More fun with celebrity po'try: an official ranking

From real bad to pleasantly darn good, interspersed with minimal commentary:



The terrible pun that is the title makes me want to stab myself in the chest repeatedly alla Eliot Smith. When Joshua Clover reviewed this book in Spin magazine, he discussed the choice of typeface. Nuf said.



While catagorically not "better" than Jewel's book, it makes me wonder what kind of fucked up things happened on the set of The Breakfast Club because Charlie Sheen has a book of poems also, and I swear this is not a joke: Peace of Mind. What's with the stupid puns? Maybe Judd Nelson's weed was the real deal.



Beam me outta here.



As narcissistic as a blog, but some neat lines.



I had read a few of these poems in Fence magazine... Some of the poems surprise with their images and language---always a good thing, yes? Obviously the problem with any critique is the context. I mean, in the company of the above "books," Jeff Tweedy's work is the Rothko among the finger paintings. I am listening to "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot"---a damn swell album--- as I write this. Does this make me biased? Also, the cover manages to creep me out in a good way.

How did you get so rich, Chris? Shut up or I'll fillya fulla lead and spleen.

Here's a way to generate quick cash that does not involve embezzlement or murder, but DOES involve guns:

You send me a symbolic representation of something you hate (i.e a 8x10 glossy photo of Garrison Keillor [spleen to you, you homophobic Methodist freak!] or a copy of Ally Sheedy's book of "poems" Yesterday I Saw the Sun*) and, say, $10, and I'll shoot it full of holes!

Order today and you'll get a choice of calibers: a .40 caliber handgun or a .308 rifle!

If you're interested, just drop me an e-mail.

_______________________________________________

*I am tempted to post excerpts from this "book," but I fear bleeding from my eyes.**


**I was also tempted to list Jewell's "book of poetry" but when I think about how many copies it has sold, I cry a lot and vomit burns the back of my throat. Spleen Spleen.

Semi-public onanism and the reek of garlic

How is it that a PhD student, finishing his coursework this semester and with a deadline to get the new issue of Interim out by next week has the time to blog (blogare in Italiano) you ask? Well, not only does this blog fill the void that is not smoking, but it also allows me to procrastinate unapologetically because I can say, "But I'm writing!" Or, "It's better than smoking!" Also, I cannot work on Interim because my office printer was killed by excessive printing, so I can't work until I go home, which I cannot do until my wife, Jacqueline, saves me from the murky depths of this semi-public onanism.

Anecdote di giorno:

My Italian teacher storms into class looking very distraught. Apparently, one of her students in the period before reeked so badly of garlic that it was making her ill. This same student apparently followed her after class, thus exacerbating the nausea. This is an occurrence that is regular enough to prompt her to discuss with us the best way to tell him to not eat garlic before class. And she calls herself Italian...

Las Vegas Spleen

Well, I finally broke down and did it. After the peer pressure, the sheer pressure, and the pressure shears, I have joined the ranks of millions of self-centered and half-amusing people who have a blog (which is an ugly word, a painfully insincere and synthetic word).

Egads.

But like the fact that I drive a car and eat meat, I have resigned myself to this...lifestyle choice.

So it begins.

Since I quit smoking... FAQ

1) What can I expect to find on your blog?

(Evil laughter). Mostly anything really, though I will probably most frequently write about poetry---I mean the good stuff: no Rod McKuen bullshit here, though who knows, I may do a tribute just out of spite. In addition to poetry and po-biz, expect to see postings about guns, aboriginal survival skills, eco- and ethno- poetics, commentary about books, films, music, and cultural ephemera, Italian language and culture, poetry translation, nude hiking, particle physics, ethnobotany, life in Las Vegas, especially revolving around the homogeneous community in which I live and love---Stallion Mountain---and my dog, Macchia. BUT most importantly, you'll read about me and poetry and guns and your mom.

2) Why is there only one FAQ?

Because I am filled with spleen. Spleen. Spleen.
Spleen. Spleen.
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Spleen. Spleen.