Mere Anarchy

Critical evidence.
andre breton
james dickey
kafka
theodore roethke
wb yeats
sylvia
ts eliot
irvine welsh
chuck palahniuk
dostoevsky

Forensic reports.
edward gorey
man ray
simon boses

Admissions of guilt.
deadcandance
cohen
nick cave
natalie merchant
rammstein
iggy pop

Crime scenes
aurora picture show
diverseworks
theater LaB houston
voices breaking boundaries

Damning testimony.
surrealism
roller derby
exploding dog
levity
girlsarepretty

Oh well I'm too lazy to change the appearance of this bloggy blog blog blog. That and I don't know how to do it. I was lied to this is not an MFA program. There are only two creative writing classes. One you take with undergraduates, not that I have anything against undergraduates per say, but if you're a nineteen-year-old girl who grew up in and never left Riverside Texas (pop 3,250) and you're writing about how much you love Jesus - I feel dirty, transgressed, yea violated. I stand in the shower for hours, the water gurgling out of my throat; it goes up my nose a little, pools in my ear's tiny cups. I close my eyes so the mist won't sting. The other class is for graduate students only; you do slave labor for The Texas Review. I don't like it. I don't want to write 40pg papers on how the foliation of early English hand pressed works is representative of the author's respect and / or the possibly subversive nature of the text. I quit. I'll apply to some MFA programs I know are good. I don't care if I get in anymore. I still write. I still submit. It’s just that the whole attachment to my work, my need for it to be successful and reviewed well is dwindling. I think I shall wear white flannel trousers and walk upon the beach. I want to teach English in Galveston. Rent a giant
dilapidated house across from a graveyard. One with a dirt yard full of broken flower pots, a rusted tricycle, and a pink flamingo. I want a stack of ten-year-old newspapers tied with twine on my porch. Maybe then I'll write my autobiography. I already have a title The unreal travels of an earthbound space monkey, a study in post modernity from the balcony of an asylum.

posted by James @ 12:52 PM

Dienstag, März 30, 2004