Holiday Indulgence.

I’m at work and I watched Hellraiser and did some testing.

I was trying to write or edit and it’s not happening today. I feel like I’m not going to make 50 submissions for the year and I’m a little bummed.

46 all in is not bad for the year. I’ m disappointed but thus is what writing is a lot of the time right?

Now I’m watching this:

Check Out Hubert Selby Jr: It’ll Be Better Tomorrow on Hulu.
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I feel like I’ve watched this close to New Year’s every year since this documentary came out.

I also indulged in some lit today. I bought Kindle editions of:  Moondog over the Mekong by Court Merrigan, Out of the Gutter 8 and Gorel and the Pot Bellied God by Lavie Tidhar.

AND I pre-ordered The Heroin Chronicles. They are all part of my Xmas.

I don’t do Christmas really so when present giving times happen in my house my partner and I each just buy the shit we want and tell each other we love each other. It makes life easier.

I feel very rich in all the words I have to look forward to. Not even to mention the print books I have.

I think I want to try and take a submissions break until March or so. I want to have a whole stable of new stories and things to put out. I have things to finish. I think that is a good plan.

Okay I started this yesterday.

I changed my mind I’m making fifty I don’t give a shit. I was also just digging about in my email and realized that between 2006-2010 I did not submit any poetry anywhere. I don’t believe it was a conscious decision. I dunno it seems strange.

I don’t get that but whatever.

Last night I finished reading Perv A Love Story by Jerry Stahl. I thought I’d read it but I realized partway in that I think I read a piece of it in an anthology or some such at some point.

I really enjoyed the book. Jerry Stahl has a way of writing protagonists that I like and at the same time I shake my head and say oh you poor bastard, while chuckling. This is the sort of Fucked Up White Guy I can deal with because it’s the type I’ve known.

There is a tone to his Fucked Up White Guys that doesn’t necessarily bang my will you shut the fuck up buttons. It’s a hard thing to pin down much less describe, it just happens. I also loved the perversions of the protagonist. He is such a weirdo not because of his behavior necessarily but because when he’s thinking about these things there’s such a process to it, so much emotional hand wringing and I like how he writes that kind of neurosis.

I also read Meat Heart by Melissa Broder last night. I missed a bus, plopped on a bench under a streetlamp, put my headphones on and hood up and read it. Damn I thought I still had it in my bag. I’m no educated poetry reader but there were a lot of moments I found myself finishing a poem and kind of staring up at the streetlight, I probably looked nuts with a little smile on my face but, her syntax is really beautiful. Over at the Rumpus Paul Tunis illustrated one of her poems Bones, go look.

Her poetry in this book is varied enough not to be repetitive but, the links between poems are there if you listen. It was such a pretty little book to read, I want to hear someone read it to me actually. I prefer poetry to be read to me (because I”m a fucking princess) and I want to hear her preferably read it to me.

I love reading tiny poetry books like this, they always feel so intimate to me. Good ones feel like the poet is breathing gently on my neck and maybe rubbing my butt and occasionally pinching me really hard but then kissing it and making it better.

That’s what I want in poetry. I want it intimate, I want gross, I want stinky humanity. Meat Heart gave it to me.

I think that’s all for right now.

I seem unable to do anything but do a little dance in my chair, think about my many new things to read and plot my continuing toil in obscurity.

This may or may not be my last post for the year. In case it is, thank you for coming here.

I did not start this thinking anybody but maybe two people would read it. I appreciate y’all coming by have a safe and wonderful New Year.


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