Incendiary Lit

Of course there’s a story behind this amazing piece of fictive nonfiction, a video essay if you will, and when bored it’s tough not to click on something titled “Absurd Reactions to Star Wars Episode One” even if just to laugh at crazy fanboys nerd-raging. This review had to have taken weeks to put together, is hilarious, and draws (through tiny fragments) a careful picture of such a likable serial murderer. He’s definitely more curmudgeon than Dexter Morgan, but it’s highly entertaining, and it is a close look at things like character development, story, and behind the scenes footage presumably form a special feature version of the movie. There is a lot of swearing so be forewarned.

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The Apples of Recollection
by Morri Creech

Once, stumbling into the twilight kitchen, drowsy, leaning above
the ripe fruit on the countertop, hearing only a moth thump
against the fluorescent light and a slight breeze swell the curtains,
I had a vision. There was a long path to the apple trees
my grandfather grafted when he was young. They shed their leaves
in the cold light. I walked there and found my father, twenty-six,
bent on a ladder, hoisting a half-full bucket toward the boughs.
The sunlight fell in columns through the biggest branches.
I knew somehow that my mother had been gone five months,
and still he picked apples for the pies she would never make.
One fell groundward and rolled toward my feet. I was sure
that if I picked it up, if I lifted it to my mouth and took a bite,
I would remember nothing of what I saw. And for a time,
there was nothing else, just that moment, a father busy at work
among the trees, picking the swollen apples no one would eat,
and his child beneath him, holding the one piece of fruit
he was strictly forbidden, for memory’s sake, to taste. All of this,
I knew, might pass through the gates of ivory in an instant.
And then I woke. I stood there alone in the fluorescent light
of the present, in the kitchen, holding the unbitten apple in my palm.

—

Indiana Review rocks. They’re one of the few magazines that actively keep an eye on their subscription list, and updated my address! What a wonderful surprise to get the newest IR in my mailbox. I’d been wrapped up in the Ultra-Talk issue of TriQuarterly, so definitely a slight change of pace, and perhaps it has something to do with the juxtaposition of the two journals over the holiday break, or maybe because I have a soft spot in my heart for a poem of my own, about a vision of my father and a piece of fruit. So, universality or coincidence? The Indiana Review liked it enough to print it, I was drawn back to this poem a number of poems while flipping haphazardly through the journal, so, anyone? What do ya think? You can’t deny that “Twilight Kitchen” and “in the fluorescent light of the present” sound sweet. Yes, they produce saccharin synesthesia. Anyway, subscribe to the Indiana Review. This issue’s cover looks very nice too, and they don’t have it online yet, so tah-dah. Here we go.

Teacher’s Lament

by Alan Dugan

The sidewalk says,
in chalk, that he
loves her. What a joke.

So fall is here
again and school
forces the issue: to sow

at harvest. It sits
the sexes side by side
to learn the mysteries

as if they could. Then
they can drive out
on first cold Friday nights

to learn their first delights,
pay later, and dream love.

—

Yes. It’s fall again. And what says fall like fallible youths?

Found this gem researching a project about Choose Your Own Adventure Novels. And Jessica found the following on Cracked.

 A quote from David Mamet’s essay “Hearing the Notes That Aren’t Played” about a certain trend/type of writing.

 Yes, it is true that life would be better if we were all a little kinder, and it is true that paint splattered in the air will fall to the ground. Both are true,but who would have suspected that they were notable?

which reminds me of a little selection from “James Dickey’s Dream” by David Kirby:

…………………….that makes me think of the remark
Jane Smiley made about how much better it would be

if American literature had sprung from Uncle Tom’s Cabin
instead of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
and Roy Blount, Jr.’s reply that that’s like saying
it would be better for people to come from heaven
than from sex.

Why? The two quotes are related, but I flipped through House on Boulevard Street like a madman til I found the quote which is follow (and preceded) by the idea of mimicry and homage. Coincidence? Heck yeah. But probably influenced by little memory ticks from studying the (Kirby) poem.

And now for something completely different. (borderline nsfw, but in a good way)

The Smiles of the Bathers

The smiles of the bathers fade as they leave the water,
And the lover feels sadness fall as it ends, as he leaves his love.
The scholar, closing his book as the midnight clock strikes, is hollow
and old:
The pilot’s relief on landing is no release.
These perfect and private things, walling us in, have imperfect and
public endings–
Water and wind and flight, remembered words and the act of love
Are but interruptions. And the world, like a beast, impatient and
quick,
Waits only for those who are dead. No death for you. You are
involved.

by Weldon Kees

–

The consumption by a project is a feeling I am altogether too familiar with, as are many people. The energy and excitement of that to-the-instant occupation, whether its the currency of a breast stroke, or in the swimmer’s case a flutter kick, the loss of that occupation allows the mind to settle back into the inevitabilities of life which is why on my IRS form I just wrote: No taxes, writing!

This was a sequence of Facebook wall posts that someone posted on CollegeHumor, that I wasn’t sure why I was reading, exactly, until the end. There are a few different reasons why this could seem so funny to me, and I’m not sure which is the real reason. Read to the end, is all I’m saying. It’s not long.

Oh no my geek is showing!

There’re a ton of ‘best of’ Jimmy Kimmel’s segments of unnecessarily censorship on youtube, and I’m retarded so I just stumble on them after re-fixating on the censored count. So here’s a nice long (that’s what she said) ‘Best of’ Compilation

And here’s their wn compilation of Sesame Street clips, the Come and Play edition.

The Sour Aftertaste of Dinner

by Richard Fein

The couple that was at the next table wore wedding rings, surely they were once in love.
But were they still soul mates or just two souls sitting side by side.
Menus covered their faces, avoiding the eye-to-eye.
The waiter took their orders and while they waited each kept behind a paperback novel.
From soup to salad to entree there was silence and neither shared from the other’s plate.
They both skipped desert so nothing sweet was on their table.
Only when their bill was being paid did their hands touch, accidently
They apologized, actually apologized to each other.
And as we watched, our own romance cooled to lukewarm.
But somewhere, sometime, on our way home,
we looked at each other and our eyes screamed not us, not us,
as we kissed deeply to wash away the sour aftertaste of dinner.
–

322 Review is the literary journal published by Rowan University’s MFA program. They publish 4 online issues, and 2 print issues (though the first print issue is the only one out yet. The next print issue deadline is August 15th, and electonic submissions are preferred at submissions@322review.org (up to 3 poems, each not to exceed 36 lines / Fiction up to 6k words, or 3-750 word stories, or you can tack a short-short onto a regular story in a submission). They also sound very open to mixed media work and hypertextual documents. Check out the website and see if its your cup of tea. I also really liked the poem Misplaced by Jill Jones. I had to read the line “placed after before / in the evening” a few times to get it, but I liked that. The method mirrored in the content of the poem. Or the other way around, whichever it is, it made me think a bit. A great indication of their ecclectic tastes when compared to the more straightforward Fein poem.

But the month is very, very young. But here’s a link if you’re bored. Follow Iamzeb on twitter to read my daily <140 character poems. Message me if you want to try the exercise of writing a poem a day that fits in the twitter format, and I’ll follow you.

That isn’t a real name. It sounds dumb, but if someone heard a rollerblader talking about their Full Truespin Fishbrain, which actually is a trick/spin combination, they’d think someone hit their head, and it may be true. But yeah, If anyone who stumbles on this post and feels like following me on twitter (IamZeb) to read my daily (or more frequently) posted twitter poems, by all means do it. If you too want to join in on the month’s exercise, send a message @iamzeb or whatever you do, so I can follow you and read your poems as well. Get a little network going.

Why a Twitter poem?

Why than you for asking. I personally think Twitter is kind of silly. I, personally, don’t need minute to minute updates on someone across the country petting their cat (then FEEDING it!). However, the Paper Hearts challenge to write a twitter poem struck an ‘exercise’ note for me. I’m not entirely sure why, but I flashed back to a class I took with Steve Kowit at Southwestern (if you’re in San Diego, DO IT! While you can at least, there’ve been rumors that Kowit may be retiring, and that will be a sad, sad day for the San Diego Poetry community) about the American Sentence.

What is an American Sentence?

Why I’m glad you asked that. Look it up. Or just take my word that it’s a poetic form originated by Allen Ginsberg as an adaptation of the Haiku to a more ‘American’ form of consumption: all at once.

What?

A prose-haiku. Listen already. An American Sentence is a 17 syllable prose poem. A (for lack of a better name) twitter poem will have to be 140 characters or less. Similar, eh? Why not. A variation of an American Sentence from syllabics to character length (remember, that includes spaces and punctuation).

What do I do?

Go to Twitter and start an account (quick process) or sign into you account. Send me a tweet *gag* [if you want to take part in the little Incendiary Lit Twitter Poem Month, updating whenever you feel like, but keep your poetics in mind. I really don’t care if you went to the grocery store unless you see Mark Twain poking among the meats in the refrigerator.] or just follow me for a little reading now and then in case you get bored, or to perhaps help spark a poem of your own, regardless of form.

I can’t help it. I like Michael Cera. His innate awkwardness and comic timing is segueing nicely into a slightly smoother, awkwardness. But in a good way. Come on, he’s George Michael! Anyway, there’s a new movie coming out called Paper Hearts. It’s Michael Cera and his real life girlfriend Charlyne Yi in a romantic comedy. Though, from the trailer it seems to shy away from Get Over It territory and more into a bit of EdTV/tinged with Eternal Sunshine vibe. But, I could be reading way too much into the trailer.

Regardless of the movie entirely, there is a free contest. Details here. At Rotten Tomatoes. Wheeeeeeeee! Its to write a 140 character love poem (tweetable- and indeed submitted via twitter) and to follow the directions at Rotten Tomatoes. Michael and Charlyne will be picking their favorite, and a number of other winners. The grand prize is a trip to the Paper Hearts premiere. Woot. Free vacation! Here’s a trailer for the movie. Have fun.

OK, so Roland Emmerich is making the Foundation series. Yes, Isaac Asimov’s great, sweeping and complete arc of narrative is being remade by Roland Emmerich, recent creator of 10,000 BC and Independence Day, but also The Thirteenth Floor (A muuuuuch lesser known, but very enjoyable film). The problem with this is the hand of subtlety. I would drool at a Darren Aronfsky version of Foundation (<3 The Fountain). Please, Roland, defer to Aronofsky or at least hire him as a consultant. The Fountain’s aesthetics, and his narrative style is perfect for the fragmentation of the Foundation tale. The characters will inevitably change. People hate when actors change if the story doesn’t explain why this new chapter (so many years later) must be the next chapter, everyone will bitch and bitch about the change in actors. People love the familiar, and must really be worked away from it by compelling pathos and likeable charcters.

Again, I plead to those adapting a work I love: HIRE ME! I write and edit fast, and take notes well. Also, I have grandiose dreams of someday being a writer/director and a great deal of patience.

Geocaching slightly confused me when I saw an ad on Seattle’s craig’s list for writers wanted. Geo= Earth. Caching= hiding stashes of something? Well, it turns out that that is exactly what it is. Kind of like a mix between Where’s George and a modern treasure hunt for anyone with access to a GPS device. People hide ‘geocaches’ whereever they feel like, and record the GPS coordinates on websites like Geocaching.com for others to find it. Why? Well, why not? Why do anything that doesn’t feel, clothe or shelter yourself? For fun. Geocaches usually contain a log for those who find it to log their discvery, and mini treasures, which are for the taking (with a deposit of similar value for the next hunter.) Some people include special prizes for FTF (first to find) and others include items like Travel Bugs, with additional instructions for those willing to take the bug to specified global locations.

Companies get into it too. Jeep conducted a geocaching event awhile back, which is what this travel bug is from.

I checked Geocaching to see if there were any caches near, I gave a 20 mile radius, because I figured if they were farther, I’d be much too lazy to go seek them out. Luckily, there were hundreds. One within 500 feet of my address. So if you’re ever bored, grab a gps ready device (many phones now have navigator type functions) and go find (or bury) some treasure.

Here is the link to Esquire’s Summer Fiction Contest.

The titles are:

1. “Twenty-Ten”

2. “An Insurrection”

3. “Never, Ever Bring This Up Again”

SO WRITE!!!

It’s simple enough for anyone who’s familiar with the Firestarter Exercises. Titles is a good exercise because of its ambiguity. A while ago NPR issued a challenge to fiction writers to write a story that included the image of a wedding cake in the middle of the road. Richard Bausch’s Tandolfo the Great introduced me to the collection NPR put together. It’s a fun assignment to try to work to your own whims.

HOORAY!!!

The program sounds really nice, its an Income Based Repayment (hence IBR) for student loans, which also forgives loans after 25 years, so you won’t be paying for your college textbooks with your social security (if that’s still around). So yeah, very exciting news for so many people, that their income calculator was overwhelmed and crashed temporarily. But it will be back soon.

That pretty much sums it up. It’s a stereotype, of course, but a funny one. Here’s the link to the article on College Humor and here is the first picture… can you tell? Science Fiction Writer or Crazy Person?

Craig Ferguson kind of reminds me of an older version of a young Conan, only funnier. As I slowly make my way toward finally writing a movie I’ve been making a little mental list of people I would really, really like to work with, even just in cameos. Craig Ferguson is one of them.

Read it here.

Although from the review’s tagline “a remembrance of how movies used to suck” tips the hat of the tone of his review, nothing sums up what he thinks of the movie better than an early simile “[Year One]’s like walking in the rain under an umbrella made of dog shit.” He does not like what he perceives as movie cliches, and isn’t shy about expressing that feeling of disgust. Check out his site, lots of hilarious and terribly honest reviews of movies fro the last decade(ish).