is a book by Sam Pink, which sounds like a pseudonym, but is actually what results when James Tate, David Markson and Tyler Durden have a baby together.
What I really want to say, though, is that this book is one of those books that gets you thinking, "Shit, I'm not writing enough. I need to PUSH myself." And also, "I'm a wuss for thinking this. I should just write." And also, "I should collage violent acts into poems." Then you realize, "Oh, Pink aleady did that. Hilarious."
Warning: Pink's book contains no violence...
...and pushes the envelope so far (& successfully, I should add) that I've turned again to other work I've written that I've been "stuck" on.
I need to risk more, I think. Once I have a looksee over some "stuck" pieces, I'll let you know someday what exactly I mean by "risking more" and just what type of "risk" I'm talking about.
Now I'm going to read into this conceptually, and while I'm unsure that Pink would want this, if he doesn't like it he can go floss with my G-string on fire...
One thing that sticks out in my mind is Spicer's idea of serial work, and how Pink taps into this vein, writing what could easily have been two books (168 pages) that draws heavily on one theme. But where other attempts of others writers to write "twee" into socially unacceptable themes haven't worked, Pinks tract on violence works very well indeed. I'm not sure why, but I think it has to do with the book's final poem about "beating a dead horse." Pink beats well, and to sustain this kind of hilarity for 168 pages without seeming too cute or clever is an accomplishment.
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