I have a new thing at McSweeney's. It's part of a larger thing I'm working on.



Also, Eric McKinley interviewed me here

self worth

I have new stuff at ghoti

Also, this made me laugh several times.



There are all of these people that come to my blog and leave in under ten seconds. That hurts my feelings. Could you maybe try to wait 11 seconds? 11 seconds would make me feel like my blog was worthwhile. It would improve my overall self worth.

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I'm looking forward to being done with grad school applications so I can actually spend some time writing. Every time I start writing I think, "I should look over that statement of purpose again," or "Maybe I should reread that third story I decided to use for my portfolio." I'm ready for the process to be finished. And then to bite my nails bloody for more than four months. Maybe I will post pictures of my bloody hands. It will be fun. Something people look can forward too. Eric Beeny or Molly Gaudry or whoever the fuck reads my blog will look at them and be entertained. Or that person from Pennsylvania that looks at my blog a lot.

I often think of that person from Pennsylvania and wonder who they are.

illiterate

I feel grossly under-read. Last night I was looking through different lists of 100 books or 101 books everyone should have read. I made a list of everything I hadn't read and wanted to read or felt like I ought to read. I feel like a bumbling moron. How do I tie my shoes every day? (My shoes don't have laces. Cats eat shoelaces. And headphones. Tasty, tasty headphones). Here's my list. I think it's around 90 books.

one flew over the cuckoos nest
anna karenina
the grapes of wrath
crime and punishment
war and peace
Lolita
the communist manifesto
the invisible man
heart of darkness
a room with a view
cat on a hot tin roof
middlemarch
of mice and men
frankenstein
the turn of the screw
baby doll
breakfast at tiffany's
the beautiful and the damned
the autobiography of malcom x
the outsider
les miserables
the time machine
let the right one in
hell's angels
a tale of two cities
in cold blood
junky
subterraneans
death of a salesman
guys and dolls
the count of monte cristo
the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy
one thousand and one nights
the three musketeers
catch 22
the trial
all quiet on the western front
gulliver's travels
beloved
the unbearable lightness of being
nausea
the war of the worlds
david copperfield
don quixote
mrs. dalloway
jane eyre
the portrait of a lady
moby dick
slaughterhouse five
for whom the bell tolls
the picture of dorian gray
brave new world
swiss family robinson
the dharma bums
lord of the flies
bluebeard
atlas shrugged
the metamorphisis
another roadside attraction
white noise
seek
the art of warfare
east of eden
the thin red line
tropic of cancer
a farewell to arms
confederacy of dunces
undaunted courage
cannery row
the idiot
waiting for godot
invisible man
their eyes were watching god
the bell jar
the color purple
madame bovary
the sun also rises
the jungle
infinite jest
dandelion wine
the wind-up bird chronicles
things fall apart
uncle tom's cabin
siddhartha
gravity's rainbow
gone with the wind
to the lighthouse
naked lunch
beh hur
mere christianity

So I'd like to get started on this, but the bad thing is that I'm not a student next semester and won't be able to check these out from the school library. I went to our public library once but they just have 77 copies of every Dean Koontz book ever written. Dean Koontz, I hope your face explodes. And I don't give a shit if I'm spelling your name right.



There are new issues of lots of lit mags because it's the beginning of the month. Other people linked them on their blogs. Go read those other blogs and then read those new issues.

Halloween

weekend

Netherworld tonight.
Atlanta Pride tomorrow.
Dress up as roller derby girl saturday night.
Bodies on sunday

Notes for my brit lit II test

Keats was an abused orphan, but he did all right. Except for that tuberculosis.

"The Eve of Saint Agnes" would make an okay soft-core non-consensual literotica/porn.

"Windfall" is how apples get to the ground.

Love that never achieves will always be warm.

Something, something, the Irish are oppressed. No potatoes, bitches sure are hungry.

Everyone Tennyson knows dies, but that's okay because he gets to be Poet Laureate.

I really need to get down on lotus-eating.

Ulysses treated his family like shit, but at least he wasn't bored.

The bishop from "The bishop orders his tomb" was a man-slut. And probably a vampire.

The duke from "My last duchess," killed his first wife because he thought she was a whore. Don't fuck around if your husband's a duke. Dumb bitch.

Matthew Arnold died from a heart attack. I hope I don't die in a boring way.

There's no way I'm reading "Culture and Anarchy." Thank you sparknotes/wikipedia.

I can't help but laugh at the name Gerald Manley Hopkins. Funnier when you consider he was only 5'2.

"Carrion Comfort" is a great title for a poem. Maybe I can steal it.

Rudyard Kipling was an accomplished mother fucker. If my parents had a lot of money and loved me, I would be too.

Something, something, I like modernism.

Wilfred Owen used to love Jesus, then, not so much. He got sniped. Not gonna bank on that Jesus-loving now.

Fuck, why am I thinking about Big Brother and telescreens and two minutes of hate while I'm reading "Anthem for Doomed Youth?"

Yeats was a slut. I already knew that. Creepster. Ol Cormac sure liked him though.

Anarchy, gyres, nationalists, swan-rape, etc.

And also, the guy that sits in front of me has awful dandruff. I might tell him before the test.