The Life and Times of the Soon to be Late, Georges Borchardt

I came across this pretty lengthy but fairly interesting interview about the renowned publishing agent Georges Borchardt, yes, the one who introduced a few somewhat famous authors to the States (i.e. Sarte and Samuel Beckett). I am not lying when I say this is lengthy, so beware, as I had to break it up between a few days to finish it. But for anyone interested in books, I found the below a must read.

Really old French dude spills his guts about publishing novels in the States

If somebody asks you what you do and you say, "I'm a writer," the next question will be, "But what do you do for a living?" - Georges Borchardt

Cheers.

I Want To Deep Relationship You

A few days ago at work, Steve gave a tour of his apartment complex to three Korean UIC students who were looking for a residence. A day later, at 5:48am, Steve received the below letter, which not been edited from its original content.
Who says the language barrier can't provide a few classic moments?

hi...steve...

i'm hoya, shied boy...

i met you yesterday you my new aptment serching, you are so kind and comfortable...

don't worry, i'm not gay.

i just uic student studing english, i hope my english tutor.

your pronounce is so good, i want to deep relationship you.

even if i don't english, i try to study and i want to know you...

if you are good, i daily meet and togather talk about everything and everybody...

my friend steve~

can you help me?

i'm not dangerice guy and don't worry...

i want to good friend...

take care and have a nice day...

i want to receive your good mail...

hoya.



with much care,
kaw

Drink Em Up Boys, It's My Last Night in Town

This may quite possibly be the only bonus to Chicago's 10pm noise curfew on all outdoor amplified sound systems, aka live music.

Too bad I am short and could only see the top of Ben's head. Oh well. Maybe in my next life I will be a giraffe.

Enjoy,

KAW

Freud Would Have A Field Day

Friends I need help.

Two nights ago I had a dream about being at a barbecue. In the dream there was one of those red and white checkered table cloths covering a picnic table, and the table was full of hundreds of different kinds of meats ranging from full cooked ducks (thanks Steve) and huge chicken legs (thanks Kentsmas).

I no longer remember who was there, I actually do not think anyone I knew was in attendance, so it could not have been considered "crucial" or anything.

Anyway, while I was at the barbecue, every time someone turned their back or wasn't paying attention to me, I grabbed a piece of Spanish chorizo sausage, cut in about 2 inch circles, off the table and scarfed it down.

Now this isn't that terrible, except this occurred for the entirety of the dream, over and over and over again. And no matter how full I became off the sausage I just kept packing them in.

After reading the above correspondence, which answer best defines the meaning of the Sausage Dream:

A. I am subconsciously gay and starving for sausage.
B. My brain really wants me to start eating meat again.
C. I miss Spain and really want to live in Barcelona.
D. I want to have sex with my mom.
E. All of the above

Cheers,
Kent

The Clocks are Sorry, The Clocks are Very Sad

Dear Grandmother,

There is nothing easy about this dying.

But what matters now and only now, is how you gave everything to this world, especially to my brother and I. The way you kept all of your promises and how you saw every single one of my baseball games and how you knew how to say I Love You even in those last days when you were so weak you couldn't move your lips.

and then there was your sister, who did the same for her family. How similar you both were, the way you gave up everything for someone. I only hope you knew how appreciative we all were. But in the end, how unsurprising it was, both of you leaving this life of wanting, no more than a half day apart. How close you were your entire lives, soul mates with the same blood. Nothing would make more sense than holding the other's hand into the unknown.

For you both, here are two poems for which I will hum to you every day for the rest of my life.

The first by Donald Justice, I have found, out of all the poems I have ever read, to be the saddest. And another by e.e. cummings for which I find to be one of the most beautiful poems.

There is nothing else, than to have both these at the same time, so heavy with their own weight.


Psalm and Lament

In memory of my mother (1897-1974)
Hialeah, Florida

The clocks are sorry, the clocks are very sad.
One stops, one goes on striking the wrong hours.

And the grass burns terribly in the sun,
The grass turns yellow secretly at the roots.

Now suddenly the yard chairs look empty, the sky looks empty,
The sky looks vast and empty.

Out on Red Road the traffic continues; everything continues.
Nor does memory sleep; it goes on.

Out spring the butterflies of recollection,
And I think that for the first time I understand

The beautiful ordinary light of this patio
And even perhaps the dark rich earth of a heart.

(The bedclothes, they say, had been pulled down.
I will not describe it. I do not want to describe it.

No, but the sheets were drenched and twisted.
They were the very handkerchiefs of grief.)

Let summer come now with its schoolboy trumpets and fountains.
But the years are gone, the years are finally over.

And there is only
This long desolation of flower-bordered sidewalks

That runs to the corner, turns, and goes on,
That disappears and goes on

Into the black oblivion of a neighborhood and a world
Without billboards or yesterdays.

Sometimes a sad moon comes and waters the roof tiles.
But the years are gone. There are no more years.


if there are any heavens my mother will

if there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)have
one. It will not be a pansy heaven nor
a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but
it will be a heaven of blackred roses

my father will be(deep like a rose
tall like a rose)

standing near my

(swaying over her
silent)
with eyes which are really petals and see

nothing with the face of a poet really which
is a flower and not a face with
hands
which whisper
This is my beloved my

(suddenly in sunlight

he will bow,

& the whole garden will bow)


To the two woman who taught me how to treat everything with compassion, may your loving kindness touch every single inch of all the new worlds.

With much love for all time,
kaw

College Street

A friend of mine found this on the Huffington Post and sent it my way. Thought I would pass it along for everyone's enjoyment.


College Street + Police Riots = Memories

Cheers,
KAW

Welcome Helios, And All of Your Son's Fire

Good Afternoon Friends,

For the past couple days I have been waking up at incredibly odd hours of the night. Two nights ago it was 3:10 am, and today 4:48. This normally wouldn't be a cause for concern, as I have been sleeping in a living room for 7 months. But since Dane moved out, and I re-routed my sleeping habits behind closed doors, I felt that my REM sleep should at least occur at a more consistent basis. But anyway, I didn't realize the reason for these rude awakenings until last night when I logged onto the Google homepage and the main font had been changed to the "Hungry Little Caterpillar"

"That's it" my brain shouted! It wasn't actually my sleep habits, but instead, it was the Sun playing dirty tricks on the Moon. For instance, this morning, the sun came up behind the moon and covered his eyes with his hands, saying "Guess Who?!?" but since the moon is made mostly of rock, his blue eyes turned molten, and dripped out into the vast meteor field of Satellites. So what sounded like the dying cat screams of my radiator, was actually the Moon running circles around the Earth's atmosphere yelling at the top of his lungs "Fuck you, Sun! Fuck you, Sun!" and the Sun chuckling like Santa Claus does in those old cartoons, holding his belly while leaning back in hysteria. I don't even want to know what the Sun was doing at 3am a few nights ago...

Anyway, an explanation is coming... So why would the Sun play such tricks on the lonely and Nerd-like Moon? Because today, across the entire globe, daytime and nightime share almost the exact amount of presence in our lives And from now until the Autumnal Equinox, the Sun will rule over the moon. So, in celebration of this yearly feat, the Sun gets back at the Moon for all of that terrible winter darkness, and rubs it in by physically scarring the moon (seriously, this is in Greek Mythology, look it up). And you thought all of those craters were from Asteroids? shame on you.. shame on you...

But alas, I want to give a shout out to my boy, THE SUN. My dear friend, I welcome you back to old form.

Please everyone do their best to enjoy for the next 6 months, while he is king of the sky.

Cheers,
Kent