I dreamed all night of arguing with people about what makes a book good or when you can call someone "a writer".
I particularly recall looking in the beginning of some poetry anthology and seeing that all the poets with PhDs were listed in columns at the top of a page as "top-notch professional writers". The list included Gary Snyder, 50 Cent, and Snoop Doggy Dog.
I was overcome with sputtering rage and delivered a rabble-rousing harangue about what was wrong with this. "Just go and write something good! If someone has to teach you how, well fuck that! If you have to pay $20,000 for someone to teach you how, fuck that even more! It's a big lie! Don't listen!"
Then mixed into the dream as I was waking up was a strong feeling of cold horror at the odd way that M. A--x introduced me and Quilty to her boss. She is Confused. "Here are some Other Bisexuals! And Badger is from Chicago! And her wife I went out with and she took me to the Intern@tional Mr. Le@ther fair! " [like 10 million years ago, when the dinosaurs roamed the earth...] Also she expected her boss to be impressed at my crappy little book. Bookstore owner clearly was busy, didn't care about any of this, 90% of San Fr@ncisco or possibly the World is bisexual, and last thing a store owner who owns mostly a lot of empty shelves and no capital wants to hear is to be introduced to some "buy my crappy poetry book on consignment" girl from the provinces... And like I care about her boss, either? A--x. clearly way overexcited by my rather attractive breasts.
Am thinking of going back to the city next week and just donating some of my little books to M0dern Times (where I _did_ have the "consignment" discussion, but didn't have the books on me). As bookstores everywhere seem to be in trouble, and the libritos cost me like 20 cents each to make, at most.
Oh ghu, that doesn't mean you don't like Gary Snyder, does it?
"H4y f0r th3 H0rs3s" is just about my favorite poem.
Posted by: whump | May 23, 2004 at 01:51 AM