When You're Here, You're Family. [jimbehrle at gmail dot com]

* Sorry about your dog, Joshua Corey, but this sentence sounds fucking weak to me:
"The conference resembled nothing so much as a fourth-rate, Bizarro AWP." What is AWP a fourth-rate Bizarro version of? The real world of real writers with real lives. That some people want to be poets and meet poets makes THEM lame and somehow you doing the same thing (on a much more crass and way more calculated level) is OK and first-rate? See, that kinda kills the whole Josh Corey, Man of the People vibe you're working on. That some people weren't born with the good sense to only value the corporate conventions YOU GO TO doesn't make them dumber than you, it makes them a teensy-bit less-misguided than you. The fact is there is probably no book table IN AMERICA you wouldn't sit behind (and next to Snodgrass or Wagoner or Whoever) EVER. And as opposed to the people that get excited about getting in *that* anthology and being treated like a real writer, *you* ought to know *better*. AWP is the same pyramid scheme as the Poetry.com--at least it has no pretentions of being ANYTHING else. If you titled your post MY VISIT TO THIS YEAR'S AWP and kept all of the text the same, no one would bat an eye. You wouldn't have to change a word. Get down with your smug self-appreciation! It probably only takes one visit to the poetry.com conference for the poor suckers to know they've been had. How many AWPs will it take you for you to realize that people are counting YOUR money and laughing at YOU?
[Note: under cover of night careful Joshua seems to have made some edits, blunted whatever unconscious snarling he may have accidentally let seep out. Why are you angry at them, Joshua? Why does everyone have to make the same kind of poetic decisions you did? Why not let them decide for themselves what's worth their time and money? What's wrong with poems about Jesus? But, right Jimmy, Whatevs!!: you're a heartfelt guy when you're not being a tool. Quit pissing me off. I think I'll send a (good) poem (the bad poem thing has been done) to Poetry.com. I know just the one. If I win $20,000, we'll all drink on me...]

Check out some other pirate cartoons at
gaypiratesinlove.blogspot.com

* From bookslut: Aren't corporately ironic t-shirts about as cool as Urban Outfitter or Velvet Revolver, anyway? I got two words for you Bill: CYMBELINE and SUCKS. You make overrated seem overrated. Why not call Kenneth Branaugh up and ask him how his brilliant career's going! Douchebag! My emo poems will eat your pantyhose-wearing soul. This guy kind of looks like Mark Lamoureux. If Mark was a dude crapping his pants under a tree. Which he's not.
Poems Written on Toilet Paper. It's hard to believe Bukowski never thought of this. Coming Next:
Extra Quilted Best American Poetry 2007 with Aloe!

* The time has come once again to show your comraderie to the poetry blogger world (clink clink goes your poetic dues)! For the 3rd straight year we're asking you to post a photo of your own ass to your blog. If your ass is not in good shape, feel free to use the one above. By posting your ass again this year you will show the blog-reading world that you admit that your blog is a constant advertisement of yourself and your own assets. That you only show the world exactly what you want them to see about yourself. And that you accept that in blogging about poetry you are actually obscuring more than you reveal: because your fat ass is always getting in the way. Looking forward to seeing your ass today!
Viva Post Your Ass to Your Poetry Blog Day!! God bless our little fucked up bloggy family. Of which This Blog is the Most Important and the Only One that Really Matters. Enjoy the Ass!!
"Ask 10 young American women who read poetry to name the living poet who matters most to them, and nine will probably answer: Louise Gluck. "Who are these young women, with the name Louise on the tips of their tongues? I bet you couldn't even get 9 out of 10 *students* of LG to say such a thing. Nice try. We're not buying. She is still a hottie, though.