Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Saturday, October 27, 2012
For a Fatherless Son by Sylvia Plath
Growing beside you, like a tree,
A death tree, color gone, an Australian gum tree ---
Balding, gelded by lightning--an illusion,
And a sky like a pig's backside, an utter lack of attention.
But right now you are dumb.
And I love your stupidity,
The blind mirror of it. I look in
And find no face but my own, and you think that's funny.
It is good for me
To have you grab my nose, a ladder rung.
One day you may touch what's wrong ---
The small skulls, the smashed blue hills, the godawful hush.
Till then your smiles are found money.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
"If you look at the writing of my peers, I mean the people I’m surrounded by, they’re still writing like Thomas Pynchon or David Foster Wallace. I’m trying to pull it back from this 'prog-rock' and just give you a fucking two minute song, in your face. Don’t like that one? Bam! Here’s another one. Don’t like that one? Bam! Here’s another one. And to look at it that way."
Read the Scott McClanahan Interview HERE