Honest Conversation Is Overrated
Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
We Are Virginia Tech
It hurts me that Nikki has become poetry's answer to Elton John, who ran right out after Princess Di died and put out a rewritten tripe version of "Candle in the Wind." "We Are Virginia Tech" hurts me. Not because it's a sad account of a tragedy, but because it's terrible. It reeks of all the slam poets who run right out after every hurricane, tsunami, school shooting, earthquake, etc., and write vapid, impersonal diatribes filled with cliches but not a single metaphor or answer. Transcript of the poem (hold your nose): we are Virginia Tech...we are sad today...and we will be sad for quite a while...we are not moving on...we are embracing our mourning we are Virginia Tech...we are strong enough to stand tall tearlessly...we are brave enough to bend to cry...and sad enough to know we must laugh again we are Virginia Tech...we do not understand this tragedy...we know we did nothing to deserve it...but neither does the child in Africa dying of AIDS...neither do the invisible children walking the night awake to avoid being captured by a rogue army...neither does the baby elephant watching his community be devastated for ivory...neither does the Mexican child looking for fresh water...neither does the Appalachian infant killed in the middle of the night in his crib in the home his father built with his own hands...being run over by a boulder because the land was destablized...no one deserves a tragedy we are Virginia Tech...the Hokie nation reached out and embraces with open hearts and hands to those who offer their hearts and minds...we are strong...and brave...and innocent...and unafraid...we are better than we think...and not quite what we want to be...we are alive to the imagination and possibility..we will continue to invent the future...through our blood and tears...through all this sadness we are the Hokies...we will prevail...we will prevail...we will prevail...we are Virginia Tech There is not one moving thing in this entire wet fart of a poem. Not a word of the professor who put his body between the gunman and the students, not a line for the woman whose quick thinking and barricades saved the lives of all the students in room 105, not a metaphor, not a thought for WHY neither VT students nor the elephant or the Mexican child don't deserve to die; just a list of other things that are sad, like Virginia Tech is sad. I know it's sad because Nikki told me it was sad. She is sad today. I acknowledge that the community at VT need something to rally behind. That they have undergone a monumental tragedy. That it must sting to hear that cow, Diane Sawyer who said (and I'm paraphrasing because I don't have a transcript, and can't find one online) that the students went to college to learn, and on Monday they learned an important lesson of sadness. I know they needed something to give hope. If this poem were written by a student, a novice, anyone who was not heralded as a "prolific poet" with multiple legitimate books published, I'd understand. A tearful cheerleader. One of the students who watched his friends murdered. A dean of student life. The president of the college. These were sentiments that the community needed. They are not a poem. Tonight, Patricia Smith (pswordwoman) will be reading at The Cantab. She is also a much published author. She is also a strong voice who writes about tragedy and hope. Unlike Giovanni, though, she takes time to actually work her way into the personal side of tragedy. I've never heard her say she is sad, or that pain hurts, but I've felt it between her words. Her new book about Hurricane Katrina would make Bush & Michael Brown cry...both Michael Browns (Patricia's ex-husnabd and the FEMA fucker both have the same name). I'm sure she'll have some thoughts on the VT tragedy. They'll be insightful, and moving. I wish Nikki Giovanni could be there to hear what a real poet sounds like.
0 Comments
I promised myself not to write about current relationships until there was some sort of wedding announcement. Don't hold your breath, blue people were never a turn on for me (unless you count Brainy Smurf, but I don't).
I'm also taking a break from writing bitter love poems, political rants, and anything involving words. Which is why I've been spending so much time trying to reconnect with my visual artist friends. Really, ever since Celeste moved to LA, my life has been sorely lacking in the hypnotic eyefucking of inanimate objects (unless you count the catotonic guy at The Cantab Semifinals, but I don't). Sora's photography makes me eyesmile, but I am admittedly biased, and have a thing for his most frequent model. But what else to fill the void? Stalk Randy Milholland? No, thanks. Accidentally buy thousands of dollars worth of graphic novels by buying one every time you go to the comic book store, and going to the comic book store several times a week? Uhhhh, yea, that seemed like a good idea at the time. Not so much, anymore, though. I've been going to WANE. A Boston meetup for comic artists and writers. The first few times I went were the kind of special that drools a lot. Each time, there was this big guy, obsessed with Erik Larsen, who he once was elbowed by at a comic con, making them friends forever. He always talks about these fancomics he's working on, and mentioning that the website he plans to post them on gets 600,000 hits, and the other website he plans on posting them on gets 400,000 hits, so he has a million readers. I have thus far managed to stifle the urge to remind him that since he hasn't actually written his comic yet, he technically doesn't have any readers. This is how I plan on getting into Heaven. At the meetup in February, Big Guy mentioned the Chimpeach sticker in the comic book store window, and began ranting "You need to take that out. That sort of thing is devisive. And comic books should be about bringing people together, not driving them apart. If my grandmother was to walk by this store, she'd see that sticker, and walk right by, without stopping in." "Uh," I said, losing my place in the Heaven line, "Does your grandmother ever go into comic book stores?" "No, but she might some day. And, anyway, comics ahould be about nice things, and harmony. Not something that's going to make people angry. It's about escapism." "Sooooo...Art Speigelman's Maus shouldn't exist, then? I mean, theoretically, it might offend Nazis." And, I know, everyone always pull the Nazi card when they're talking about free expression, but what else was I going to say, "Sooooo...the X-Men shouldn't exist because it might offend mutants with magnetic powers who like to wear purple helmets?" And, even then, what made Magneto evil? Being tortured by Nazis. Every argument I had was going to devolve into Nazis anyway, why not cut to the chase? He then babbled about peace, harmony, and masturbating to the Snorks. Actually, he may not have mentioned the Snork thing, I ended up deciding to tune him out. At any rate, I skipped March's meeting, and was not overly optimistic about April's. So I brought Zuzu along, figuring, if nothing else, her interaction with Big Guy would be hilarious. Well, fuck you pessimism, April's meetup was great. Another comic group showed up, and, combined, we had enough people to populate a Marvel Superhero team, and The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. Big Guy didn't get a lot of babble time. And I got to schmooze with the cool woman who puts out the Malarkey anthology that Celeste is in, AND paulmay, whose covers for The Weekly Dig are all kinds of awesome. His portfolio also turned my tongue all fanboy, and I now have some new webcomic sites to explore. Anyhow, if your looking for a bunch of cool, frequently updated comics, you should check out act_i_vate, which features an array of web-comix. You should also check out paulmay's website, Delicious Brains Dot Com. Time for me to get back to work on that Torpor Heights comic I wanted to do with Celeste. Bookish Entry
So, about a year or so ago, I mentioned that I wasn't enjoying reading anymore. Books weren't grabbing me, and I found myself getting very easily distracted. Then (also mentioned in this LJ), I read Susanna Kaysen's Girl, Interrupted, and was reheartened. While I was reading the book, my friend, Emily, saw it, mentioned that she sometimes worked in the facility where the book takes place, and would like to read it. Thus began our weekly book exchange. I've been reading muchly since then, and thought I'd pass along a bunch of the titles I've read. What I've enjoyed, and what I haven't. If anyone has any suggestions for other books to read, let me know, I'm totally binging now. Chris Adrian's Children's Hospital It had a bunch of typos, and a few dead boring parts, but the beginning was fantastic, and the pages were the plot actually advanced were fantastic. It's incredibly long, but overall worth the read, if just to watch it flip genres a few times. You really don't have any idea where the book is going for the first few hundred pages, and I mean that in a good way. And the end doesn't suck. Margaret Atwood's Blind Assassin I couldn't get into it at all. I was intrigued by the structure, and the whole novel inside a novel idea, but the punctuation was atrocious. I never knew when a character was or wasn't talking, because bitch didn't use quotation marks. I also had the feeling I got when I read Tim O'Brien's In the Lake of the Woods which was, for all the cool style points, nothing interesting would be resolved over the course of the novel. I might have been wrong, but I couldn't get past the first hundred pages. Augusten Borrough's Dry I originally read this when I was living with the crazy Asian-obsessed pedophile freakshow in Slummerville. I liked it then, I like it more now. It's much more readable than Running With Scissors, which I thought was okay, but overrated. Dry is hilarious, brutal, and seems much more honest than his previous books. Johnny Cash's autobiography Since I'm working on a novel about a fictional rock star, I thought I'd check out a bunch of autobiographies by rock stars. I didn't want to shell out thirty nine bucks for the U2 monstrosity, so I picked up Johnny's, and I'm glad I did. The writing was plain, but interesting, and I learned a bunch of things that made me want to go out and download (legally, natch) some of his older recordings. Joe Connely's Bringing Out The Dead Any book that they adapt for film, and toss Nicholas Cage in, makes me nervous. But it was paced well, and kept me interested. It was also a quick read, which I appreciated. Stephen Dobyn's The Wrestler's Cruel Study I originally bought this about a decade ago, because I thought the cover art was interesting. Having now met, and talked a bit with Stephen Dobyns, I like it even more. Professional wrestling being choreographed interpretations of biblical lore? Fucken sweet. Chris Durang Explains It All For You For years I've confused Christopher Durang and David Ives. Their plays aren't similar, but I was rehearsing some scenes from Ives's All In The Timing, while I was performing Durang's "Sister Mary Ignatious Explains It All For You" and "Beyond Therapy". This collection is obscene and brilliant. If you can deal with reading scripts, I highly recommend this collection. Carrie Fisher's Surrender The Pink Carrie Fisher's The Best Awful Literary snobs have given me a lot of flack for enjoying Fisher's Postcards From The Edge. I mean, Princess Leia isn't Dostoevsky. But she is witty, and knows how to keep stories quick and interesting. She'd be a guilty pleasure, but I don't feel a lick of guilt about reading her. Janet Fitch's White Oleander Celeste left a copy of this book behind when she moved. Oh. So. Good. Carrying a cool metaphor for an entire novel without making it seem forced or pretentious is tough, but she pulled it off. I love the way she uses language, and blends style with accessibility. Neil Gaiman's American Gods Neil Gaiman's Smoke & Mirrors People have preconceived notions about novels written by someone mostly known as a graphic novelist. Fuck em. Neither of these books are life changing or awe-inspiring, but as Emily said "They're great road trip books." Nikki Giovanni's Acolytes I really wish I'd read scottwoods's review of this book. Niki Giovanni was one of the first people who inspired me to get into spoken word. Workshopping with her almost a decade ago changed the way I write. And, yea, I know she is responsible for a generation of lazy, untalented hacks who think that centering a poem and putting a bunch of "yea"s in is a good idea, but I forgave her. I can not forgive her for making me read Acolytes. It is unforgivable. I think her publisher and editor need to release a joint-book apology to the world for letting Nikki release this book to an unsuspecting world. It's the only book I've ever returned to the bookstore due to its suckitude. It's the worse thing I've ever read, and I own a book by Harris Gardner! John Irving's Widow For One Year Did John Irving fuck his mom? Cause every book I've ever read by him has an incest angle. Still, I liked this book, though I did start wanting it to end about fifty pages before it did. He has a chapter about the street one of the side characters lives on, and it's in the last hundred or so pages, and it does nothing to advance the plot. But it ended well. David Ive's All In The Timing Another insanely brilliant collection of scripts. "Philip Glass Orders A Loaf Of Bread", "Variations on the Death of Trotsky", "The Philadelphia", and "Foreplay" are my favorite one act plays in the world. Love them all. Bunches. David Ive's Mere Mortals is not All in the Timing. It's very much meh. Stephen King's Nightmares & Dreamscapes You know, Stephen Kingy. Good stories, a few great stories, but nothing life changing. It's not up to par with the first three Dark Tower books, but it's not as disappointing as the latter Dark Tower books. It's also a collection of short stories, and not a Dark Tower book, so there you are. Mark Leyner's My Cousin, My Gastroenterologist I like that I live in a world where Mark Leyner has literary cred. His proze is baffling and occasionally brilliant. It does make me want to drink, though. Neil McCormick's Killing Bono Another book I read as research. It's not awful. It should be mentioned that all the jacket reviews are from rock stars, though, not book reviewers. Apparently, Elton John and I have different opinions about the word "brilliant". The Outlaw Bible Of American Poetry is bloated, and entirely too NYCcentric. But it's got Lisa Martinovic and Jeffrey Macdaniels in it, so I'll forgive it. A whole fuckload of Edgar Allan Poe made me want to download all the Simpsons Treehouse of Horror episodes. I almost wish I hadn't had to read all of his stuff in high school, as I might appreciate it more now. David Sedaris's Dress Your Family in Corduroy & Denim Funny. Simon Winchester's The Professor & The Madman. Casey, the guy who expressed interest while I was obsessed with Ben, lent me this book. Then he was either killed in a freak frogging accident, or he read my LJ, and didn't like it. I haven't heard from him since. And he didn't respond to my couple of e-mails offering to return the book to him. It's a fantastic book. It's non-fiction about one of the main contributors to The Oxford English Dictionary, which sounds painfully boring, but it's written like it's fiction. Excellent style, and it really moves along well. |
Categories
All
Archives
December 2023
|