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I write poems mostly
because I hate mowing
the lawn or shovelling
snow and so I never learned
how to build character.

(#nobot, they/them)

its like reading a more verbose/coherent because its verbose Lispector, but the ruminations are more external than intetnal.
started reading "Miss Macn'intosh, My Darling," Marguerite Young's 1300 page midwestern metaphysical opium dream walkabout with sentences longer than Walt Whitman's poetry (all of it) and descriptions ranging from lengthy to encyclopedic and encyclopedic it is as Young ambles leisurely though associations, metaphor, images, relations and contrasts and to be honest we start on a bus and its only a few pages later and i dont know if the bus is still there or not

i just remembered i dreamt once meeting a woman in the morning and then other stuff and then again later and she apparently the whole day was bothered that i said i didnt like David Hume because thats who she was doing her PhD on and then proceeded to tell me why Hume is worthwhile

meanwhile back in reality i havent read Hume yet and i want to so what the hell am i trying to tell myself here

i dont think Kanye West's "Runaway" holds up in 2018.
@JWeaverWrites
Sames. I wrote like 30 or so in July (when I was taking an informal workshop), and havent had a real burst since. (however only two I think were salvageable into something decent, so it balances out i guess)

Auerbach also rides hard on DQ's madness to the point of invalidating anything that happens in the novel to be of DQ's actual design or influence. That is, the events in the inn where at least three couples are reconsiled and lots of people are made legitimately happier due to DQ, none of that matters. Nor is DQ's standing up for Marcela (who recall, already spoke up for herself eloquently) against the fuckboy shepherds meaningful.

No Auerbach. You are wrong.

Reading through Erich Auerbach's essay 'The Enchanted Dulcinea' and noting every time i disagree with him. E.g.

"To find anything serious, or a concealed deeper meaning in this scene, one must violently overinterpret it"

BRUH you just spent 8 pages interpreting AFTER 2 pages fully quoting the scene.

everything else is weird vestigial 1953 modern criticism that believes its tone to be objectively correct and better.

What I Read: We Have Always Lived In The Castle, by Shirley Jackson

What I Expected: Spooky-but-not-really Americana that's almost YA or Horror genre (it was in the horror section when i bought it).

What I Got: REALLY INTENSE PTSD-HEAVY PLOT, HELLA DEVELOPED CHARACTERS, FEMINIST CRITIQUES, EVERYTHING IS SAD ALWAYS, TERRIBLE REALITIES, LITERAL TEARS

holy fuck what a novel. ive heard tell that some folk say this is their favorite and i believe it. its so upsetting but good

Literary Mag: We publish anybody, PhD, or high school drop out. It don't matter.

Every poet bio they publish: MFA, MFA, MFA, fifteen appearances of work, MFA, MFA, MFA candidate MFA, editor, MFA, contributing editor and MFA, MFA

just finished checking in all 162 (apparently) of my poems to RCS. which means that i lightly glanced at and cleaned up 100+ poems. and still theres only maybe 4 good ones. heck yeah, four solid poems.