Received a personalized rejection this afternoon from Fairy Tale Review. It was a nice rejection though, so I don't feel too obliterated.
In other news, the issue of Assaracus that I've been published in is available for pre-sale NEXT WEEK! It can be ordered somewhere on this website sometime next week.
In other, other news, I'm back home for the holiday and the weekend. It's been fun being back in Florida but I know if I stayed an extra week I'd get sick of it all.
Today: Slept & will probably sleep again
Tomorrow: Meet with old friends, party with old friends.
Sunday: Tailgating & Dolphin's Football game & hopefully shopping in Miami
Monday: Fly to New Orleans (i almost wrote home) at 5 in the morning.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
If You Go Into Heather Christle You Will Find She Has A Trees
Ben Koppel came and read portions of VICTORY through H_NGM_N press.
Though Koppel's work is so very different from my own (very excited, a manic sort of depression, not naive but embracing of the shit we trudge through) his reading was inspiring.
And how young they all are! This whole clique of wonderful Louisianian writers. Kristin Sanders and Ben Koppel and Carolyn Mikulencak.
And then the other writers that I've connected with/met/fallen obsessively in love with through Kristin: Kate Durbin, Jennifer Tamayo, Kate Zambreno, Ariana Reines, Richard Siken, Arielle Greenberg, Paul Legault, Marie Calloway.
It's weird looking back to just one year ago. How I was anointing the feet of Anne Sexton and Sharon Olds.
Though Koppel's work is so very different from my own (very excited, a manic sort of depression, not naive but embracing of the shit we trudge through) his reading was inspiring.
And how young they all are! This whole clique of wonderful Louisianian writers. Kristin Sanders and Ben Koppel and Carolyn Mikulencak.
And then the other writers that I've connected with/met/fallen obsessively in love with through Kristin: Kate Durbin, Jennifer Tamayo, Kate Zambreno, Ariana Reines, Richard Siken, Arielle Greenberg, Paul Legault, Marie Calloway.
It's weird looking back to just one year ago. How I was anointing the feet of Anne Sexton and Sharon Olds.
Mid-Semester Check in
So it's more than halfway through the Fall Semester. Things have been carrying on.
What's really great is that my poems are appearing in Assaracus Issue 09 sometime this Spring!
Assaracus is this really cool journal dedicated to gay male poetry & voices. It's published through Sibling Rivalry Press, with editor and poet Bryan Borland at the masthead. What a great group of people. So talented. So exciting to have my work sitting alongside names like Ocean Vuong, Dustin Brookshire, Matthew Hittinger, et all.
What's really great is that my poems are appearing in Assaracus Issue 09 sometime this Spring!
Assaracus is this really cool journal dedicated to gay male poetry & voices. It's published through Sibling Rivalry Press, with editor and poet Bryan Borland at the masthead. What a great group of people. So talented. So exciting to have my work sitting alongside names like Ocean Vuong, Dustin Brookshire, Matthew Hittinger, et all.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
I've been thinking a lot
mostly about the emergence of boyish sexuality in poetry. And mostly about how I always feel ashamed for my poetry being so sexual. I feel like that’s a cliche of male poetry. That there’s this confidence of expressing sex, that it’s this lifeblood expected of any half-baked writer with a cock.
And then I also feel like I always kind of walk on eggshells when talking about why I write about boysex in my poems, and why I’m really in support of this “Boyesque” ideal.
The only real acknowledgment of the Boyesque, that I’ve seen, was through this post on Montevidayo. And even then, I feel like this “Boyesque” is really limiting. Violence is an undeniable piece of sex. I’d argue that sex is just an acceptable(?) form of violence. I don’t think, though, that the Boyesque is just about being a monster. Which is the only part of Seth’s post that I find very problematic, and I think Lara Glenum, in her response, definitely has a different and really fucking cool desire for these “sassy male poets.” I think there’s something very sad about being a boy. Not even a Queer boy. I think being a boy sucks. Some Gurlesque poets want to be Monsters, or are Monsters. My Boyesque is a monster that does not want to be one. Or isn’t one but is expected to be one and doesn’t want to. Or isn’t one and wants to be but can’t.
Now before I get buttfucked by every Gurlesque poet this side of the equator, I guess I should preface the next part by saying that I, as a poet who is not Gurlesque, can obviously not speak for Gurlesque poets. I’m only speaking about the reactions on this Montevidayo post, and the thoughts I’ve come across when speaking to some of young glitter-bomb Gurlesque poets at my University. So if I offend or say something that is totally stupid or wrong about you or your craft please argue with me or tell me I’m a fucking moron.
I also think there’s a level of complexity in the violence propagated by Seth and his Boyesque ideal that isn’t ever really explored. I think the reason Boyesque is mocked may lie in the long held archetypes of masculinity that even Gurlesque poets seem unable to let go. Gurlesque takes advantage of this sort of forced performative aspect of femininity. Gurlesque holds it beneath its wet thighs and fucks it raw and then licks her fingers. Gurlesque is defiant. And Gurlesque does not think there should be a Boyesque because, perhaps to Gurlesque, it is obvious and expected for a boy to want to rape and lick his dirty fingers.
I think Nick Demske is one of the few poets that lives up to my ideal of the Boyesque. It’s awkward and stilted and very frustrated and boyish and there’s just a lot going on. I obviously have to do more research, but Seth’s post, and Joyelle’s follow up have really stuck out at me and it’s making me wonder about the different ideals and prejudices surrounding boy/gurl privilege in art.
And then I also feel like I always kind of walk on eggshells when talking about why I write about boysex in my poems, and why I’m really in support of this “Boyesque” ideal.
The only real acknowledgment of the Boyesque, that I’ve seen, was through this post on Montevidayo. And even then, I feel like this “Boyesque” is really limiting. Violence is an undeniable piece of sex. I’d argue that sex is just an acceptable(?) form of violence. I don’t think, though, that the Boyesque is just about being a monster. Which is the only part of Seth’s post that I find very problematic, and I think Lara Glenum, in her response, definitely has a different and really fucking cool desire for these “sassy male poets.” I think there’s something very sad about being a boy. Not even a Queer boy. I think being a boy sucks. Some Gurlesque poets want to be Monsters, or are Monsters. My Boyesque is a monster that does not want to be one. Or isn’t one but is expected to be one and doesn’t want to. Or isn’t one and wants to be but can’t.
Now before I get buttfucked by every Gurlesque poet this side of the equator, I guess I should preface the next part by saying that I, as a poet who is not Gurlesque, can obviously not speak for Gurlesque poets. I’m only speaking about the reactions on this Montevidayo post, and the thoughts I’ve come across when speaking to some of young glitter-bomb Gurlesque poets at my University. So if I offend or say something that is totally stupid or wrong about you or your craft please argue with me or tell me I’m a fucking moron.
I also think there’s a level of complexity in the violence propagated by Seth and his Boyesque ideal that isn’t ever really explored. I think the reason Boyesque is mocked may lie in the long held archetypes of masculinity that even Gurlesque poets seem unable to let go. Gurlesque takes advantage of this sort of forced performative aspect of femininity. Gurlesque holds it beneath its wet thighs and fucks it raw and then licks her fingers. Gurlesque is defiant. And Gurlesque does not think there should be a Boyesque because, perhaps to Gurlesque, it is obvious and expected for a boy to want to rape and lick his dirty fingers.
I think Nick Demske is one of the few poets that lives up to my ideal of the Boyesque. It’s awkward and stilted and very frustrated and boyish and there’s just a lot going on. I obviously have to do more research, but Seth’s post, and Joyelle’s follow up have really stuck out at me and it’s making me wonder about the different ideals and prejudices surrounding boy/gurl privilege in art.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Publication and Apologies.
So I've been published!
Sibling Rivalry Press has picked up 12 of my poems for publication in their literary journal Assaracus.
Still waiting to hear back from Fairy Tale review, but what happens happens.
Also, was recently cited in Dan Schneider's (from Cosmoetica) essay on Good Faith, Stupidity, And The Internet as an internet troll. To be perfectly fair to Dan, I did make those rude comments. Sent Dan an e-mail apologizing. There's no excuse other than I was, as he so aptly put: "a nasty queer with weight and acne issues." The post was also made while I was still a senior in high school, which isn't an excuse. Just a clarification of my immaturity.
So apologies to Dan and his lovely wife Jessica. Sincere and honest apologies.
Sibling Rivalry Press has picked up 12 of my poems for publication in their literary journal Assaracus.
Still waiting to hear back from Fairy Tale review, but what happens happens.
Also, was recently cited in Dan Schneider's (from Cosmoetica) essay on Good Faith, Stupidity, And The Internet as an internet troll. To be perfectly fair to Dan, I did make those rude comments. Sent Dan an e-mail apologizing. There's no excuse other than I was, as he so aptly put: "a nasty queer with weight and acne issues." The post was also made while I was still a senior in high school, which isn't an excuse. Just a clarification of my immaturity.
So apologies to Dan and his lovely wife Jessica. Sincere and honest apologies.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Going back to NOLA
I've submitted my work to Sibling Rivalry Press, and after Kristin's advice I submitted a collection of poems to The Fairy Tale Review. I'm really excited to see what happens. Before yesterday, I hadn't really written very much in the past two weeks. I've been doing a lot of revising for my chapbook.
I'm also really excited that I'll be heading back to New Orleans on Thursday morning. Then again, I'm so exhausted from the past week that the 6 am flight back, and all the work that awaits me, doesn't always seem like fun. Still, I'm excited. I'll be working with some of my best friends, meeting all of these excited, frightened, and just NEW students. I remember what it was like when I came to Orientation. I loved the entire experience.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Update
I'm so bad at blogging, I apologize for not updating this enough. Thankfully with this summer slowly creeping along, I think I'll have some more time to blog.
So here's my upd8. I finished off my second semester of Freshman year with a 3.67 cumulative GPA, and a 3.9 within my major. Grades aren't everything, but I'm happy that I've done well enough to keep my scholarships.
Poetry Workshop and Interpretive Approaches were brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I think those two classes have taught me more about myself, art, and writing than any other class. Schaberg and Kristin are legendary.
Last night I had a really cool conversation with a friend about postmodernism and absurdist art in relation to third wave feminism and the gurlesque. He questioned the integrity of a philosophy which denies the existence of a self as "fiction." I rebutted that postmodernism and Butler's articles on feminism don't necessarily deny the existence of a self, but the importance. I then argued that the self is mostly fiction, an image or mask or persona or whatever and that this creation or projection or performance of the self IS the self, citing Gaga's manifesto of Little Monsters. We settled on the idea that there is, at some point, some semblance of a "self" and that our idea of the "self" is made up of the adornments we attach to this rudimentary mannequin of a "soul" or "identity." Basically, clothes need a mannequin. The "real self" is the mannequin, but our projected or idealized "self" is the outfit (or lack of) and all the preconceptions weighted within the fabric of this projection.
Also, I've just sent off parts of my Killing the Wolf chapbook (Oh! I should make a separate post about that) to Sibling Rivalry Press, a really cool emerging press lead by the wonderful Bryan Borland. Keep your fingers crossed!
At the moment I'm unpacking my life at Loyola out of three medium sized boxes while listening to some Madonna. Accidentally broke my Emerging Leaders' glass frame. Anyway, that's really the only news I've got for now. I'm making notes all over my calendar to check and update this blog every day (don't hold me to this... maybe once a week) for the rest of summer term. Hopefully by then, it'll become second nature and I'll keep up with it during the school year.
Poetry Workshop and Interpretive Approaches were brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I think those two classes have taught me more about myself, art, and writing than any other class. Schaberg and Kristin are legendary.
Last night I had a really cool conversation with a friend about postmodernism and absurdist art in relation to third wave feminism and the gurlesque. He questioned the integrity of a philosophy which denies the existence of a self as "fiction." I rebutted that postmodernism and Butler's articles on feminism don't necessarily deny the existence of a self, but the importance. I then argued that the self is mostly fiction, an image or mask or persona or whatever and that this creation or projection or performance of the self IS the self, citing Gaga's manifesto of Little Monsters. We settled on the idea that there is, at some point, some semblance of a "self" and that our idea of the "self" is made up of the adornments we attach to this rudimentary mannequin of a "soul" or "identity." Basically, clothes need a mannequin. The "real self" is the mannequin, but our projected or idealized "self" is the outfit (or lack of) and all the preconceptions weighted within the fabric of this projection.
Also, I've just sent off parts of my Killing the Wolf chapbook (Oh! I should make a separate post about that) to Sibling Rivalry Press, a really cool emerging press lead by the wonderful Bryan Borland. Keep your fingers crossed!
At the moment I'm unpacking my life at Loyola out of three medium sized boxes while listening to some Madonna. Accidentally broke my Emerging Leaders' glass frame. Anyway, that's really the only news I've got for now. I'm making notes all over my calendar to check and update this blog every day (don't hold me to this... maybe once a week) for the rest of summer term. Hopefully by then, it'll become second nature and I'll keep up with it during the school year.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
On the (Hy)Breed of Art & Poetry
Today we discussed text as a hybrid, citing J. Tamayo's book "Read Missed Aches..." as a relatively perfect example. It reminds me of how we first approached poetry in this class: "a poem should be a party." Art should, "bother."
Most parties have this sense of discontent. We have all these roles we can play: the crying drunk girl, the obnoxious drunk girl who sings along (incorrectly) to each horrible Rihanna tune that squeals through the stereo, the totally sober boy who pretends to be drunk so he can hook up with his best friend David and pretend like the whole thing never happened, the totally drunk boy who the totally sober boy accidentally hooks up with anyway. Then there are the stoners with their little cloud of disappointment and empty happiness, the people who stand awkwardly at opposite corners and try to use a spoon to eat jello shots. That one douchebag who feels the need to make some awkward toast every twenty minutes; his final, a dialogue between he and the toilet. These are parties. These are the parties I've been to. I've played, though I hate to admit it, most of these roles. Except the last. I hate toasts and I've never puked after drinking. It's uncomfortable right? These parties? They're created for interaction, because they can be "fun" or "cool" or just an epicenter of people to get fucked up and forget their "problems." Or for people to get fucked up so they can remember their problems and make more of them. This, I think, is a poem.
But I also think a poem is a thunderstorm. There's a tension, a growing sense of unease. It's much like good sex. You're hyperaware. You've got this continual string of signs that unsettle you: the hollowness of pre-storm air, the silence, the lack of birdsong-- all you hear is this industrial whine that nature somehow manages to override. Then the lightning strike, then the thunderclap and rain the size and consistency of glass shards pelting you. You should be fucking terrified. But there's something so poetic about a thunderstorm. I think it lies heavily in the premonition we get before a storm strikes. This sort of "oh-shit" moment where we don't know how to behave. It triggers something absolutely animal, which a poem should do as well. I think parties try to simulate this "oh-shit" knee-jerk moment.
lt;dr: Poems are parties, or thunderstorms, or orgasms. or all of the above. Take your pick.
Most parties have this sense of discontent. We have all these roles we can play: the crying drunk girl, the obnoxious drunk girl who sings along (incorrectly) to each horrible Rihanna tune that squeals through the stereo, the totally sober boy who pretends to be drunk so he can hook up with his best friend David and pretend like the whole thing never happened, the totally drunk boy who the totally sober boy accidentally hooks up with anyway. Then there are the stoners with their little cloud of disappointment and empty happiness, the people who stand awkwardly at opposite corners and try to use a spoon to eat jello shots. That one douchebag who feels the need to make some awkward toast every twenty minutes; his final, a dialogue between he and the toilet. These are parties. These are the parties I've been to. I've played, though I hate to admit it, most of these roles. Except the last. I hate toasts and I've never puked after drinking. It's uncomfortable right? These parties? They're created for interaction, because they can be "fun" or "cool" or just an epicenter of people to get fucked up and forget their "problems." Or for people to get fucked up so they can remember their problems and make more of them. This, I think, is a poem.
But I also think a poem is a thunderstorm. There's a tension, a growing sense of unease. It's much like good sex. You're hyperaware. You've got this continual string of signs that unsettle you: the hollowness of pre-storm air, the silence, the lack of birdsong-- all you hear is this industrial whine that nature somehow manages to override. Then the lightning strike, then the thunderclap and rain the size and consistency of glass shards pelting you. You should be fucking terrified. But there's something so poetic about a thunderstorm. I think it lies heavily in the premonition we get before a storm strikes. This sort of "oh-shit" moment where we don't know how to behave. It triggers something absolutely animal, which a poem should do as well. I think parties try to simulate this "oh-shit" knee-jerk moment.
lt;dr: Poems are parties, or thunderstorms, or orgasms. or all of the above. Take your pick.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
So this is my 8th (?) blog
I am creating this because I need a fresh start and a new blog. Things have changed, I'm so sick of those other projects and I just don't feel quite right continuing them. So here things are. It's February 25th, 2012. There's currently a rather attractive boy in my room researching regenerative medicine internships so we can stay together this summer while I work New Student Orientation. We're waiting to see that new Hayao Miyazaki movie tonight. I'll probably post a review later tonight.
In the world of Poetry, I'm currently working on my first chapbook with Professor Kristin Sanders here at Loyola. She's so brilliant; I cannot tell you how happy I am to have a professor like Kristin. At the moment I'm setting up my midterm portfolio, I'm not exactly sure how many poems she wants me to turn in, but I've got about five-six solid poems that I think are pretty much totally complete. I'm working on another group of eight that I like, but am not totally satisfied with. I will post one or maybe two of them in a little while.
I think I've decided to go for my MFA in Poetry probably LSU, FSU, Arizona or UC Davis. After receiving my MFA I want to go for my doctorate in Critical Theory and then return to some University to teach. I'd like to maybe teach at Loyola or even Tulane.
In other news, life carries on. Mardi Gras just ended and my voice is still gone, but still I had a great time. I might post some pictures sometime soon.
I will (hopefully) be keeping up with this blog regularly. I've gotten so tired of Facebook that I need something like this. (I think this is especially funny considering I help run the social networking platforms for two major resources on campus.)
In the world of Poetry, I'm currently working on my first chapbook with Professor Kristin Sanders here at Loyola. She's so brilliant; I cannot tell you how happy I am to have a professor like Kristin. At the moment I'm setting up my midterm portfolio, I'm not exactly sure how many poems she wants me to turn in, but I've got about five-six solid poems that I think are pretty much totally complete. I'm working on another group of eight that I like, but am not totally satisfied with. I will post one or maybe two of them in a little while.
I think I've decided to go for my MFA in Poetry probably LSU, FSU, Arizona or UC Davis. After receiving my MFA I want to go for my doctorate in Critical Theory and then return to some University to teach. I'd like to maybe teach at Loyola or even Tulane.
In other news, life carries on. Mardi Gras just ended and my voice is still gone, but still I had a great time. I might post some pictures sometime soon.
I will (hopefully) be keeping up with this blog regularly. I've gotten so tired of Facebook that I need something like this. (I think this is especially funny considering I help run the social networking platforms for two major resources on campus.)
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