookies. but i did.
keep loving, keep fighting