Damn Palahniuk...

Bought "Fight Club" today, by good old Chuck P....Actually have owned and read this book--but that was years ago, and I gave it away. Now, its a required text in my english class, so I buy it. Decided to head over to his website to fuck around...the guy is a brilliant author...more my style of writing anyway--not much bullshit. Anyway, I guess he just wrapped up his last book tour, and I had to write down how pissed I was that I missed it. What really really REALLY hurts is that he had a stop in this book store I use to live down the block from in San Francisco. I could have literally walked across the street and met Chuck. Damn it. I swear I was born too late/too early for all sorts of cool ass shit. Anyway, I'm really digging pictures on the blog, so I post one of Palahniuk. Its wierd--on his website he has a few really nice pictures, and a few really nerdy looking ones..it looks like a diffrent person every time. Of course I put up one of the really hot looking ones, because thats the way I roll.

I wanna be Frida

Since I cant paint or draw for shit, I've decided I want to be the Frida Kahlo of writing. Actually, what really happened was that I wrote something earlier that really just horrified me...that is...well...graphically and also topic wise, it horrified me. It grossed me out because of how much of myself I put into this paticular piece of writing...but only the bad horrible parts--I tried to make them funny. Before anyone asks me, I wont be asking people to read this short story I wrote anytime soon...but it got me thinking of Frida Kahlo--her paintings are so grotesquely honest...that I decided...Fuck it.
I'm gonna be the Frida Kahlo of writing.

Is it wierd to want to vomit at something you created? Forget catharsis--I wanted to be sick when I read it...but I am going back to finish it now...glutton for punishment? Insane? Cooky? Crazy cat lady? Full of myself? Discuss.

PS: In case you dont know Frida...figure it out. Her work is awesome. I wont even put a link to make it easy--look her up.

Good Old Ginsberg

"America"
By Allen Ginsberg

“America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 
 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites? 
America why are your libraries full of tears? 
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I 
need with my good looks? 
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not 
 the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me […]”


This is not the entire poem--Just the begining. You
should read the whole thing. Its funny...how things
can be so similar and unchanged in our country...even
after fifty or so years. Poor Ginsy...he would be
having an utter spiritual/hippie-buddist root canal
if he were alive to see all of this. The world needs
more artists like him.
A whole army of them.

The A game

I hate it when better writers force me to try (usually in futile) to bring about my "A" game in writing. Good writers/good writing makes me sick because I feel the need to "bring it." That is...my A game.
I am a lazy writer. I do my best writing under deadlines. I have no deadlines except for the ones I set for myself at the moment...therefore I have no good writing...no good stuff...and its frustrating as hell.
Now I know I have a few good A-games in me somewhere....but the effort it takes to call them forth is ridiculous. I cant even spell for godsakes people.
I think I will go listen to George Michael and cry now.
"I'm never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm. Though its easy to pretend...I know you're not a fool...."
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

the drunken boat...

I use to have a copy of Rimbaud's "The Drunken Boat," and I cant find it right now--its pissing me off. Alot of my books are missing I am discovering as I want to read them and they are nowhere to be found. Its an understandable situation though--they are probably somewhere in either San Francisco, Wisconsin, the Wisconsin Airport trash can, or Philly PA. I've had to give away or leave alot of my stuff in those places...ah well. Thats what I get for the trouble.

In case you havent figured it out...this is a picture of A. Rimbaud...about 17 years old I believe...just before he goes off with Verlaine to begin his writing career. What I love about Rimbaud that not only was his writing fucking awesome...but that his career was so short. He decided at I belive 19 or 20 to stop writing all together, even though he had an obvious talent for it. No one really knows the reasons why he quit, but it was like one day he decided, "fuck writing," and became something totally diffrent.

Whoever reads this, if anyone, should read the Drunken Boat...when i buy my new copy, if you want i will give it to you if you dont have it. I'm like that w/ books...again, this is probably why i am missing so many.