Eh, my hopes that September would be back on a schedule were dashed. Maybe calm is in the cards for October. Or maybe I'll run away to Peru and elope with a giraffe.
Recently I offered a writing prompt and was interviewed at The Poetry Instigator.
The reading on Saturday evening went well. We had a good turn out and I finally met Cathy Eisenhower and Chris Nealon. Mel Nichols read a poem about a guy on FB superpoking her all the time. She used his name in the poem, which I recognized because I, too, was once his superpoke target. He's the reason I now block all "pokes." Well, he's one of the reasons. I think it's rude to "poke" people, especially strangers. I remember my first week on FB some other dude I didn't know gave me a "foot rub." As if. Way to alert me to your creepiness! Anyhow, it's been a long time since I heard a poem at a reading that truly spoke to my life experience.
The poem made absolutely no sense to Chris. Not because it was Flarf, but because he has no idea what is Superpoke. I know, it's like living with Andy Rooney. Chris refuses to go on FB because, as he says, the only thing on FB is stalkers, creeps and his wife.
Ya know, maybe people wouldn't be flinging their skanky thongs at me if he was there to defend my honor. Just saying.
In other Fall for the Book Festival commentary, I want to write something about Ron Silliman's literary blogging talk. Maybe in the next couple days when I make some time to compose my thoughts.
In the meantime, hey, look at me, I'm loved and stuff.