Did you all read John Madera’s generous review of the first issue of Artifice?
No? Read it.
Thanks John!
Although I disagree with John regarding Derek Phillips’ poem (I found it delightful), his review absolutely captures the deliberate editorial vision that sets Artifice apart from its peers and makes it one of the most exciting publications in which my work has appeared.
Probably a lot of you have already ordered Artifice’s first issue. But maybe some of you haven’t. Maybe some of you are poor.
I am offering readers of Big Other a special opportunity to win a copy of Artifice’s first issue.
First, a bit abt the genesis of my own text.
“My Mother’s Funeral” was inspired by a poem Molly Gaudry wrote and posted in her blog called, “Some Mornings, Even a Cup of Coffee is Violence,” a title derived from a Barry Hannah quote by way of Josh Maday’s blog. Molly’s poem was assembled using found sentences from friends’ literary blogs, and was a lovely and startling expression of collective melancholy.
It was one of my first experiences of “found text” (I’ve since discovered William Walsh, David Trinidad, and lots of other cool folks working with found material), and I decided I wanted to do something similar, but with prose and narrative. I culled a number of sentences from blogs I subscribed to in my Google Reader — sentences that excited me for their syntax, sound, content, etc. I assembled them into a narrative. I tweaked a couple for shit like tense agreement. The process was messy and I forgot where some of the sentences came from.
Artifice published this piece in their first issue. It is called “My Mother’s Funeral.” You can read it here.
So here’s the contest part — I want you to identify the sentences. Where did they come from? Which blogs? The person who can identify the sources for the greatest number of sentences will win a copy of Artifice Issue 1. And perhaps something else exciting from my personal collection of extra copies of books and magazines. You are allowed to use Google.
Email your contest entry to knockonformica@gmail.com by Monday, April 5th.
Get hoppin.
Oh, I remember Molly’s poem. I wrote a response entitled
“Some days even a cup of coffee is violence (a bleary-eyed blurry remix)”.
The world is a pervert.
I think it is putting me in a particular mood.
I may have a mental breakdown.
I’ve been feeling sort of lost lately.
I’ll forget about it soon.
That almost makes sense, even though it doesn’t.
I like when you email me.
You go do that while I have a fitful sleep.
Please?
I like to believe that one day things are going to be all worth it.
Christ, my life is a cliche.
I’m a little confused.
Just thinking about it boils my blood.
My blood’s really surging.
Very excited about this.
This sort of mutually delusional behavior will continue.
I want to deny its existence, or convert it into something else.
You can guess that this is a double entendre.
Shane Jones erased his blog.
It kind of boggles my mind, trying to figure out all the things that means.
Did somebody just tell God about a hardening heart?
What a day.
I woke up and felt angry that no one bought me a soda.
I consider this a win.
Suggestions of killing myself were made.
I think I will one day.
It would be funny if I could do this for a living.
Every option seems like a bad option.
There will be more soon.
I’m dead serious about that.
I am surviving.
I will not give up.
I’m frankly shocked I lasted this long.
If anyone knows what we should do here, I would like to know what to do while I am here.
I feel confused. Do I want to sleep or do I want to be productive?
I just keep thinking, “You can’t go crazy, naked in this room…”
Nothing might happen.
All right. That’s all for now.
This was not a poem.
Bullshit, I say.