I’ve been cruising various book sellers around the internet.
Fair warning, I’m being a total snob today.
I keep wanting to read something that hits me hard.
I have a particular taste in mind when I feel this way and honestly I keep seeing a lot of supposedly subversive work that just isn’t.
Here’s the thing let’s be real okay?
For every I think I’m too fat and then I lost weight and I’m a whole new woman now nice White Lady story, there is always going to be an audience because Nice White Lady stories of triumph are always read.
That is not now nor has it ever been counter culture, subversive, shocking or even for me personally all that interesting.
For every essay I read about how some Nice White Lady overcame being ten pounds overweight and found the man of her dreams, I hunger for an essay where a similar lady maybe rolled out of the gutter and into the fire and feels pretty damn good about it.
We all know varying kinds of hell but the kinds of hell that are generally deemed as having literary important, don’t interest me.
As I said way back when, I don’t really like middle class fucked up white boy fiction/non fiction and I don’t write it.
To steal another of Jerry Stahl’s lines I’m a pain snob. I really am.
The Mommy and Daddy didn’t pay my rent after college and now I don’t know what to do with myself brand of fiction or non fiction doesn’t do it for me.
Generally when I feel like this about what I’m reading it’s indicative of my own mental state far more clearly than anything else.
This is emotional reading. This is reading that tells me as fucked up as I feel, things will be okay.
To this end I’m savoring reading the last twenty or so pages of Ayti. I’ve got a couple of books on the way that I found super cheap used copies of. I’ll probably reread some Selby.
I will feed my soul more than mid twenties ennui and society approved saveable White Ladies.
Now I really should be working. Here you can read my new poem up at Randomly Accessed Poetics. Find Murderer here.