“to your attack, climb in”
- baudelaire
fucking weekends with literature.
honestly, i never though
i’d say this, but i could
not give less of a damn
about music. & it was my
entire life for like the first
28 years. not to date myself,
but none of that matters.
music helped me understand
the world in the same way
poetry and literature do now.
so that music (rap, specifically)
taught me how to learn how to learn
is something that makes me
an endentured servent to it
forever. but honestly i’ve moved on,
i’ve always written, so this is
a natural progression. and i still want
to finish some rap songs with my
big homey victor. maybe another
FPC song with rachel on it. but, otherwise,
i just want to get through this charles
bernstein book, i want rachel to give up
the copy i bought her of all the garbage of
the world unite for her birthday so i can read
it and so she can get started on
the network so i can then read that
and i can finish bernstein and baudelaire’s paris spleen
and maybe she will like those like she liked
mina loy and gertrude stein, but at least for now
literature is all i want. i listen to cubs games
on my ipad, watch them when i can, but even
that has taken a grave step back from literature.
it’s weird but totally easily recognizable as
the supposed to happen progression
from being a kid to being almost a grown up,
like the britney spears song. only i don’t have
a vagina. whatever that means. for whatever
its worth rachel and i basically listen to lana del rey
and kanye west/jay-z, if anything. and it works.
i’m not chasing some 15TB external hard drive
race to fill the whole thing with mediafire downloads
game like i used to when i ran goldenhymn.blogspot.com
and some other download sites.
meh. things just shuffle about. & so on.
winksies.
if i have recently followed your blog, it is because you hash tagged one or more of the following:
-franz kafka (who i was reluctant to search because of popularity — the reason i didn’t tag search david foster wallace, unfortunately — and the way in which people just shit themselves to be associated with the term kafkaesque, inexplicably)
- gertrude stein
- ariana reines
- joyelle mcsweeney
- ron silliman
- fence books
- charles bernstein
- john barth
- baudelaire
- rimbaud (again, reluctantly, and i can already tell a few follows will get cut from the team soon enough)
- heather christle
- mina loy
…
next up we’re gonna get more gritty, probably searching writers like sebald, hollebecq, george oppen, robert creeley, the author of all the garbage of the world unite! (if rachel ever responds to my query), nick demeske, john ashbery, c.a. conrad, carlos fuentes, cesar aira, pynchon, robert walser, andre gide, georges bernanos, bolano, thomas bernhard, david markson, john williams, maybe nabokov, stefan zweig, peter nadas, malcolm lowry, borges, pound, definitely not tao lin because fuck that guy, foucault, pushkin, robert lowell, william t vollman, robert anton wilson, walter benjamin, susan sontag, coetzee, robert coover, javier marias, clarice lispector, andre breton, julian gracq, chekhov, dylan thomas, william gaddis, william h gass, bruno schultz, enrique vila-matas, cortazar, motherfucking charlotte perkins gilman, matthea harvey, peter gizzy, scalapino, marjorie perloff, buckminster fuller, paul virilio, feynman, william carlos williams, norman mailer, georges perec, dan beachy-quick, samuel beckett, katherine larson, bob hicok, alicia ostriker, kay ryan, maybe proust, joyce, cormac mccarthy, milan kundera, faulkner, nabokov, and dostoevsky. george w.s. trow. special shoutout to no f. scott fitzgerald but for sure michael silverblatt.
that should do for now.
any one got any other bright ideas?
edited, of course