Monday, June 28, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Warning: political level severe, but give me a sec & I'll be co-opted
I'm going to get to my first chapter, "Vampire orgies in high school hallways with a glittery glee club and baby bumps," soon. I promise.
First, I gots to tell you what I gots to work into my sell-out novel:
I was FBing cos I'm a dork like that, & I just can't stop. Plus, I'm in the Alabamas & if I want to have an intelligent convo or even sex, I gots to look to the Internets. (Cyber, in the case of sex, even mere dirty talk at this point will do.) Sad. But, I posted a Yahoo News article (sadder still, maybe) on said FB about the G20 protests and this Yahoo article stated, "Ontario's provincial government quietly passed a regulation earlier this month allowing police to arrest anyone who refuses to show identification or submit to searches if they come within five meters (five yards) of a security fence," which I am going to work into sd sell out novel. I am going to love that fence. I am going to wrap myself around it and rub on it and purr and lick it cos I love security. National security at any cost, in any way, makes me hot. Yes. When the threat level goes up a notch, I start taking off my clothes and sweet-talking strange men. When they start taking away the anarchists in unmarked police cars, I go out cruising the Alabamas side roads for strange men I can pick up. Usually they're men who are tending the lawns of the rich. It's kind of Lady Chatterly's Lover except it involves a security fetish and no Lady and just me cruising by in a hybrid wannabe asking workers if they wanna fuck.
In my sell out novel, I may even include a police or FBI or Mounty persona asking anarchic assholes for their ids & if they don't have them I will have said hero/heroine statesperson club and pepper spray and tear gas and spread eagle them and when they can't find anything they will spreadeagle and fist them some more...
But, back to my FB story:
Said news article is gone from my FB post. How does that even happen? In its place, there's an article about those goddamned anarchists: "Vandals mar summit protests in Toronto." This isn't the article I posted. I'm easily co-opted though, so I agree that those anarchists are marring the protests. Don't the protesters know they need to stay far away from the actual G20 Summit? The people in power don't need to hear from the little people. The people in power are very smart and will make good decisions and we'll all be happy even though our potable water is set to dry up in less than 100 years and scientists are predicting humans will become extinct but what the fuck do I care cos Little Debbies are still only less than 2 bucks a piece. And Wal-Mart has nice greeters. Shit, those Debbies are cheaper than my cheap wine and more filling.
Yum creamy middle. Yum anarchist fear. Yum workers' sweat. Yum yum.
I'm going to go watch whatever huge sports event I'm supposed to, now, or maybe the Kardashians cos Paris Hilton is so 2000.
Serializing soon,
Ry
First, I gots to tell you what I gots to work into my sell-out novel:
In my sell out novel, I may even include a police or FBI or Mounty persona asking anarchic assholes for their ids & if they don't have them I will have said hero/heroine statesperson club and pepper spray and tear gas and spread eagle them and when they can't find anything they will spreadeagle and fist them some more...
But, back to my FB story:
Said news article is gone from my FB post. How does that even happen? In its place, there's an article about those goddamned anarchists: "Vandals mar summit protests in Toronto." This isn't the article I posted. I'm easily co-opted though, so I agree that those anarchists are marring the protests. Don't the protesters know they need to stay far away from the actual G20 Summit? The people in power don't need to hear from the little people. The people in power are very smart and will make good decisions and we'll all be happy even though our potable water is set to dry up in less than 100 years and scientists are predicting humans will become extinct but what the fuck do I care cos Little Debbies are still only less than 2 bucks a piece. And Wal-Mart has nice greeters. Shit, those Debbies are cheaper than my cheap wine and more filling.
Yum creamy middle. Yum anarchist fear. Yum workers' sweat. Yum yum.
I'm going to go watch whatever huge sports event I'm supposed to, now, or maybe the Kardashians cos Paris Hilton is so 2000.
Serializing soon,
Ry
Friday, June 25, 2010
BNG is not a music factory
So publishing/agenting folks - I'm gonna make it easier for you to sign me up; on this blog, I'm going to serialize my second novel, This is my sell-out novel. You'll be able to see all my talent and facility with language and my extreme willingness to do whatever to get published. I will even watch over your babies and only think once of cantaloupes and fontanels... I'm thinking ahead too, just like business folks like; but you're not all business folks, so I hope I haven't offended those folks who have no networking abilities/business ties. I have no networking abilities myself; I just piss people off.
My sequel to Sell-out will be Poseur, a memoir wherein I convince a dirty punk ex-lover to become my lover again and I'll drop out of academia or whatever "safe" job I have and we'll hop trains and become gutter punks all so I can write about it as a memoir, but I won't let ex-lover or gutter punks know my ulterior motives. I'll hide a laptop in the dirt encrusted on my thighs; they'll just think I have chiggers or a nervous twitch as I type and type and type...
This is my sell-out novel begins with Chapter 1: "Vampire lesbian teenagers glitter in the shower then show off their bumps on the red carpet." But, first I have to shout out that
SAM MOTHERFLIPPING PINK SD HE'D WRITE THE INTRO/POEM THINGY FOR MY CHAPBOOK!!
YES!
I HOPE SAM PINK IS NOT FUCKING WITH ME.
(THIS IS AN OCCASION FOR ALL CAPS, IF THERE WERE EVER ONE. IT COULD BE THE CHEAP CHARDONNAY, THOUGH. OR THE EAGLE ON MY HEAD THAT KEEPS SQUEEZING ITS TALONS INTO MY FRONTAL CORTEX. HEY EAGLE, I'M NOT QUITE READY FOR A LOBOTOMY, YET. I'VE WEIGHED THE PROS & CONS, ACTUALLY. I WROTE OUT A LIST: PROS: CHILLAXING FOREVER; CONS: NO DREAMS, PROS: NO ANGER; CONS: NO HATE SEX, PROS: COOL SCAR, CONS: R.P. MCMURPHY & A PILLOW... I WILL GET YOU MICE OR WHATEVER EAGLES EAT, THOUGH, IF YOU'RE HUNGRY, THANKS.)
MAYBE SAM PINK SAW THAT I WOULD BE HIS GIRLFRIEND. MAYBE HE'LL DRIVE ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE MASON DIXON LINE & DOWN INTO THE ALABAMAS WITH HIS POEMY/INTRO & A ROSE & A PICKLE JAR OF URINE. MAYBE HE'S ALREADY IN MY CLOSET. MAYBE HE'S SMELLING MY WINTER COAT THAT HASN'T BEEN DRYCLEANED IN YEARS. MAYBE HE'S SMELLING THE INSIDES OF MY BOOTS, & THE SHRUNKEN HEADS I KEEP THERE JUST COS...MAYBE HE THINKS THAT'S WHAT I SMELL LIKE.
MAYBE HE'S ALREADY DUMPED ME IN HIS HEAD.
I HOPE HE'LL GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE, REGARDLESS OF THE EAGLE, THE TAN WANNABE CAMEL COAT, THE HEADS I STOLE FROM SOME DRUNKEN FX GUY I ROLLED...
& Agenty/publisherers: Next time, I'll publish Chapter One, I promise. I'll leave you with this, just cos my genuflection towards side pony tails should convince you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfX2LwlQr2M
Your cliffhanger,
Ry
My sequel to Sell-out will be Poseur, a memoir wherein I convince a dirty punk ex-lover to become my lover again and I'll drop out of academia or whatever "safe" job I have and we'll hop trains and become gutter punks all so I can write about it as a memoir, but I won't let ex-lover or gutter punks know my ulterior motives. I'll hide a laptop in the dirt encrusted on my thighs; they'll just think I have chiggers or a nervous twitch as I type and type and type...
This is my sell-out novel begins with Chapter 1: "Vampire lesbian teenagers glitter in the shower then show off their bumps on the red carpet." But, first I have to shout out that
SAM MOTHERFLIPPING PINK SD HE'D WRITE THE INTRO/POEM THINGY FOR MY CHAPBOOK!!
I HOPE SAM PINK IS NOT FUCKING WITH ME.
(THIS IS AN OCCASION FOR ALL CAPS, IF THERE WERE EVER ONE. IT COULD BE THE CHEAP CHARDONNAY, THOUGH. OR THE EAGLE ON MY HEAD THAT KEEPS SQUEEZING ITS TALONS INTO MY FRONTAL CORTEX. HEY EAGLE, I'M NOT QUITE READY FOR A LOBOTOMY, YET. I'VE WEIGHED THE PROS & CONS, ACTUALLY. I WROTE OUT A LIST: PROS: CHILLAXING FOREVER; CONS: NO DREAMS, PROS: NO ANGER; CONS: NO HATE SEX, PROS: COOL SCAR, CONS: R.P. MCMURPHY & A PILLOW... I WILL GET YOU MICE OR WHATEVER EAGLES EAT, THOUGH, IF YOU'RE HUNGRY, THANKS.)
MAYBE SAM PINK SAW THAT I WOULD BE HIS GIRLFRIEND. MAYBE HE'LL DRIVE ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE MASON DIXON LINE & DOWN INTO THE ALABAMAS WITH HIS POEMY/INTRO & A ROSE & A PICKLE JAR OF URINE. MAYBE HE'S ALREADY IN MY CLOSET. MAYBE HE'S SMELLING MY WINTER COAT THAT HASN'T BEEN DRYCLEANED IN YEARS. MAYBE HE'S SMELLING THE INSIDES OF MY BOOTS, & THE SHRUNKEN HEADS I KEEP THERE JUST COS...MAYBE HE THINKS THAT'S WHAT I SMELL LIKE.
MAYBE HE'S ALREADY DUMPED ME IN HIS HEAD.
I HOPE HE'LL GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE, REGARDLESS OF THE EAGLE, THE TAN WANNABE CAMEL COAT, THE HEADS I STOLE FROM SOME DRUNKEN FX GUY I ROLLED...
& Agenty/publisherers: Next time, I'll publish Chapter One, I promise. I'll leave you with this, just cos my genuflection towards side pony tails should convince you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfX2LwlQr2M
Your cliffhanger,
Ry
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Saturday, June 12, 2010
I willz make you enchiladas
& they will not be goods.
But, I'm not a cat with cheezburger pleez because everytime I see a link to sd cheezburger cat or whatever the hell that shit is I go to an alley and perform a backdoor abortion just for fun.
Placentaz are yum.
& why do men think I love them just because I'm their friend and read their shit and drive them around to wherever they want to go? Maybe I just want to be your friend; maybe I'm using you for some kind of insight into the male psyche whatever but being an asshole is not a subversion of the Man. & maybe I am attracted to you & I will never tell you & it will be the most awkward greeting hug in the history of greeting hugs. & if I say I'm going to have sex with you I probably will, unless you don't buy me that drink or whatever...and if you were scared of me before, you better not dangle the opportunity of sex in front of me and then sidle away like a pussy...
That's my tough talkz; I am in the Kentuckyz; I'm reading about a quilt. Businessmen in the Kentuckyz love the high knee boots. Believe it. They're not like the Alabamaz businezmen who like the sorority girls in their little heels and their prom dresses and the promise of pom-pomz and pigtails later.
Cause even though itz hot, nobody better try to pigtail me.
I had so much more to say but I lost it between gutting the peppers, blowing the businezman, and opening the can of enchilada sauce.
Oh, and I have a story about the South coming out some time in Wigleaf that might make sense of this all. &/or it might offend Confederate Cowboyz and Witch Hunters...
Yourz in mole,
Ry
But, I'm not a cat with cheezburger pleez because everytime I see a link to sd cheezburger cat or whatever the hell that shit is I go to an alley and perform a backdoor abortion just for fun.
Placentaz are yum.
& why do men think I love them just because I'm their friend and read their shit and drive them around to wherever they want to go? Maybe I just want to be your friend; maybe I'm using you for some kind of insight into the male psyche whatever but being an asshole is not a subversion of the Man. & maybe I am attracted to you & I will never tell you & it will be the most awkward greeting hug in the history of greeting hugs. & if I say I'm going to have sex with you I probably will, unless you don't buy me that drink or whatever...and if you were scared of me before, you better not dangle the opportunity of sex in front of me and then sidle away like a pussy...
That's my tough talkz; I am in the Kentuckyz; I'm reading about a quilt. Businessmen in the Kentuckyz love the high knee boots. Believe it. They're not like the Alabamaz businezmen who like the sorority girls in their little heels and their prom dresses and the promise of pom-pomz and pigtails later.
Cause even though itz hot, nobody better try to pigtail me.
I had so much more to say but I lost it between gutting the peppers, blowing the businezman, and opening the can of enchilada sauce.
Oh, and I have a story about the South coming out some time in Wigleaf that might make sense of this all. &/or it might offend Confederate Cowboyz and Witch Hunters...
Yourz in mole,
Ry
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Reclaim the slamp
I didn't know you wrote poetry; I didn't know you wrote such bloody awful poetry...
A poem about love, sex, and reclaiming the slampiece.
Hard crush love &c
A. Suitor
Inhale her scent. Vin Mariani
only to toast her health.
She smells of retina detachments and other disasters. Carl
Koller applied her to his own eye, then pricked it with pins.
(What he saw):
a red wheelbarrow see-sawing on a plum fulcrum
three corseted women eating madeleines
no Beatniks rolling Benzedrine strips
two Ibizan yachts, waiting, docked at Space
one peony’s whirl, he was
the small black ant in the middle
B. Girl/boy
Exegesis: these are texts written with different script
(read left-right and read down-up;
read horizontally,
read horizons, read the clouds and
squeeze them into tea cups: revise your reading on porcelain bottom:
rainrainrain
moisture always, anyways
dells and
the dew on a bee’s belly turns into the dew on her upper lip
into the dew on his mustache into dew glistening
his shoulders from early morning headspins into dew glistening her belly from pre-dawn caterpillaring
read
up-down, right-left, they dance across wet grass)
C. Slamp
Slam the piece
of bread into
French toast batter. Slam the piece
the piece slam the piece of pie
the piece of pie into Carl’s eye
watch vitreous and meringue combine
birth chickadees with floater-feathers
squiggly gel wings
these babes fly peripherally
always out of sight
in and out of night
Frankly,
Ry
A poem about love, sex, and reclaiming the slampiece.
Hard crush love &c
A. Suitor
Inhale her scent. Vin Mariani
only to toast her health.
She smells of retina detachments and other disasters. Carl
Koller applied her to his own eye, then pricked it with pins.
(What he saw):
a red wheelbarrow see-sawing on a plum fulcrum
three corseted women eating madeleines
no Beatniks rolling Benzedrine strips
two Ibizan yachts, waiting, docked at Space
one peony’s whirl, he was
the small black ant in the middle
B. Girl/boy
Exegesis: these are texts written with different script
(read left-right and read down-up;
read horizontally,
read horizons, read the clouds and
squeeze them into tea cups: revise your reading on porcelain bottom:
rainrainrain
moisture always, anyways
dells and
the dew on a bee’s belly turns into the dew on her upper lip
into the dew on his mustache into dew glistening
his shoulders from early morning headspins into dew glistening her belly from pre-dawn caterpillaring
read
up-down, right-left, they dance across wet grass)
C. Slamp
Slam the piece
of bread into
French toast batter. Slam the piece
the piece slam the piece of pie
the piece of pie into Carl’s eye
watch vitreous and meringue combine
birth chickadees with floater-feathers
squiggly gel wings
these babes fly peripherally
always out of sight
in and out of night
Frankly,
Ry
Cock-blocked stalker, I am trying to apologize in Pizzicato 5 montage.
Oh Blog:
I have got news & rules for you! Well, really rules for me. & I will write to you like I'm writing to my ex-student/now friend who sent me a letter and I never got back to. Cause I suck like that sometimes. If someone sends you a letter you should at least pretending you're writing to them in the first paragraph of your blog.
On to the second...
Sorry, JVM, I tried calling you & that has nothing to do with my rules...But when's your memoir coming out?
Rules:
1. Never enter another person's bender cause then you have to take it to a whole nother level: I love my friends/editors/fellow writers, Stacia M. Fleegal and Dan Nowak, so I won't say anything except buy chapbooks from Imaginary Friend Press http://www.imaginaryfriendpress.com/, and I now have a tramp-stamp bruise cause I was trying to catch up to you, bitches.
It was all me, trying to get higher, anyways...you saved me from the 78 year old coke fiend...
Luv ya!
2. Do not end your night at a bar whose motto is "home of the beautiful people." Or maybe the rule should be I should not end my night there cause it's an awesome bar and I've seen awesome things there I never would have seen anywhere else like a daytime whore stripping, someone trying to sell a carpet, someone getting their front teeth smashed out with a highball glass, a coke dealer just throwing coke origami out on the table, ferret-fighting, asbestos-huffing, magic carpet rides...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JrOjRYfvKo0
This may be the bar; this may just be a simulacra; there were no ferrets fighting cause I'm not down with animal cruelty; this may be the bar where I made out with a bunch of guys after the ex-marine broke up with me and one of those guys followed me home:
"Now, the dive bar’s back to being a shithole. I’ve gone there looking for my ex-marine, but all I’ve seen are roaches scurrying over the Rose’s Lime Juice to get to something sweeter."
3. Do not eat a lot of fried food, even if it is vegan.
Nuf said.
4. Do not obsess over who was cock-blocking who or if he was a fixer-upper you never got to...
"I’d always wake up with my tongue stuck to the hard ridge of the top of my mouth. I’d always wake up and check to see who was in bed with me. It could have been anyone, but my girls kept me from some real doozies. They also kept me from the winners I think. A fair trade, I guess… bitches."
This has nothing to do with the guy who followed me home from the beautiful bar...twice.
Yours taking it a whole nother level from your bender,
Ry
P.S. All quotes from my story, "In the end, there will be koans written to my asshole," forthcoming in Cricket Online Review.
I have got news & rules for you! Well, really rules for me. & I will write to you like I'm writing to my ex-student/now friend who sent me a letter and I never got back to. Cause I suck like that sometimes. If someone sends you a letter you should at least pretending you're writing to them in the first paragraph of your blog.
On to the second...
Sorry, JVM, I tried calling you & that has nothing to do with my rules...But when's your memoir coming out?
Rules:
1. Never enter another person's bender cause then you have to take it to a whole nother level: I love my friends/editors/fellow writers, Stacia M. Fleegal and Dan Nowak, so I won't say anything except buy chapbooks from Imaginary Friend Press http://www.imaginaryfriendpress.com/, and I now have a tramp-stamp bruise cause I was trying to catch up to you, bitches.
It was all me, trying to get higher, anyways...you saved me from the 78 year old coke fiend...
Luv ya!
2. Do not end your night at a bar whose motto is "home of the beautiful people." Or maybe the rule should be I should not end my night there cause it's an awesome bar and I've seen awesome things there I never would have seen anywhere else like a daytime whore stripping, someone trying to sell a carpet, someone getting their front teeth smashed out with a highball glass, a coke dealer just throwing coke origami out on the table, ferret-fighting, asbestos-huffing, magic carpet rides...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JrOjRYfvKo0
This may be the bar; this may just be a simulacra; there were no ferrets fighting cause I'm not down with animal cruelty; this may be the bar where I made out with a bunch of guys after the ex-marine broke up with me and one of those guys followed me home:
"Now, the dive bar’s back to being a shithole. I’ve gone there looking for my ex-marine, but all I’ve seen are roaches scurrying over the Rose’s Lime Juice to get to something sweeter."
3. Do not eat a lot of fried food, even if it is vegan.
Nuf said.
4. Do not obsess over who was cock-blocking who or if he was a fixer-upper you never got to...
"I’d always wake up with my tongue stuck to the hard ridge of the top of my mouth. I’d always wake up and check to see who was in bed with me. It could have been anyone, but my girls kept me from some real doozies. They also kept me from the winners I think. A fair trade, I guess… bitches."
This has nothing to do with the guy who followed me home from the beautiful bar...twice.
Yours taking it a whole nother level from your bender,
Ry
P.S. All quotes from my story, "In the end, there will be koans written to my asshole," forthcoming in Cricket Online Review.
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