[19.11.06][Andrew Gallix] NO BULLSHIT REVIEWS BY CHRISTIAN PROZAK "ahhhhh sweet sassy lasses / how we love your boobs and asses / your bad grrrrl grins / and vixen visions / but next time leave yr / postfemme / fatal / ism / verse / at home"
Kingdom of Fear: Loathsome Secrets of a Star-Crossed Child in the Final Days of the American Century by Hunter S. Thompson Simon & Schuster, NY
though vainglorious and nascent of old gonzod hat Kingdom is most smoking nug of nitrobiased journalcy cured w/ crystal fiction to aggravate the Hogs of War in sad shadow of yr Michael Moore
--but impotent in fury(?):
"Let's face it -- the yo-yo president of the U.S.A. knows nothing. He is a dunce. He does what he is told to do -- says what he is told to say -- poses the way he is told to pose. He is a Fool... This is not the time to have a bogus rich kid in charge of the White House... he wantonly and stupidly endorses mass murder of a logical plan to make sure we are still Number One -- he is a Jackass by definition -- a loud and meaningless animal with no functional intelligence and no balls... Who are these swine? These flag-sucking half-wits who get fleeced and fooled by stupid little rich kids like George Bush? They are the same ones who wanted to have Muhammad Ali locked up for refusing to kill gooks. They speak for all that is cruel and stupid and vicious in the American character. They are the racists and hate mongers among us -- they are the Ku Klux Klan. I piss down the throats of these Nazis. And I am too old to worry about whether they like it or not. Fuck them."
Lo, our friendly neighborhood dopefiend has spun another narco-coil twined in clever curlitales of sundry plots converged in theme that as of yet no critics know what to make of bombast but more of ye olde same
Cockmuffins! This is a different specimen sophisticated in suspense paced with cops and guns and Depp gelling to the namedrop end
avec a secret stitch of aggressions in transgression in the face of dick and bush and all their slimy scandaleezas
what's pisspants hilarious is booze-fueled roadkill pig-limo visions of Clarence Thomas humping whores in Elko lustrush of most quintessential knee-slap Amlit overkill this pseudonym has ever seen blast ratbastards in the ass
Ho ho! Bravo! Encore Maestro! War makes art worth a shit.
***
America: A History in Verse Vol. 3, 1962-1970 by Edward Sanders Black Sparrow Books, NY
Aye the I in the eye of once Fugly troubabard who apres l'evidence of JFK chiggerism poses
"Is it not proper to think that military leaders who would propose domestic terror could also kill a president or fashion a patsy?"
then all that ML Kingful marching lynching bugging baiting beating in red white & blue blood of
sacrificial Camelot lambs (whom most luminious is Ted!?) blazing amazing scathing faces thugslugging RatherDan in Panthered past of Mansonland
where "The Spirit of Napalm... and his bone-pal Scythe Man the Lurker" spankingly contrasts "the fluffy... condemnation of a writer... famous for his breathy, envious book on... Kesey"
adding
"You could see Mr. Wolfe in 1827 snickering at the paint-stained clothing of William Blake (and his egalitarian politics) after... snickery visit"
till Four Dead in Ohio and flowervisions in the gun
as Sanders goes and goes and goes toward volume 4 of Nixon Ford Carter Disco Iran-Contra Reagan nation Oblivion
making a new Maximus what doesn't condescend.
***
Slouching Toward Nirvana: New Poems by Charles Bukowski HarperCollins, NY
Finally! A dead-Bukowski afterbook that doesn't suck posthumous butt
poetry inspired by "my cats, my wife,/the shape of my coat thrown over a chair, the weeping of the planet... the flight of the hummingbird and"
the fact that it's so easy to die long before the fact of it
so the bird has now busted out the heavy stuff:
"how close we all are to being nothing most of the time
and for some of us nothing all of the time"
since "we are hardly ever as strong/as that which we create" and
"most poets are just big tit-suckers: accepting readings taking university chairs praying for tenure writing books on poetic technique and giving lectures"
aka
"those chattering bitching ninnies who are so quick to insist... that I am not one of them"
plus plenty of advice for those who can't:
"read this to your class in contemporary literature and tell them how easy it is.
then send those children out to walk the asphalt like the rest of us"
meanwhile
"some are good at cleaning the shit stains out of the toilet; others at polishing the mirror of their own vanity; many are expert at composing inoffensive verse or sucking dick.
but while the drippings from their thin minds spill from their tongue
Say What? No wonder this voice was wisely left for surreal existential end ie,
"flowers floating on the lake. New Jersey dogs in thrall... do abandoned factories ever scream at mid- night? I am warming up now as bottle caps explode in my brain. I am giving off smoke. I am really smoking now. I am an Easter egg. I am a paper clip...
as the world reaches its final foolish conclusion I realize that nothing has been learned"
and as the "powers-that-be persist/in tolerating shit" Bukowski plays the "shuck and jive" like horses at the track a "pure folly to get slick about" cuz ultimately (he he he) poetry's "a lie."
This is a glossy sexy photobook of saucy naked nudie Goths and Gen-Y hotties but
also a statement of a shaven pierced generation tattooed Betty Booply
not nipple porn for wanking wetly (though you could) but the stuff of coffee- table yakking
ahhhhh sweet sassy lasses how we love your boobs and asses your bad grrrrl grins and vixen visions
but next time leave yr postfemme fatal ism verse at home.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Christian Prozak aka Mark Spitzer, novelist, poet, and literary translator, grew up in Minneapolis where he earned his Bachelor's degree at the University of Minnesota in 1990. He then moved to the Rockies, where he earned his Master's in Creative Writing from the University of Colorado. After living on the road for some time, he found himself in Paris, as Writer in Residence for two years at the bohemian bookstore Shakespeare and Company, where he translated French criminals and perverts. In 1997 he moved to Louisiana, became the Assistant Editor of Andrei Codrescu's Exquisite Corpse, and earned an MFA from Louisiana State University. He is now Assistant Professor of English at Truman State University in Missouri, where he teaches Creative Writing and catches muskellunge daily.
