I went to Very Small Dogs yesterday, and read it. It had been awhile. In the meantime, Joseph Young had added much sublime stuff. This in particular is something I could read in a 300-page volume bound in stamped leather, or faux-leather, or something fancy or serious. Something that, after finding my place, moving the ribbon marker aside, and reading, I could just shut and enjoy the weight of in my hands while leaning back in my chair, full and quiet.
I also read one of my favorite stories by someone I sort of know, Mike Sposito’s You and Your Plane Crash at Stirring. I first read this years ago, and came across it again yesterday, and was once again so struck by the pitch-perfect tone, the black black humor, and the elegance of the writing. It’s a sort of diorama of a couple whose contempt for humanity has transformed into contempt for each other, to the point where an event as dramatic as a plane crash in their garden becomes just another setting to one-up each other and inflict pain. Think Garp, with fucked priorities.
So, I’m considering a project involving this blog, and poetry, which I will post about tomorrow. I had originally planned this project for April, National Poetry Month, but my world got put awry that month, so I’m considering September now, which should be safe. Who knows? Anyway, that’s a tease.
Mungo 