Sunday, February 19, 2006

awww jesus

My typewriter comes soon...finally beating out my frustrations on a machine instead of my mail order bride will be an option...but only an option. May be going to rome this summer to study film, the process will be exactly what i feel i've needed for a long time...probably go to europe regardless...not sure...tantalizing thoughts. Being to write again, putting down the prose for a little while and picking up the scripting pen. Reading alot of David Foster Wallace..challenging read, tongue in cheek in the way he knows how academic his writing is getting ready to read oblivion...but despite his talents my lit. professor doesn't think he is a writer, rather a cocky savant...this woman is worse than oprahs book club as far as her taste in everything..she is young and feels the world owes her something and has nothing but hatred for athletes and our "special needs" (missing class for games) she hasn't learned that what makes a great professor isn't the term DR. but rather the knowledge that they are no better than anyone else...watching 2046 tonight.

1 Comments:

Blogger Jordan Forever said...

Control the tip Corey.
Holy shit my crotch smells funny. I should shower before I go out, but you know, I'm becoming more European everyday. I stopped shaving my legs, enjoy Woody Allen films, am cunillingual, smoke, and write pointless poetry that no one will read. Should I take up acting instead? I dont have the patience for longer prose, I realize that (or the organizational skills), but my poetry is professional (which means its good, solid, whether I'm having a good day or a bad day regardless). The problem: I like women, food, cigarettes, travel, and babies...and theres no way I can have any of that on the salary of a poet...who is self educated no less. The power of mind achieved by a self educated man is no match for the economic magic a person who drags around a piece of sheep skin can conjure.
Rome? Go.
heres a poem:

Talking to a Hooker at Bamberg Station

Yes I lit her cigarette to watch the cherry bounce
into the flame and into the smoke
ignoring trains leaving overhead.
"I know you're a soldier
And you look so sad
So I assume you had a cigarette"
and I pretend not to notice
the noises from her empty stomach
underneath her wine stained shirt
like Baudelaire pretending to sleep
when his mom walks in the room.

9:31 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home