Tuesday, July 12, 2005
What I Did Wrong...
My best pal and mentor John Weir's second book, What I Did Wrong, has just finished being edited and is due out in April. From Viking Press. The check's in the mail! It's fucking brilliant, it will rip apart your understanding of sexuality and desire and tear your heart out while you laugh the whole way through.
He's got a story and an interview as the featured writer in this fall's Gulf Coast, as well as an amazing article on Neal Cassady's Penis coming out in Tri-Quarterly. Yes, I did say Cassady's penis.
Meanwhile, I just recieved my standing orders for the apartment I'm going to have on campus. I'll be rooming with a first year Poetry MFA student, Bill. I called Bill once, but we really haven't spoken. I'm excited about rooming with someone again. I haven't shared space with anyone in a few years, and the last itme I did it was with two people who did as much drugs as I did then, so It was more like living with pets than roomates.
I'm really looking forward to living with someone who thinks about writing as much as I do. And it's good that's it's a poetry student, because otherwise things might get too sticky with another fiction freak in the house.
I just got an e-mail from school about the apartment with all kinds of instructions that I don't want to deal with. About keys and phones and blah blah blah. Things are difficult for me at the moment, because my dog ate my cell phone.
Really. Here's how this goes:
I have a giant German Shepard, named, of all things, Ceaser. Ceaser needs valium, but we're not a psychopharmacological family, don't believe in better living through chemistry (unless it's illegal, of course) so we deal with the insanity. So I left my phone in the yard, and it falls on the floor, and I come outside to get it, and Ceaser goes insane, because...he's Ceaser. So he barks and goes after my arm everytime I go to pick up my phone. This pisses me off, fierce, so now I'm cursing and taking swings at him, "Mother-fucker! Get the fuck outta here!" But I everytime I go to get the phone he comes after me like he's gonna bite me, and I'm scared because I'm not so sure he won't and I hate that he scares me, so this make me even more mad, so now I'm really trying to punch him but he's ducking. So now's he's in retreat and I go for the cell phone again but he's a quick little fucker, Ceaser, and he grabs the phone out of hand, nipping on my knuckles in the process, the skin streaked and white, and my phone is on the floor, but the battery is in his mouth. And he's chewing.
(dramatic pause) Now, I've been meaning to get rid of my cell phone. Even before I saw A Decent Factory, I was sick of the signalless world of cell phone brainwashing (everyone needs a cell phone, life didn't exist before them!) I thought I lost it a few times, and this was a relief. Everytime it rang, I thought it was impending doom on the other end . Every time.
Never-the-less, I am filled with red rage at the sight of Ceaser with my battery in his mouth. So I kick him, hard, in the face, and it's an uppercut kick, and a good one, and it sends the battery flying up into the treetops, which I watch happen in slow motion. It still hasn't come down.
This is all to say, I don't have a phone.
It's nice though.
I can't be reached! This makes me happy in a way i can't express.
He's got a story and an interview as the featured writer in this fall's Gulf Coast, as well as an amazing article on Neal Cassady's Penis coming out in Tri-Quarterly. Yes, I did say Cassady's penis.
Meanwhile, I just recieved my standing orders for the apartment I'm going to have on campus. I'll be rooming with a first year Poetry MFA student, Bill. I called Bill once, but we really haven't spoken. I'm excited about rooming with someone again. I haven't shared space with anyone in a few years, and the last itme I did it was with two people who did as much drugs as I did then, so It was more like living with pets than roomates.
I'm really looking forward to living with someone who thinks about writing as much as I do. And it's good that's it's a poetry student, because otherwise things might get too sticky with another fiction freak in the house.
I just got an e-mail from school about the apartment with all kinds of instructions that I don't want to deal with. About keys and phones and blah blah blah. Things are difficult for me at the moment, because my dog ate my cell phone.
Really. Here's how this goes:
I have a giant German Shepard, named, of all things, Ceaser. Ceaser needs valium, but we're not a psychopharmacological family, don't believe in better living through chemistry (unless it's illegal, of course) so we deal with the insanity. So I left my phone in the yard, and it falls on the floor, and I come outside to get it, and Ceaser goes insane, because...he's Ceaser. So he barks and goes after my arm everytime I go to pick up my phone. This pisses me off, fierce, so now I'm cursing and taking swings at him, "Mother-fucker! Get the fuck outta here!" But I everytime I go to get the phone he comes after me like he's gonna bite me, and I'm scared because I'm not so sure he won't and I hate that he scares me, so this make me even more mad, so now I'm really trying to punch him but he's ducking. So now's he's in retreat and I go for the cell phone again but he's a quick little fucker, Ceaser, and he grabs the phone out of hand, nipping on my knuckles in the process, the skin streaked and white, and my phone is on the floor, but the battery is in his mouth. And he's chewing.
(dramatic pause) Now, I've been meaning to get rid of my cell phone. Even before I saw A Decent Factory, I was sick of the signalless world of cell phone brainwashing (everyone needs a cell phone, life didn't exist before them!) I thought I lost it a few times, and this was a relief. Everytime it rang, I thought it was impending doom on the other end . Every time.
Never-the-less, I am filled with red rage at the sight of Ceaser with my battery in his mouth. So I kick him, hard, in the face, and it's an uppercut kick, and a good one, and it sends the battery flying up into the treetops, which I watch happen in slow motion. It still hasn't come down.
This is all to say, I don't have a phone.
It's nice though.
I can't be reached! This makes me happy in a way i can't express.
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Ghosts don't count to me. Can't have sex with a ghost. However, I used to have a friend, who, when he got really high did in fact have sex with ghosts. He said it was the best he ever had.
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