i took myself to mcnally robinson again today - this time for a reading by the authors of A Book of Beginnings and Endings and The Memory Palace of Isabella Stewart Gardner. I'd been more intrigued by the former, because i have always been interested in the idea of publishing a collection of endings. I bought both books; i think they will be thought provoking, though the first author's reading was annoying. she was clearly responding to the cultural expectations of poetic prose emerging out of the slam poetry movement, for she employed the same softened speech, sing-song intonations and arbitrary word stresses you find in bad slam poetry, the kind that mimics the style to compensate for a lack of substance or genuine motive. it's a shame, too, because what i read of the work beforehand was fairly good and got completely lost in the delivery. both authors had a refreshing balance of theoretical and critical knowledge of narrative without getting mired down in over-intellectualizations either in the work or the discussion.
during the question and answer, betsy called. i hopped out and agreed to come meet up with her and the D of infamy up at chat n chew. that made for some interesting interactions, not least of which was an evolving friend:not friend motif. more on that can possibly be found here, either in the presence of words or by way of their absence. after we went to decibel to digest the situation and dispense of any lingering misgivings by way of innebreation and a bit of willful absurdism: we played drunken haiku. it was, as it should be, amusing and a poor literary showing (on my part at least...betsy's were better). hers are at the link above; mine to follow (bold words are the ones we had to incorporate):
1.
bleep my fine metal friend
I have no more to give you -
I have hit the send.
2.
did i just break you
i gave you a sturdier
shell. what happened to it?
3.
sporadic foreplay?
give it up already, wait -
no, i didn't mean that.
4.
give me a letter
just one, and i will give you
a world of fictions.
5.
"green", she said. "really?"
"very. i feld old. i shouldn't.
i am no school marm."
6.
my thoughts stomp down nerves:
a marching band, off-key
but clanging away.
edamame finisheds and drinks well downed, we escalated at this point to the three word challenge...
words - freckle, sponge, tire.
he put the sponge back where he'd found it (on the dirty side). i glared at him.
"what?" he said, but i was staring at a spot just below his left eye. now that our love was deflating like a slashed tire, i could admit i always hated that freckle.
words - whisker, lawnmower, pen
he leaps to sit before the fire, head turned towards me, whiskers slaying your shadow on the wall. you made me watch the lawnmower cutting through animals in the back yard; now i pen you name into journals like scars on skin.
words - rhinoplasty, helvetica, pollen
katie sits in the office, desperate for the bell to ring. when it does, she stands up and goes to the counter. the office is very professional. she knows this and trusts them in spite of the $200 rhinoplasty because they have done all their stationary in helvetica. the only thing that bothers her is how the increase in pollen this week has made her nose swell. she can't wait to get the bandage off so she can sneeze again.
words - chalk, sideburns, paper
chalk one up for sideburns. this paper reports sudden revival of all things 70s thanks to dark-horse hit remake of saturday night fever.
there ends this performance of drunken haiku. and now for an apology ;p
this is just to say
i have shared the game
that we played in my bedroom
and which you are probably shaking your head at
right now
fear not - she's just like us
so sharp and so wry.
[also, tat, wish you were here to share]
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