I'm going to this on Friday. Get ready for authors from Kitchen Press & Cannibal Books to take the grey brain matter that you own, rip it out, plant some poppy seeds in the mess, shove it back in your head, and before the reading is even over, flower-buds will poke the backs of your eyes and make you weep for the springtime blooming behind your cheeks:
Erin Elizabeth Burke Run Down the Emphasis (Kitchen)
Thibault Raoult I'll Say I'm Only Visiting (Cannibal)
Mathias Svalina Why I Am White (Kitchen)
Friday, November 2nd, 8 PM
456 Bergen Street
btwn. 5th & Flatbush
Refreshments served, but you may also BYOB.
I'm reading Robert Lowell. It's giving me a case of The Troubles. Have to write an essay on Life Studies. It isn't happening.
Unless this is my essay:
Can you believe that this isn't from a Simpson's episode? But actually from Nabokov's Pale Fire:
"Dear Jesus, do something."
I say that in my head all the time now. I mean, I say it to Jesus. And this is the one good Lowell line:
"I myself am hell;
The freaking Halloween Parade is right outside my window.
I wish I had waterballoons.
Who needs therapy when you have waterballoons?
Good thing my Shrinky Mom doesn't know how to post comments on my blog yet. She does not appreciate it when I condescend her trade. Or when the movie "What About Bob" mocks it. Remember walking out of that movie, Mom? Word.