Wednesday, August 31, 2011

i heart you all, even you pythagoras

& i am trying so hard not to call myself mama too much +  i am trying so hard not to steal pix from the interwebs x  i am waiting on pix from a guy you don't know / the number of penis pix on my cell phone + my age - my salary + the # of times my heart has been brokenheartedness / the # of literary cool kids who've stopped by my blog x the turk's circumference - e. said's disapproval of what he thinks is mama's exoticism x the second the lit cool kids were here + the # of sweatbeads drip-dropped down mama's boot at mayhem x the # of heavy-metallers who head-banged & puked / by your dispapproval of mama / by your disapproval of mama's choice of words / by your dispapproval of mama's choice of words & the arrangings of them - mama's hatred of false humility

=

yo

+

for reals

+

yours foreverever (foreverever?)

Monday, August 29, 2011

These people are the nicey-nicest

I want to send big big heart things to the fab four writers who have written such nice things about Homegirl! : Stacia M. Fleegal, J.W. Wang, Dan Nowak, and Chloe Caldwell. They said such nice things; they make mama blush & drink the tanquerays & fan herself with one of those old-fashioned paper fans you get at a funeral except her fan is actually the pastor's boxers & you don't wanna know how mama got em...

Here are their nicer than nicey-nice words:



"In Homegirl!, Ryder Collins breaks every rule, pulls every punch. This isn’t your mother’s love story, though Homegirl and Collins alike are at their best when they show us their big bleeding hearts. Ryder Collins creates a character we quickly seethe with, ache for, and follow through the fog and darkness to whatever end."
- Stacia M. Fleegal, author of Versus and Anatomy of a Shape-Shifter, editor of Blood Lotus

"Raucous, sexy and full of verve, Homegirl! will spank you and punch you in your teeth and leave you longing for more. This is a wildly entertaining book and Homegirl's is a hypnotic voice."
- J.W. Wang, editor of Juked

"Ryder Collins' debut novel Homegirl! blasts onto the scene like a punk rock debutante. Collins shows readers what love looks like and what love should look like. This novel has an energy that makes the rest of us look like we're comatose."
- Dan Nowak, author of Recycle Suburbia and Of a Bed Frame

"Collins' innovative debut is provocative and intriguing. Full of candor and darkness, Homegirl! is a real parable of modern times. Collins makes an insightful statement into the evolution of relationships in the contemporary world. A gem of a read."
- Chloe Caldwell, author of Legs Get Led Astray




♥♥♥♥








Saturday, August 20, 2011

mama is too avant-garde,yo

7 mama's not gonna names & make it all bougy Flaubert's Madame Parrot & shit (& that "7" at the start of this should be an ampersand but mama's too avant-garde to change it , yo)... but mama's been told by some higher-ups somewheres in some kind of towers that her writing's too avant-garde for her to be the teacher of the short stories.

mama walks down staircases to get into her classes

     as mama walks down staircases she fragm ents into woodeny slabs




           these slabs do not slinky down; they rough-hewn their asses down

                 mama leaves avant-garde splinters in her wake   she is so cubist, yo

mama really wanted to be a fauvist but robert smith took all the day-glo & he wouldn't let her on that bus



    mama had to settle for the slow dignified shuffling of wooden cubes

    mama wants to say somethings about trajectories: the inverse of MFA narrative arcs and shit but mama's     still descending descending & there is no meaning to be found in a stairwell & there is no meaning to being found in wood

            timber-limbs are heavy; mama's wooden-tired

                  wooden-graceful
                   
                      she is the cubist ballerina    she would pirouette if she had toes, yo.




Saturday, August 13, 2011

obsess, yes yes

his is what

he is what 

homo say what?

aw snap, mama is the homophobes now...

hetero say what?

aw snap, mama is the heterophobes now...

he is still what.

he is alive & he is gone.

mama is trying...

be nice to mama's poetic sense right now. mama just went to a death metal fest yesterday where there was too much satan in everyone's pants and she saw this band, all shall perish, & the singer dedicated one of his songs to the best blowjob he ever got & while he was singing mama knew he'd never been deep-throated then spanked by mama & she thought maybe she'd let him sign her titties out of pity but then she got distracted by the motorcross free-fliers & then she saw a gimp sans ball-gag & then she saw a guy dressed up as a banana & if it hadn't been so fucking hot in atlanta & if the sun wasn't shining down & making mama's new tatt all jesuschristaura-y, mama woulda gone down into that moshpit cos mama's got the rages & they burn so unholy through her that she is left with nothing but cliches & sex to put them out & mama woulda moshed & she woulda gone straight for that banana.

she woulda said, hey banana boy.

she woulda said, banana, i'm coming for you...

& when mama's dead & maybe famous someone working on a phd somewhere might analyze the amount of phallic imagery in this post, yo.

yo, banana.

mama will not even tell you what she did to the pick-up truck full of georgia boys who dared to catcall her as she was searching for her car after the fest in the atlanta heat.

mama was wearing boots.

mama was wearing boots the gimp'd had peed and licked and rubbed his leather cool ranches doritos face on...

mama couldn't help but beat the gimp til he peed then punish him with the lickings & the cool-ranches...

this has gone beyond fetish & death, yo...

mama didn't really touch the gimp.

gimps kinda turn mama off...

mama is obsessed with 

mama is obsessed with a certain he

he used to be a trucker

he used to be

he is still

but mama obsesses 

this is what mama has replaced him with in her obsessions

& it is so nice & the hula hoop is so chartreuse & that is mama's fave color & maybe this went round the Interwebs like two years ago but mama was sitting on her porch with her bourbons and her shotgun then... mama didn't venture out til the trucker showed up on her lawn.

he needed a shower & a shave...

mama'd only had half a jug of bourbon & let him in.

that was probably a mistake.

yours w/out any pix,
ryder

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

who would like to blurb me?

yeah, that's most likely a euphemism, yo.

mama likes it when writers pretend they really care about all the other writers they know & i means all of them & they give shouts out to their 200+ writer friends & talk about what great writers all of them are when  mama knows that most of them are dennis hoppering words like blue velvet elvis hotcakes.

whatever the fuck that means.

mama's just feeling guilty cos all these great lit mags - decomp, > kill author, fix it broken - have just dropped more babies & mama didn't even go to the shower or buy diapers or footy pajamas or butt cream let alone visit the maternity ward.

just remember mamas afraid of babies.

just remember mama has to drink the many manhattans to even be near a baby let alone touch their uncanny little fingernails or smell their sweet powdery nasty diaper+oldspit-up funk...



but mama will go to those babies & she will read their fresh pink skin. she will read their vulnerable limbs. she will hold them & offer them words. words like aw girls pissing & bitch saying & home girl fuck good & ninjas & sam elliot mustache

& that is no way to talk to a baby

so she will offer them better words like smash & gossamering & lemon dress & yea & verily, yo

mama will also check out barge when it drops its first... & not just cos mama's gonna be part of its second, but that's what's you're thinking...

mama knows. mama's not wearing pants & therefore she's wiser right now.

mama's legs are free & kicking up jigs & anarchists right now.

mama's been drinking the many of the bourbon highballs now. & mama's studying the small defense of a baby's yawn & the small hypocrisy of the fontanelle & the small ice sliver fingernails in her manhattan now & the maraschino juiced cherry fetuses floating floating...

yours in love,
ryder

Saturday, August 6, 2011

this is how the southes make me feel




& everyone has to die...

which is why mama's not gonna be networking right now cos no one wants their name & death in the same goddamn sentence...

but mama loves y'all, yo...

okay, mama loves y'all some.

okay mama loves getting some.

yours,
ry

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

bitches better represent

mama wishes she were better at the networkings & the makings of friends

mama would be a good friend if she didn't always want to sleep with your boyfriend

or your girlfriends

mama says, bitches why you be fronting & not be hitting on me?

mama doesn't actually talk like that

mama's plans for the future include:

- writing another book
- learning how to one-arm pump a shotgun
- finding true love or at least someone she can stand to fuck every day
-1/2 sleeve (at least!) of tattoos
- owning her weird shit
-leaving bama for good & never coming back not even to travel through cos once the portal opens...
-finding something good to eat in her freezer she forgot about
- finding a book she left in the freezer she forgot about
- starting a fetish porn company called "Ladia"
- making you play guess the fetish
- wearing big boots
- collecting all the bobby pins she left in her trucker's bed


- doing heroin (& maybe they'll have even better drugs by then!) when she turns 80
- sitting on her porch with one arm shooting up and the other one-arm pumping the shotgun when she's 80, yo
- using exclamation marks cos they makes her jaded heart just a little less jaded

yo.