Tag Archives: Lorcet

Arlene Ang. JMWW. Eeeeeeeeeee. Bosnian Beer.

She might be my favorite poet.

You remember putting the penny last night in your mouth, like a nipple”

HELL and O.

Three prose poems here at Past Simple. Read them. Like them. Or be stupid. I love prose poems. They are cousin of FLASH FICTION. They are the friend who will bail you out at 4-nothing, a.m. Will let you crash on her rooftop, naked. These poems are dropping the doll onto the floor. What will happen when the butterflies all go extinct? No tornadoes? Gigolos have faith in all storms clearing. Offer me a beer? Language bids me eat nachos, sit and eat nachos, sit and think about the hot attic of my unhappiness.

Etc.

Arlene Ang here.

Arlene Ang here.

Arlene Ang here.

Do I have to lead your sad-ass dime-store god to the microwave popcorn??

Wake the frack up!!

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A great story by Aleksander Hemon in the New Yorker. If you are too cool for New Yorker fiction, you are trying too hard to be cool–which is NEVER cool, in fact is the definition of anti-cool, so just read the damn story.

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A new JMWW is out! Good stuff to make you steam-ear your daily routine.

Melanie Cotter drops a Hanged Cat on us. Hey now!

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Ok, I read Tao Lin’s Novel. SIX THINGS I THINK ABOUT TAO LIN’S NOVEL:

1.) People compare Tao Lin to Haruki Murakami. That’s a bit ridiculous, and maybe lazy?  Or even is it fair? Uh, one is translated when read in the U.S. (usually), and one is not. They look the same (relatively) so write the same? They both use black etchings on a white paper? They both write of dolphins, bears, presidents, other animals as characters?

I think Murakami is indeed Magical Realism, as established already in the literary mega-verse. In his novel, I don’t think Tao Lin is doing the same thing, the same way. This isn’t a critique of either author, but I just don’t see them as similar.

2.) For all you stoners kids who simply must have all your meals as a bright, gooey snacks, if Lin’s novel was a youtube video, it would be this youtube video.

3.) Tao Lin’s sentences are difficult to read. A friend of mine called them, “The anti-sentence.” Yes, yes, I know there is some Avant-garde/literary student in academia/Po-Mo (oh gods no!) reason for this: fragmented modern existence, language as artifice…wait, I just hurled-up a corn dog on a clown’s hat. I’m sure some readers will have all types of reasons to defend sentences that often destroy pacing, flow, “readability” (what the hell does that mean?), and please go right ahead. I even see your point, sometimes. But, listen: The sentences are difficult to read.

Update/qualifier (the beauty of a blog):

I suppose I mean the arrangement, not the individual.

p. 65:

A different waitress brings their food. Her name is Bernadette. They eat for a while. They are eating. (“How do you have fun?”) Jawbreaker, You win you lose, it’s the same old news. Octopus. Mark was sad about his Octopus. Steve stands. “Andrew,” he says. “Come here.”

And so on. Could be me, though. I readily agree I might not follow things others easily do…

4.) Rabbit’s foot: lucky for the rabbit?

5.) A better comparison would be The Stranger, by Camus. With a dash of Walter Mitty and Sarah Orne Jewett.

6.) I found the book intriguing enough to try out his book of poetry. details later.

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This morning, while eating waffles inscribed in a blue advertisement announcing HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL (this actually ON the waffle), my four year old kept repeating, “I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know where I’m going.”

Man, I wish I could have told him something better than, “Indeed.”

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