Now blogging from an undisclosed location.
Author: Timothy Yu
Orange alert! Orange alert!
Vroom!
Clarity‘s shatterproof, haywire-thin, Sop-strapped in a phony spring. Her Blacksheep sigh’s behind dark glass For now, a hard edge moving through My words like an eyeless root. The benevolent secretaries of the space-age whim Transcribe by committee, reluctant and free. In the next installment she’s the novice, held Together by papier-mache. We descend By degrees into the real, a lens…
How can you not vote for a guy who has a blog?
The air today is like a sheet of foil; every other surface seems paved, all the green glared out.
For the first time this year it was actually hot here. The air had returned to its air-conditioned smell but was just the slightest bit visible, like smoke from a distant barbeque. The number of bicycles on campus seems to have instantly tripled, so that you have to dodge them even when you’re standing still.
I’m currently working on an ode to Clarity. Of course, it is totally incomprehensible.
Sorry, Jim–I’m guessing that if you want to get into category BA you’ll probably have to move. Don’t worry, though–you can have my spot when I leave town.
I hate Sven Birkerts. He’s got a review in the NY Times today of Margaret Atwood’s new book that represents everything that makes me ill in mainstream/academic reviewing. He writes: “Science fiction will never be Literature with a capital ‘L,’ and this is because it inevitably proceeds from premise rather than character…Some will ask, of course, whether there still is…