Who's the Elitist Hog Now?

I just received an email--an email so encouraging that even 60s Jesus would not have found himself capable of it--informing me that VQR wishes to accept three poems for a future issue!!!

Blackmail!

Pay me a hundred dollars not to illustrate the recent Charles Wright title, "Sunlight Bets on the Come." Come on, you can afford it. The alternative is bleak: I will shoot the sunny ejaculate of my art into your eyes, blinding you to better suns forever. So cough it up, elitist hogs, and with the proceeds I will purchase some of this Kollij you all seem to be so fond of!

Informal Poll of the Day

Would you read a comic starring a character named Specter McClot? I would. I totally would. Think of the potential adventures! Picture his clot-busting nemesis! I realize that this isn't even close to what a clot looks like, but people who read comics don't care. Because they suck at the teat of fantasy.

Fuck You, Respective Moms and Dads

It is decided: Elegant Choice and I will be changing our last names to SNATCHFACT at the earliest possible convenience. Please update your little minds!

NSFW...in a Way That I Cannot Even Describe

Balkan.Erotic.Epic.Marina.Abramovic

I received this treasure in my inbox this morning, courtesy of everyone's favorite anonymous commenter. He is such a cornucopia of perversity; what did I ever do to deserve him? There is no way to prepare you for what you are about to experience--all 13-plus minutes of it--so I won't try, except to say that nude men copulating with a field is only the beginning. Enjoy.

TOTAL CHAOS FOREVERMONTH: Cornelius Eady

Your eyes can’t tell plumb from plums.
--Cornelius Eady, "Handymen"

And whose can, Cornelius, for both are so joosy and glaucous!

I made it through the surgery alive, I grudgingly admit, and both dentist and dental assistant confirmed my suspicion that those teeth were as huge as an animal's. I was allowed to keep them and they are powerful talismans, but I will not sell them to you for even hundreds of dollars.

WRETCHY

I'm working on a Cornelius Eady painting for you, but I doubt I'll finish it before I am cruelly murdered by anesthesia tomorrow morning. Your hopes, do not get them up!

Search String of the Day: Fat Porn Cream Cakes

I'm sitting here waiting for Racist Santabelly Handyman to come finish sealing up the kreechur-portal in the bathroom floor. He's almost three hours late. I think he's an alcoholic: his belly is a glob but the rest of him is skinny, and he mentioned that he was going to ask his mom to take him to Home Depot so he could buy caulk and paint. "Just make sure that the paint matches," I said. "Don't worry," he said, bouncing his belly toward me and breathing on my ear, "I'm not going to [nonsensically conjugated racial epithet] it." At which point he turned to the wall and tore off a huge piece of plaster. I had no idea what to do. Normally I would slap his face, but we were alone together in the apartment, and I had the uneasy feeling that it would be unwise to slap a six-foot-eight probable alcoholic who feels comfortable using a racial slur as a verb within two minutes of meeting you. Perhaps I will pin a piece of bacon to him when he arrives and let the cat eat him to death. In the meantime I cannot take a shower, so I feel like a suckling pig with dirty frills in her ears.

To make matters worse, they're going to tear my wisdom teeth out this Tuesday, and I am terrified. I hate the tooth doctors so much; they want to steal all the jewels out of your mouth. Elegant Choice is excited because I promised to make him a necklace out of them, so for him it's going to be a holiday. That is, of course, if I survive.

TOTAL CHAOS FOREVERMONTH: Happy Belated Annibirthdary, Wallace Stevens!

What about horses eaten by wind?
--Wallace Stevens, "Parochial Theme"

And so begins a tradition. This year, I made the art; last year, I was the art. (The second picture is my favorite--why am I making such a chubby sulkface? It is a mystery. However, there is also a case to be made for the first picture, in which I contrive to look both pissy and frightened. Mourn the passing of my camera, friends.) Anyway, I thought I would attempt a looser interpretation this time around. Look at the monstrous wind, look at the horse! Behold his anatomically improbable legs!

TRAGEDY

Yesterday Elegant Choice threatened to quit his position as my benefactor unless I showed him my new poems. A hissy slapfight ensued. Reenactment:

"Why should I let you read the new poems?" I asked. "The last one you read, you said it was 'too much about a rat.' That was your whole criticism! That it was too much about a rat!"
"It was too much about a rat. The whole thing was about a rat!"
"You're too much about a rat," I responded, enraged. "Your whole thing is about a rat."
"If you don't show them to me, I'll stop benefacting you. I'll take away all your benefactions!"
"TAKE THEM AWAY RIGHT NOW," I shrieked, slopping my water all over my face. "NO MORE WATER FOR ME, I'LL DRINK FROM THE RIVER."
"You'll get hookworms!"
"And I'll catch your tiny fish on them."

So today I am looking for a fresh benefactor, preferably one who happens to be wealthy and rat-loving. Crispin Glover it is! I will inform him of this nomination immediately.

P.S. I am so remiss, I failed both to acknowledge King Wallace's birthday on the 2nd and the one-year anniversary of this blog on the 22nd. Fear not, however, I will throw us a belated art-party in short order.