Way to Break My Balls, David Foster Wallace

David Foster Wallace hanged himself in 2008.

There is really no awesome way to talk about this.

I was not shocked or upset, and here's why: despite my enrollment in the creative writing program at the University of Washington, I wasn't at the time aware that DFW existed at all.

My Introduction to DFW

In 2010 I heard about this book called Infinite Jest which I was told I would enjoy.  Early in 2012, I was told about it again.

I did enjoy that book.  How I was able to enjoy it and why seemed obvious- it's pretty great.  I mean, if you have the patience to sit through whole essays squirreled away in footnotes that you must flip to the back of your book to read, and are okay with open endings, it's an extremely rewarding book.

Infinite Jest (published 1996) predicts a pretty-much 2012 that is stunning in it's accuracy re: the status of entertainment in America.  It's also a pretty run down version of America, one that failed to re-invent itself but find redemption through humble veins, such as AA or junior tennis.

A main character in that book also kills himself (not a spoiler, this fact is pretty clear from the beginning), and one characterizing question w/r/t this character is how he was able to turn on a microwave with his head inside it.

This character also creates a movie, called "The Entertainment" by secret government organizations and terrorist groups, that removes a person's will to do anything else but watch the movie.

I'm oversimplifying the book here, big time.  I'm not trying to give it a critical review here.  My goal is more along the lines of bringing DFW back from the dead.  Not in this essay though.  Not a chance there.  More like this essay is my proposed set of guidelines for doing so.

I want to bring DFW back from the dead for a few reasons:

• His contributions to the thought and shape of today's literature are incomplete
• I want to ask him "why you gotta break my balls?"
• I have a big literary crush on the man.  He is the Sean Connery of writers.

Some Ideas DFW Seems to Be Getting at:

• Irony Is Annoying

Or has at least outworn it's usefulness.  While irony has been used in the past to point out injustice or as a survival tactic, television has subverted irony for it's own ends: viewership ratings, advertisement dollars.  You can read DFW's full essay on this just by google-ing "E Unibus Pluram" (I'm not going to do all the work for you), but a large part of the gist of the essay is summed up in this statement of the problem that today's writers face:

How to snap readers awake to the fact that our televisual culture has become cynical, narcissistic, essentially empty phenomenon, when television regularly celebrates just those features in itself and its features?

• Why should an author care enough to want to snap readers awake?

Hmm, well, I'm not finding a terribly persuasive argument within DFW's essay.  He personally wanted to, I think(hearsay, I know).  "E Unibus Pluram"(published 1993) seems to be just the kind of manifesto an author might reference while writing Infinite Jest, that's for sure.  Here's a relevant perspective from a recent article in The Stranger's A&P quarterly:

I want to read books I need to read. I want to read books that feed me, that go in my mouth and throat and down in my guts and nourish me or mess me up but feed me that way too.

-"Shut Up: A Manifesto Against Irony" Rebecca Brown

Rebecca seems on board with this "New Sincerity" thing, though she also claims that language can save your life, which is clearly, in some cases, untrue.

• Entertainment has/is/will changed/changing/change

The worst thing about being a writer these days is probably that nobody really seems to enjoy reading anymore.  Seriously, if you've made it this far in the essay, leave a comment or something so I know you exist.  Also, marry me(family members are excused from this, but may still leave comments).  

Rather than cry about it, DFW simply continued to produce literature and essays that really get right down to the meat of how we (Americans, mostly) entertain ourselves, how that effects how we think of ourselves, and how all of that bends and shapes the forms of entertainment we prefer.  If you're this far in the essay and haven't yet googled "E Unibus Pluram", well, for fuck's sake.

• Ditto for communication

For being the prescient/excellent writer that he is, DFW comes off as a bit of a Luddite, explaining that he doesn't really get eBooks in his preface to "Up Simba", always portraying himself as scribbling in notebooks rather than clacking at keys.  All those freaking footnotes, which is a style well suited to HTML, but, as I mentioned above, requires a lot of patience in the reader when abused in DFW's trademark style and on paper.

The fact that some of the juiciest stuff appears in those footnotes is reason enough for readers/editors/printers alike to ask in unison, "Why you gotta break my balls, DFW?"

See for example, the kick-ass essay (excerpted near the bottom of this linked page) disguised as a footnote in Infinite Jest regarding the evolution of the video-phone.

By the way, the first iPhone was released in June 2007.  Skype's been around since 2003, though Wikipedia is pretty useless at reminding me when the ability to use video was released.

Before I try to jam these ideas together to describe the kind of change I'd like DFW around to help out with, let's take a look at some things that have changed since DFW's death.

Some Things That Have Changed Since DFW's Death

• Late 2010: Skype releases video calling client for iPhone (thanks, Wikipedia!)
• Okay, well it looks like Netflix introduced online streaming in 2007, so let's call this one "online streaming becomes popular".  Theoretically, DFW could have had a Netflix account.
• Hulu came out in March of 2008.  Damn.  Okay, how about this one: Disney purchases 27% stake in Hulu - 2009.
• Man, okay, I'm striking out here.  Facebook has been around since 2004(ish)  Facebook claims a positive cash flow for the first time in 2009.
• Rockstar Games releases Grand Theft Auto IV in 2008 (In April, but shut up).  Critics are like "whoa, there's some serious writing behind this game"
• With the release of Red Dead Redemption in 2010, Rockstar Games proves that video games are capable of dealing with themes, philosophy, and good damn stories well, not to mention in a way that only Choose Your Own Adventure brand books could approach and never surpass.
• One of my all time favorite poets, Bill Knott, who is mentioned a few times in "E Unibus Pluram" leaves a comment on my blog in response to basically a very callous comment from me regarding his personality, which I know nothing about. November 2011. Considering that the Knott poems DFW refers to are from 1975, i.e. before my birth, this is a surreal moment for me.

This list has turned out pretty pathetic.  For that I apologize.  Strange that all these modes of communication and entertainment that I have found fascinating and perverse and revolutionary in the last decade all got on the path to where they are today before DFW's death, but really kicked into gear only afterwards.

Picture if you will DFW as a lone centurion, the last of an ancient order of illuminati, fiercely defending the earth against the aliens that have taken over the bodies of Alec Baldwin and Seth MacFarlane.  The warrior falls, and the earth will never be the same.

-Elevator pitch for what'll turn out to be a really bad movie.

So here's some bad logic for you:

• The markets for entertainment and communication influence what we choose to consume.
• What we choose to consume influences entertainment and communication technology and content.
• In benefits E & C tech to promote it's own use.  Like the way rabbits benefit from getting it on.
• For some reason, E & C tech has become incredibly personal.  Probably because you can sell more units and because we like our privacy.
• Small, discrete E & C tech is popular with manufacturers and consumers.  See iPhone, see Tablet, see Laptop, see Google Glass, which is turning out to be less popular with consumers than manufacturers thought, but it's probably just a matter of time.
• These E & C techs enable anti-social behavior i.e. more time spent with the tech/product/content.
• E & C content enables anti-social behavior i.e. more time spent with the tech/product/content.
• Technological advances in entertainment and communication tend to promote further extremes of anti-social behavior in their users to remain competitive.

That's basically my way of re-phrasing the interesting bits (to me) of "E Unibus Pluram", except expanded to include the last five years of my experience as an entertainment consumer. It is the same set of ideas that once again inspires the question, "David Foster Wallace, why are you breaking my balls?"

Essays like these are not exempt for this tendency, obviously, for example I'm writing this in my living room while my roommate plays his Xbox360.  He shouts at the game, I mutter to my notes.

Dear reader, you aren't reading this out loud, I suspect, but to yourself.  I'm not in the room with you.  I'm not reading this to you.  If I'm being really honest with myself, I have to realize that the only folks who read this will have followed the link from my Facebook post, or bless 'em, have followed my blog and/or are family. Hi Mom!

For another example, let's turn to another smart/sad guy, Louis C.K:

and this video has been shared by so many people on Facebook, which is cool because the content certainly seems less like the "cynical, narcissistic, essentially empty phenomenon" that DFW describes, but becomes annoying when you think about the fact that whether we saw this when it aired on TV or saw it on YouTube from a Facebook link, that's what we were doing.  Facebooking.

So maybe my problem is that I'm still thinking about this, that I'm still trying to escape all this damn irony all over everything.

There are ways to do it, I think.  One is to stop thinking about it and talk to more people.  Another is to get my thoughts straight about it so I can talk to more people without the distraction of this ball breaking confusion.

Some Examples of Social Entertainment

• Live Music
• Roller-Derby
• Watching Movies with a Lively Crowd
• Fishing
• Live Comedy
• Getting Out Of The House

Some Examples of Anti-Social Entertainment

• Watching Movies Alone
• Reading David Foster Wallace
• Pretty Much the Whole Internet
• Fishing
• Hanging Out while Picking Your Nose

I hope I'm not just hanging out picking my own nose here.  I don't think it's inherently bad to be anti-social, but damn is it really easy.

And while this essay might be a bit navel gaze-y, you dear reader can redeem it by taking advantage of the comment section to lend your own perspective on these ideas, anecdotes, rebuttals, or just some good ideas w/r/t getting out of the house.

Thank you.

Uncle BAM

In the spirit of Independence Day, I'm learning how to make animated gifs.  Why?  Because I know you all want to watch my friend J frolic in his thuggin' Uncle Sam costume endlessly.  Next I'm going to try to lose the watermark, and get this so he goes back and forth.  Fingers crossed, folks!

UPDATE:  Getting there...

Smoother version:

There you go.  I'm giving up on the watermark, because I have real work to do today as well.  

Happy birthday, America.

-NO WAIT ONE MORE-

The Japanese Garden

Just finished an essay that I thought I would publish here.  Then I thought, wait a minute, I should submit this for publication.  So the search is on for a journal, any journal, that will publish a piece called "Lake Shitty Way".

Since submitting my essay means I had better not drop it here (yet), I guess I might as well share with you this piece, which was published in Ruckus about a year ago:

The Japanese Garden

This is the hardest I've seen
my grandmother laugh:
a frog with a rock on its back.
Was it the strange reversal
of nature, usually the frog
sits on the rock, or the fact
that the frog, unstartled,
stared back at her after
she tossed a stone at it?

My grandmother is a hard read.
The licked tooth, the scrupulously
clean kitchen. Direct subtext.
She gives marvelous responses
to poetry.  Explained "number one"
instead of "I have to pee."
When grandfather exclaimed
"My son. I have a son!"
She said "Yes. Sometimes you
just forget,” her delicate hands
clasped around his waxy fingertips.

But anyway, she thought
that frog was hysterical.
Those peals of laughter
sent ripples across the pond.

Phantom Phone Syndrome

Okay, I don't really have anything to say about phantom phone syndrome, except that it's obnoxious.

Phantom Phone Syndrome is also a horrible headline.  I've written headlines on this blog that range from terrible to nothing special.  Why do I care what quality of headline it is, anyway?  I'll get to that.

I rate these headlines as poor, lackluster, inane, or too blatantly bokononist :

• Website
• In Progress
• Galaxy Bird
• Busy, Busy, Busy

Here are some headlines I find more acceptable:

• 3 Reasons You Should Watch Doctor Who
• Liam Neeson as an Action Star
• A Review of "Reality Hunger" by David Sheilds
• A Year in Books

These two are my personal favorites, but I'll understand if you disagree:

• Doctor Who is Santa Clause
• Inappropriately Named Rivers

I've been writing a lot of headlines lately, so it occupies a fair amount of brain space.  Here's a few that I've written on other blogs:

• Poetry As Storytelling
• Create Your Own Family Wellness Program
• Case Study:  Interns @ TheFilmSchool

Don't know if the new ones are quite up to snuff.  I think "Doctor Who is Santa Clause" is still my favorite.

UPDATE:  I hacked by brain into cutting out the phantom phone stuff by switching my phone to the other pocket of my pants for two days.  No more phantom vibrations.  Take that, brain!  Chalk another one up for the little guy.

In Progress

I haven't been submitting too many poems lately, so why I figure no harm in sharing a piece still very much in progress:


Ether

There is a phone call that will change
your life.  No more so and so celebrity
impersonator for you, oh no.  A voice that
unlocks parts of your brain you didn't

know existed says calmly "Agent Icarus,
we have a new assignment for you."  Click.

You live in the future.  Are you
ready for your eyeballs to crackle with
raw data?  Shut up and create new

robots already.  Ray guns were forecast
by the '50s.  Come on.  It isn't the
phone that calls, it is the work.

I know you Icarus, and you are about
to learn a hell of a lot about water.

Ever Lovin' Poems

What is so great about poems anyway?

Few things:

Rhythm, rhyme, meter, visual presentation, the cadence of speech, are a short list of what I'd say sets poetry apart from other word combinations.  They are the tools poetry uses to capture your attention.

Does it work?

Lets find out.  Here's a poem by Kay Ryan:

Pitcher 

A pitcher molds
the air in it, dividing
from the air beyond
the air it holds.  And
should the pitcher
vanish, something
would take a minute
to escape, a gradually
diminishing integrity,
a thinning pitcherful
of pitcher shape.

Kay Ryan, everyone.  United States Poet Laureate from 2008 to 2010.  In other words, helping you appreciate poetry was her job for two years.

Two years is a long time to be Poet Laureate.  C'mon.  Read that again.

Here's one by Maria von Rilke (in german):

Der römische Brunnen  

Aufsteigt der Strahl und fallend gießt
Er voll der Marmorschale Rund,
Die, sich verschleiernd, überfließt
In einer zweiten Schale Grund;
Die zweite gibt, sie wird zu reich,
Der dritten wallend ihre Flut,
Und jede nimmt und gibt zugleich
Und strömt und ruht.

Howzat?  Let me know if you enjoyed these in the comments.  Also let me know if you can find a good translation of the Roman Fountain.  I'm having trouble googling it.

Super Position

The Horse has two riders, one facing forward,
one back.  Insolent, they stare at each
other.  What path did the horse take?

In a similar tale, there is a cat.
Her assassin possessed with urgent ignorance,
Don't open that box! the man said.

Ships call to one another off the waterfront,
not out of loneliness, a ship in love is a wreck.
They share a kinship of distance.

This is the natural defiance of the river strider,
it falls to the atom to observe itself.
An ocean of belief is balanced by a drop of doubt.

Words are symbols, not cement.  Call me a liar.
If there's to be uncertainty, let its mother be my mouth.

Fresh Ingredients

It has been a long time since I've posted any of my poetical endeavors here, mostly due to the fact that many publishers prefer to be the first to publish a piece. Well, a while back two of my pieces were selected, and published in "Ruckus" Volume 12 Issue 2, a UW sponsored social-justice concerned group, and "Hoarse" No. 6, respectively.

Ruckus takes the form of a zine. It contains a handful of essay's, poems, and perhaps open letters, on a background of cut and paste collage. Personally, I enjoyed the style and layout of the memoirish essay, "My Old Black Band Shirt", by Joseph Sutten-Holcomb. The poem of mine that appeared in here is called "The Japanese Garden." Interestingly enough, I was asked for revisions and came up with a new version that I feel is closer to the mark than the submitted version. They didn't use this revision, so I'm gonna shop the new one around elsewhere. In other words, I'm not ready to post it here. You can find the zine around the University of Washington, and a few of the pieces within at http://oag.org/category/uwruckus/

Next up, we have Issue Six of Hoarse, titled "Undercover." This book is tight. That is to say, this book is elegant. Passages are redacted, and the works within fit well with the theme. Basically, great design work and great editing equals great success. Don't quite know where you can get a copy, but they sell previous editions here.

 I've made edits to "Super Position" as well, but they don't alter the poem in any profound way, so what the heck? Might as well toss it up on the 'ol blog. Maybe it will entice you to seek out more poetry to read. Maybe it will nauseate you. Either way, I won't know unless you leave me comments. I'll just create a new post for it now, because I've rambled on enough.

Brilliant

In keeping with my abiding obsession with Doctor Who, I feel compelled to share with you this marvelous trailer celebrating The Doctor's upcoming 50th anniversary on television.  Enjoy it!  I know I did.




Via thelastwhovian on youtube

Submission continued

It's been almost exactly one year since I began submitting my fiction and poetry to various publications.  This morning, I found this in my inbox:

"Hi Seth,

We'd like to include your poem 'The Japanese Garden' in our next issue of Ruckus!"

As Dale Gribble would say: "Shuh-sha!"

The letter continues, asking for a revision of the second stanza.  I am stoked that some stranger gave a close enough reading of the piece to see the need for this, but slightly stumped as to what to do about it.  I'll think of something though.

Ruckus is a local publication, run by students of the University of Washington.  You can read PDFs of past issues here.  I am intrigued to learn how my humble poem about grandmothers and frogs will fit in with the tone of the publication, and also excited.  Once the new issue is out, I'll repost the link and we can all find out.

In the meantime, I've got some revising to do.

A year in books

I've been getting some good reading done on the bus this year.  Among the books I've read and enjoyed:

Mason & Dixon, by Thomas Pynchon

This was my first literary undertaking of the year, and took me a couple months to finish.  It's a tome.  It's also classic Pynchon.  And yes, it is a historical novel about the less than celebrated astronomers and surveyors, who trekked across the continent of North America for no better reason than that's what they were getting paid to do.  This book stands out from other Pynchon novels because it's the most fun.  They sled through the mountains, they marvel at the wizardry of Benjamin Franklin, they smoke pot with George Washington.  They seriously funk with the feng shui of our developing nation.  Good times.  This is a book for people who want to spend a lot of time on a book and be rewarded their efforts.  Fair warning, it's also about as crazy as guano.

Fresh off this high, I immediately headed right back to the Pynchon shelf at the library and snagged

Gravity's Rainbow, also by Thomas Pynchon
Everybody talks about how great this book is.  I don't know.  I couldn't finish it.  Baffling is the only word I can think of to describe it, but it's Pynchon, so duh.  I got bored with it and then distracted by

Christmas at the Orphanage by Bill Knott
Bill Knott is a great poet, and as rumor has it, a huge prick.  I read this book just about every day, and it continues to be great.  If you ever see anything by him in a bookstore, it will probably be used, cheap, and the best thing you ever bought.  I can't believe I got this collection of sonnets for free.

Edit: Bill Knott is not a prick!  See comments for a link to his poems.  Dedicated poets should commit some of these to memory.


Atomic Robo and the Deadly Art of Science, by Brian Clevinger and Scott Wegener
Deserves a mention, because I bought it, read it, loved it.  Yes, it is a comic book. Yes, I own the previous four volumes in the series, which have such illustrious guest stars as Carl Sagan, Nikolai Tesla, and the ghost of Rasputin.  These books are hilarious, elegant, and are a joy to read again and again.  Atomic Robo might be the reason comics were invented.  If you've ever thrown your fist in the air to declare the awesomeness that is science, then you best peep this series immediately.

A Dance with Dragons by George R.R. Martin
Either you know about this already or you don't care.  This one also took a while to complete.  It kinda dragged for the first half, by holy cow do things get cracking by the end.  Leaves you wanting more.

Thus Spake Zarathustra
Still working on this one.  Best taken in small doses, but there's a surprising amount of poetry in between pontification, and thats what keeps me coming back.

Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
 Satanic little book.  Stream of consciousness writing.  Lots of scene setting in the old west and Mexico, punctuated by short thematic dialogues and bursts of intense violence.  Bloody, disgusting, and bloody disgusting.  There were parts of it I loved, and parts I reread five times before giving up and turning the page.

Picture This by Joseph Heller
I read a poem by Kurt Vonnegut once that was about running into Joseph Heller at a party and asking him if it bothered him that people only talk about his first book.  I will not talk about that book here, because Picture This is the one I just finished reading and prompted this Year Review in Book Reviews in the first place.

I picked up this book for $3, used, because it intrigued me.  Now that I have finished it, it still intrigues me.  It is labeled as fiction right there on the spine, probably for lack of a better word.  It is a book about ancient Athens.  It is about the Dutch Republic during the time of Rembrandt.  It is about Rembrandt painting a picture of Aristotle Contemplating a Bust of Homer.  There are other things the book is about too, since it is essentially a book length essay that manages to connect themes of economics, politics, art, and philosophy from the time of Socrates, through history, and up to the very minute the book was published in 1988.  Straight up fascinating.  But don't take my word for it!


Ba dum bum!

That's my year in books so far.  I still have time for one or two more!  Any suggestions?

Submission

I've starting at the end of march this year, I've been submitting poems and stories to various print and online journals*. So far, I have received nothing but rejection letters. Yesterday, however, I received the most motivational rejection letter yet:

"Greetings. Thanks for submitting, as well as for your patience in awaiting our reply. We, as a staff, spent time reading and discussing your submission, which delayed our response somewhat, but also allowed us to give it the attention it deserves.

I'm sorry to say that after our discussion, we have decided not to accept your work for publication. However, there were quite a few favorable comments made, supporters of your work speaking up on its finer points.

We do wish you the best of luck placing this elsewhere and hope you do try us again when you have something."

I hope that's not a form letter. Its not so bad even if it is a form letter. While my work is not yet being published, at least someone it reading it. According to this letter it had to be discussed! Awesome!

I am happy to get these kind of rejections. Of course it would be better to get some contracts for publication instead, so I guess I've accumulated enough rejections at this point to do some heavy revision and make sure my product is quality.

*Most publishers will only accept previously unpublished work, which accounts for the lack of posts of new work on this blog, and has absolutely no connection to laziness or neglect.

Barding through Pamphlets

As my summer job was winding down last year I thought to myself "I need to create additional sources of income for myself. I sure would like to be able to make money off my writing somehow..."

That is how I became a pamphleteer. It's actually really fun to create your own series of chapbooks. I had enough material to produce five different chapbooks, three short stories and two poetry collections. After finding the cheapest printing available in my area I printed out about twenty copies of each, all told. Possibly more, though it's difficult to remember now. The cost of doing this was low. The plan was to sell the stories and the large poetry collection for five dollars each and the small poetry pamphlet for a dollar.

Plans change. I found quite early on in this endeavor that selling my work was much harder than giving it away. To most people on the street, the idea of paying to read something is offensive or stupid, or stupidly offensive. I'd ask people if they like like to read, and many of them simply replied "No, I'm illiterate." I think most of the strangers that paid for my pamphlets assumed I was homeless. In the end I was satisfied if I was able to cover the cost of printing the pamphlets.

You might think that this turned out to be a profitless exercise. You might be right. I certainly took my time coming to this conclusion, but I have also noticed some unexpected benefits of carrying around a stack of strange stories.

For example, you may have heard of the Seattle Freeze. In theory, this is a physical principal that prevents native Seattleites from being friendly or rude towards one another. Many out of towners complain that any "howdy" or smile, or even rude gesture proffered to a stranger on the street is invariably met with an indifferent gazing in the opposite direction. This is mostly true, except on the bus. You always thank the bus driver for the ride or you are an asshole.

So having a stack of things you want to share is a good way to introduce yourself to strangers around town, as long as you don't lead with your stream of consciousness poetry pamphlet. Strangely enough, it turns out that almost everybody is from out of town. I wonder what that says about the Seattle Freeze? That it's an import? I don't know.

If you don't charge, you will find that there are enough people interested in reading something new around town to make the whole thing worthwhile. Other unexpected plums manifested in the form of four edited manuscripts ready to submit for publication by reputable presses and not RAMS copy center. Even the scorned stream of consciousness collection found a surprising niche: Bums love it.

No kidding. I will sometimes give a bum a cigarette, or a quarter, and I am well aware of how little giving a bum anything is going to help their situation. Something I also became aware of is that transient life is boring and repetitive. All day long you make faces at strangers who mostly seem disgusted by you, and you guilt or charm them into giving you money, which you might spend to quell the gurgling in your gut or the pounding in your temples, and then an hour later the gurgling, the pounding returns. At night, the same pine cone jabs you in the back every time you move, and the most exciting part of your day is if you get robbed or arrested.

Enter "Sunday, Seattle" a small unassuming pamphlet that fits nicely in my front pocket. When asked for change, I'd give the asker a copy of the pamphlet, and warn them that the whole thing is for entertainment purposes only. As I've said, I've given out change and cigarettes before, but the gratitude in return for these acts is always minimal and then you will be asked for something else, something larger. These pamphlets brought genuine smiles to the lips of those homeless folks who read them, and genuine gratitude as well. I was not expecting that, but it's a good deal for everyone concerned I think. I should print up more.

As a side note, I should mention that Pamphleteering WILL NOT get you chicks. Fair warning.

More mash ups

Mashing up someone else's words is similar to the editing process you might go through on a piece of writing of your own. You take the parts you like, and you experiment with moving them around in different places. In my case, this fact was made all the more clear when I heard a mash-up my friend Jay did of three of my poems. I thought the result was much closer to the mark in terms of my own poem, and gave me some ideas of revisions I could do. You can see the mash-up Jay made here. I'm going to post the revision I made later, but first I'd like to point out that it is this type of shared creative process that I thrive on, and I think having other people around to help and inspire you is about as good as it gets. Anyhow, here's the draft that Jay used for his mash-up. It's a riddle, and I'm pretty sure I did a lousy job, because in this draft I don't really think there are enough clues to guess what I'm getting at. Can you guess? Here it is:

I am the worm.
My life occurs in cycles, from birth
as egg to blind hermaphrodite to death,
I'd eat my own tail if knew which end
of me was my head.

I am the star of a recent
film, Discover Earth, in which
I am shown chewing through
an apple. A worm
shaped halo of rot
trails after me, a seam, a worm
shaped tracer of a worm
reveals where I've been.

If you want to know
where I am going, it's easy.
Cut the film, place the frames back
to back, a stack laid on
its side, a tube, a worm shaped apple
I'm crawling through.

The film becomes the apple,
the apple becomes the worm.
Dissect it, within one cut
you can see what my annelid eyes cannot,
the fixed picture, stuck in a slice of film,
the poor solitary segment thinks he's me.

Which is almost true. I feel what he feels,
but I'm all allegory and he is almost real.

Mash up

I will preface this by saying that the choice to use these words was not entirely mine. Every word in the following poem is taken from one of three poems by a friend of mine. I didn't use every word from her three poems, but I did pick ones I like and organize them in my own way. This raises some interesting questions about originality, although none of these questions is new. How original do the following words sound to you?

Photo Factory: Mules Wanted

This friday, everyone you know
will feel comfortable. Worst part:
They almost believe it's possible.

The mime has an imaginary life,
robs airports at night. His heart holds
winter one month, another one moon,
he still hasn't kept his saddles smooth.

Lizard skin begins to steam.

A terrible black creature trumpets
bible seeds all over your bearskin,
lights a cigarette. Protect your headdress
please. Death comes to a rabbit.

Slipping in underground scorpion pools
kills the most baby. Break down your
molecules to a great big silken loose
lazy firetruck, or everything is darkness,
maybe.

I'm feeling butter this afternoon, mamma bear.

The voice of the Sea wounds you
because prowling dreams come with it.
Nervous laughter at the bedside, like
breath stolen from a wood spirit.

Oh supernatural snake eater, serve me.

Part of the mind is faithful,
but the blood keeps lingering ghosts.
All's up with that, sure,
I'm down if not for don't.

A double brain, descended from seeds
can learn Iriqoui and Cantonese,
remind you to gut the whalemeat.

This is the most confusing scene in the act:
Two brothers disrobe.
We find out that one of them
is in fact Robert de Niro.

Turnip, turnip, turnip, turnip,
turnip, turnip, turnip.

Screen your pie before going to Brazil.
Daughter knows teepee life is difficult,
but it's harder in the garden, like
a hummingbird in heat.
Turkish souls don't sleep.

The Curse of Duncan Carbunkle Production Stills

Always wear a mask for safety










Don't get sloppy, Alan









Director Seth Wessel-Estes lays down some science










An awesome crew








Act one of the movie has essentially been shot. Here's a photo of me on set. As an AC/PA it is my duty to cater to the demands of our DP's, which sometimes involves getting dirt out of their carpet.

A review of "Reality Hunger" by David Shields

“Reality Hunger: A Manifesto” comes out next month.

In telling the origin story of this book, David Shields begins by describing the household of his childhood, where journalism is the ruling religion.

David Shields began his career in writing with three works of fiction. Reality Hunger is anything but. Is it essay? Is it prose poetry? Is it a collage or confession?

Yes.

Is there a narrative?

Yes. The narrative in Reality Hunger is the story of literature through the ages and up to the modern day, with it's modern dilemmas. It is also the story of the author's own struggle with writing and language throughout his life.

Some quotations from the book and David Shields himself:
“All art is theft.”, “Art is not truth. It is a lie that enables us to recognize the truth.”, “There is no way that a non-fiction work is 'true'.”

Reality Hunger is constructed from a series of numbered paragraphs organized according to theme and random flashes of inspiration. Shields did not write many, if not most of these paragraphs. As the scissors and paste man, however, he can take credit for the subtext inserted between each passage.

In Reality Hunger, you will find citations for all quoted passages in very tiny type. This is in the interest of legality, and against the author's will.

More quotes from the author: “I want the reader to experience that uncertainty.”, “The reader not being able to tell who is saying what.”, “Don't read the footnotes or I'll come after you.”

If Reality Hunger can be said to come from anywhere, it would not be from a desire to lay the facts out flat. The facts presented in this book may conflict with one another or magnify each other until a rich texture of thought pushes out and away from anything you've read before.

There is an urgency to Reality Hunger that can't be ignored. If you can imagine reading “Les Miserables” or “Moby Dick” with all the plot cut out and cast aside, perhaps you can imagine reading this book.

“Fiction is meaningless.”, “Novels are often so languorious as to be catatonic.”, “You're wasting my time.”

What do you get when you cut plot from a novel? You get a series of ideas, and a ton of questions. In the case of Reality Hunger, these questions come with high stakes. What is reality? Why do artists try so hard to preserve reality or truth in their works? How can they even begin without knowing what truth is?

Reality Hunger is the screen. David Shields is the magic lantern. In this theater, are you the rapt audience member in the front row, or the old man asleep in the back? Or somewhere in between?

Legend has it that Werner Heisenberg was once pulled over by a cop. “Do you know how fast you were going?” asked the cop. “No,” said Heisenberg, “but I know where I was.”

One interpretation of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle is that by his very presence, the observer alters what is observed. This interpretation has little to do with quantum physics, but it's an interesting idea.

I can't tell you what you will experience when reading Reality Hunger. I am trying to tell you what I experienced.

“I was bored to death writing fiction.”, “I found my life raft.”, “If you want to get on my bus, here we go.”

"Each Eternal I Turned In" a response to Robert

Here's the piece I'm responding to.

Here's my response.

Each Eternal I Turned In

Overheard on the bus:
"The complex structure of life
does not exist to override entropy."
I'm not sure what that meant, although
I asked the person sitting next to me
who shrugged, saying: "I'm a smart
architect. I know it's not this
simple, and yet I see my lust
for structure echoed everywhere.
What does that suggest?"

Effortless, we fall from text
to subtext, flaking away layer
by layer, a stack
of printed papers, a plate
of frosted glass, shattered.
Even as the axe severs synapse
from synapse, a phantom hand
rests behind the neck.

Doctor Who is Santa Clause

More Dreams!

Part II of demonstrating that miraculous gift, that of dream interpretation! I know you're all excited, and proud of me for starting a thread and actually following up on it later, so here goes:

Faceless Entities

Oftentimes, the Dreamer will experience a situation in which many of the people they are interacting with do not have any details on their faces. Reports of this occurrence range from faces with indistinct or metamorphic features to instances where the face is entirely featureless. One hypothesis is that if one such faceless entity plays a large role in a dream, you are actually interacting with your guardian angel. Another hypothesis postulates a dreamer may simply not be able to remember the faces of the dream, as with many of the details which are forgotten upon waking. A recent study has shown the frequency of this type of dream may be increased if the test subject has been exposed, directly prior to sleep, to a dozen or so episodes of COPS.

The key thing to remember is that anybody without a face should not be trusted. For whatever reason they are attempting to conceal their identity, the probability of their good nature is outweighed by the possibility of malicious intent. Even if one such character approaches you claiming to be a representative of a research team in charge of finding out how many people are willing to trust someone without a face and they are offering you money to participate in the study, be on your guard. This person is a stranger to you, and as such should not be allowed any access to your personal information until you get to know them better i.e. until they show you their face. If, however, they are smokin’ hot, all bets are off.

Grand Canyon

These are not good dreams. I don’t care if you had a blast dreaming of whitewater rafting or of an illicit rendezvous with John Denver, if the Grand Canyon appears to you in a dream it can only mean that you are about to lose a loved one. My advice: If you don’t know what the Grand Canyon looks like, that’s going to make it harder to dream about. It is speculated that through the power of hypnotic suggestion one might be able to avoid the subject of the Grand Canyon altogether by forgetting that there even is such a thing. Studies, however, have been inconclusive on account of the test subjects all being called away at the crucial time to deal with the death of a friend, or a pet if they don’t have any friends. Studies were halted after just ten of these occurrences, the lab ultimately issuing a two sentence report: Do not fool with the Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon does not like to fool around.


See? Interpreting dreams is easy! You just pick an image, experience, or metaphor, and then make stuff up about it! It's exactly like writing a research paper!