Wow, hi, allergies. Is it bad out there today, or what?

EXTRA FAST GUARANTEED

On Friday, May 16th - 7:30 p.m.

at Canessa Gallery
708 Montgomery Street in San Francisco

Stacy Doris, Jibade-Khalil Huffman, Michael Nicoloff, and Kate Schatz

will read for your pleasure and in celebration of the publication of Jibade-Khalil Huffman's 19 Names for Our Band, just out from Fence Books.

Vital Stats:

Stacy Doris's books written in English include Cheerleader's Guide to the World : Council Book, Knot, Conference, Paramour, and Kildare. Written in French are Parlement and, semi-anonymously, La vie de Chester Steven Wiener écrite par sa femme and Une année à New York avec Chester. She has co-edited three collections of French poetry translated by American poets; among them, with Chet Wiener, is Christophe Tarkos: Ma Langue est Poétique--Selected Work.

Jibade-Khalil Huffman was born in Detroit and raised in Florida. He is the author of 19 Names For Our Band (Fence Books, 2008). His poetry, fiction, and photography have appeared in Boston Review, Court Green, Canarium, NOON, and Encyclopedia among others. His awards include the 2004 Grolier Poetry Prize as well as fellowships from the Millay Colony for the Arts and the Ucross Foundation.

Michael Nicoloff is the author of the chapbook "Punks", which was put out in print form by Taxt Press in 2007 and can now be found on the website Deep Oakland (http://www.deepoakland.org/). His poetry and reviews have appeared in such fine publications as The Recluse, Mirage #4/Period(ical), The Orgasm Zine, and Traffic. Born and raised in Olympia, WA, he has hopped between coasts for the last several years. Right now, though, he lives on Alcatraz--the street--in Oakland, CA.

Kate Schatz lives in Oakland and is the author of Rid of Me: A Story, which is part of the 33 1/3 series. She is a founder and co-editor of The Encyclopedia Project, and she teaches writing at UC Santa Cruz and San Jose State. She's currently at work on a collection of stories called "Help You To See Forever Too" and an as-yet-to-be-named novel about electroshock therapy and Mary Baker Eddy. Kate likes the sun.

SPT's Aggression conference is shaping up to be interesting, I think.

Related: Bhanu Kapil now has a blog. See links.

I'm hesitant to post about this out of feeling that to do so is a bit too woe-is-me, but you know, I don't think I deserve this, and I need to say something. I don't think most people would accuse me of not being able to take criticism, but whatever actual criticism is embedded in what's been written is lost inside bilious personal attack. There have been comments here and there as to the speed of my reading at the (New) series that I have taken and am thinking about. I like speed as an effect--I'm a fan of the Tom Raworth/Miles Champion school, even though I don't think that at my quickest I'm nearly as fast as either one of them--but I nonetheless am hearing that it wouldn't be a half-bad idea to take it a notch or two slower next time, and well, that's probably right. Okay, good--that's criticism. But "unknown"? "Amateur"? Huh? I mean, really, what are the criteria for being "unknown" as a poet? If she means "unknown" within the poetry community, I don't think that's quite true nor do I think she's in a position to judge that, but if she means "unknown" in the larger world, wouldn't most poets qualify? What a strange attempt at a takedown. Insulting, yeah, but more bizarre than anything else.

As for the density of my work, well, that's a bigger question. It's not going to be everyone's cup of tea. The question of whether a non-"initiated" person or non-poet is going to get it, whether on the page or at a reading, is one that I think a lot of us "post-avant" (or whatever) poets struggle with, especially in an artistic context (in the U.S., at least) in which poetry is so low on the totem pole and in which so few people are in on it. What we do is a little bit ridiculous, but okay, we do it. I'm not going to discount someone's (poet or non) reaction to my work as them just not having the context or being primed to understand it; if s/he doesn't enjoy it, then s/he doesn't. I'm not even going to say that personal attacks are a strategy that shouldn't ever be used. But if you're going to make those kinds of attacks in a public forum like, ahem, the Internet, where (in the poetry world, at least) everything pretty much rises to the surface, then I think it behooves one to recognize that, oh, before I start shooting from the hip about something I might have a less-than-full understanding of, maybe I should recognize that there's going to be someone on the receiving end who might not take kindly to feeling like they're being treated carelessly. Maybe it's too much to ask to get some measured, responsible criticism in response to someone feeling as though I completely wasted 15(?) minutes of his/her life instead of a nasty screed (much as I do love those), but well, is it?

(For the record: "Spinoza" appears--"Spinoza-spitting" does not. "Nothing is real"--the lines are "my plants don't need / watering, they're not real.")

THANKS / WOW, AGAIN? SAVE THE DATE

Thanks is very much due to all of you who came out to 21 Grand last night for the reading. Thanks is very, very much due to Alli Warren and Brandon Brown for making this event happen and to Eileen Myles for her superb reading--I was very pleased to be her opening act.

But if you missed it and/or just can't get enough of me:

SAVE THE DATE

Friday, May 16, 7:30 p.m.--note non-normal day and time

Canessa Park
708 Montgomery, San Francisco

Jibade-Khalil Huffman, Stacy Doris, Kate Schatz, and Michael Nicoloff

Celebrating the release of Khalil's new book, 19 Names for Our Band, just out from Fence Books.

FYI: my artist statement for my reading in the (New) reading series is now up on their site. There will be no paper copy available at the reading, so, um, get it while it's hot.

FIRST REAL CONVERSATION THIS MORNING

I get off the bus to go to work, and I cross paths with a woman about a block later:

Woman: Do you want to be a doctor? Do you want to be a
doctor? Do you want to be a doctor?

Me: Nope.

Woman: Why?

I WILL NOW TRY MY BEST TO AMUSE YOU

Sunday the 20th of April in the year Two Thousand Eight, 6:30 pm

Eileen Myles & Michael Nicoloff

LIVE!

21 Grand
416 25th St
Oakland CA 94612

$3--$infinity sliding scale

EILEEN MYLES was born in Cambridge, MA in 1949. In 1974, she moved to New York, where she studied poetry with Paul Violi, Alice Notley and Ted Berrigan. Her latest book is Sorry, Tree in which she describes "some nature" as well as the transmigration of souls from the east coast to the west. Bust Magazine calls Myles "the rock star of modern poetry" and Holland Cotter in The New York Times describes her as "a cult figure to a generation of post-punk females forming their own literary avant garde." She has been a professor of writing at UCSD since 2002.

MICHAEL NICOLOFF is the author of the chapbook "'Punks,'" which was put out in print form by Taxt Press in 2007 and can now be found on the website Deep Oakland (www.deepoakland.org). His poetry and reviews have appeared in such fine publications as The Recluse, Mirage #4/Period(ical), The Orgasm Zine, and Traffic. Born and raised in Olympia, WA, he has hopped between coasts for the last several years. Right now, though, he lives on Alcatraz--the street--in Oakland, CA.

FUNNY

Wikipedia reveals that I have the same birthday as Lady Sov. Also Criss Angel (YES) and Alyssa Milano (remember Charmed? No, I mean, remember Charmed?).

While in the new Root Cellar when I was at Bard last weekend, that photo right there caught my eye. Hmm, who might they be? Let's take a closer look...

UH-OH!!!!!!

Though really, that Lil Wayne ad could use many levels of heroic-period semiotic media analysis stat. How about we bring back 1993 in that way, too?

Via Pitchfork via some other places. If anyone could return 1993-style straight male rap homoeroticism to the scene, and then hopefully take it up a notch and dispense with the homophobia, it would have to be Lil Wayne. Please, Weezie, keep going in the same vein as this condom ad. This is your next "damn right I kissed my [leather] daddy" in the making.

Here is the answer to your question.

Rachel wants more Mariah Carey, so that gives me an excuse to talk about this thought chain I had some morning last week or the week before or something like that that has nothing to do with Mariah Carey but goes a little something like this:



Which naturally led me to this:


THIS IS NOT AN IRONY HOLE. Ghost Town DJs--where did you go? Did you have to return to the ghost town? Where is the ghost town? According to Wikipedia, you are from Miami, which, given the dulcet tones of the booty bass, is not a surprise. More fake hi-hats. This is some serious loved-up club-vibe mainstream breakthrough shit. It not-quite-presages Ja Rule and Ashanti duets in spirit, even as it sounds nothing like them. I can see it going there.

Wikipedia's note that the song is "an invite by a female to a male suitor" seems to capture the low-drama come-on of the song (and "an invite by a female to a male suitor" is so VOG, detached-documentary style, like the song is being sung by a praying mantis or something--what's up, Wikipedia writers? You okay?). The lyrics do not conjure an image of the desperate; they're just stating a fact. Even when it's all "thinking about you constantly" or whatever, it's somehow matter-of-fact in delivery. I've been there; you have, too--let's hear it for the grown-up non-freak-out crush. But then again, the singer's also not going to go beyond that if that gentleman can't follow through: "These feelings I have for you/can go deeper if you can come/correct with your game, boy." That's like poetry. No things but in ideas, asshole. And way to go, 1996: Male-Female Booty-Bass Semi-Reciprocity 4-Ever. (Let's set the video aside for a second, although does anyone else think that there are moments that are kind of wholesome in a mid-90s block-party male-gaze kind of way? Weird.) Let's let the man on the bike have his verse, and we'll be all the way there. Fake-Hi-Hat Lust Partner Full Reciprocity 4-Ever.

(What ever happened to volleyball? Note Jermaine Dupri as ref. What's with the mysterious final shot? Was it all a dream?)