PRESSURE PRESS ARCHIVE
RETICULATED DAYS IN THE LIVES OF A REGULAR MAN
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 CHAPTER 9
On the back of a classy-looking Belinda Subraman photograph Judson Crews has written a letter to me. "Your CHIRON feature. What a dear beautiful person you surely must be...I think you are a near genius -- if not an outright, full-fledged one...but what a dear, beautiful lady Diane must be to put up with a fucker like you...."
I cough out a good laugh at the kitchen table after I read it.
He also asks if I "have it in for Mark Weber -- or is this only a game?" I don't know what Mr. Crews is referring to, except maybe Mark showed him the 2 sets of interview questions I answered in unrestrained jest to Weber's drunken jest. Now that Mark is forced to dry all alcohol he might have a problem reading my drunken comradeship of intoxication, but shit, shit, I KNOW Mark understands. One of the true pleasures of being a poet, of knowing other poets, is a real feeling of brotherhood, empathy, & friendship. Mark's questions & MY answers were two fuck-fingers shot across the factory floor, a likewise smile. In that Chiron interview Oberc describes me as "a fine writer with a strange, psychotic sense of humor...", & I suppose those adjectives tagged to my humor are perfect descriptive mirrors of my experience of Life & being alive & jesus fuck the normalcy of the strange & the psychotic & I apologize but not thru Poetry!