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Welcome back to DC’s Writers Workshop. This is the ninth in a series of days on the blog where writers who are part of the blog’s community will present work-in-progress in search of the opinions, responses, advice, and critiques of both readers who don’t normally post comments here and local inhabitants of this place. I ask everyone to please read these works with the same attention you give the normal brand of posts here and respond in some way in the comments section below. Obviously, the closer your attention and the more you’re able and willing to say to the writer the better. But any kind of related comment is welcome, even a simple sentence or two indicating you read the piece of writing and felt something or other about it would be helpful. The only guideline I’m going to give out regarding comments is that any response, whether lengthy or brief, praise filled or critical or anywhere inbetween, should be presented in a spirit of helping the writer in question. I’ll be responding to the work too in the Comments section towards the end of the weekend. So I guess all of that is probably clear. Giving support to the artists of different kinds who read and post on the blog has always been a very important aspect of this project, but this workshop series represents one of the first times that aspect has been made formal. This weekend’s writer is Plexus, author of stories, poetry, a must-read blog and one this blog’s distinguished locals. He asks for any thoughts, support, or criticism you can give him. I thank him greatly for entrusting his work-in-progress to us, and I thank you all in advance for your kind participation. — D.C.
*
Physical Education
The summer I turned 15 I started self mutilation. It was clumsy at first like the time when I was little and I slowly closed the door on my finger just to see what it felt like. After a few months, the cutting developed into a more detailed and calculated ritual. At the hardware store, I got jumbo packages of razors. The cutting had to happen at night when everyone was asleep. On the floor in the middle of my room I spread out a garbage bag and then put my bleeding towel on top. It was a white towel I used to catch and soak up the blood. I used a new clean sharp razor every night and everything had to be quiet.
After Paul picks me up, we are deep in the forest behind the house where we had been 27 times before but this time, the 28th time, he is really staring at me. He is watching me.
:How was prison? Then he looks down at a rock and I wait for him to kick it. He doesn’t.
:School is school.
:You are braver than you look, Gabriel.
:Fuck you, Paul, seriously go fuck yourself.
He laughs a lot and makes motions like he is stabbing me with an invisible knife.
I took my bedside lamp on the floor with me, opened my legs and shined the light on my inner thighs so I could see like it was an operating room. The inside of my left thigh was where I cut with my right hand holding the razor. I hunched over myself and made 4 quick horizontal cuts then the universe stopped crawling. I swallowed for the millisecond when I tried to see which came first: the blood or the pain but they just came. I never figured it out. The concentration and sensation occupied every part of me so intensely that I didn’t worry about whether or not I would think again. I watched the blood bead up then trickle and fall as gravity pulled it down onto the towel. The pain would evolve in waves and burst through me then say shhh and repeat which made me shake. I think I wanted to cry.
He grabs at my ribcage and pushes me down into a pile of dead pine needles and crispy leaves. He is still, red and looks down at me. He grabs at my hair then his hand relaxes . He rubs it against the back of my neck and on my face in circles until it was totally fucked. He smiles.
:What are you looking at?
Soon I was cutting 4 slashes 3 or 5 times a night and making twisted Xs out of every other wound. Then I cleaned them with rubbing alcohol and covered them with band aids that I had purchased at the drugstore. I put used razors, cotton balls and band aid waste in a trash bag that I kept in my closet. My bleeding towel looked like a tapestry of different reds: the older blood was like rust and the new blood was bright and fresh. I hid it in my closet.
He kisses my saliva like it’s water and he’s made out of sand. There’s a lot of kissing and licking and lapping like a dog and I’m the empty water dish. He is in my neck again with his hands all over me then he rolls me and grabs my ass. He lifts up my t shirt and his tongue stabs every section of my spine like his tongue is some sort of bandage. He is fumbling with my jeans.
:don’t fuck up my belt
I was cutting scars open so they could breath. I made more and more that were deeper and deeper. On Thursday I made 6 slashes. Blood. Pain but not enough of the kind that made me shake. I think I was crying when I made the 7th cut and something released. The pressure of my skin holding my leg together let go. I cut all the way through. I did it. The blood poured and I watched it like it wasn’t even mine and the razor just sat there tucked in the opening. Was there pain? This was a slaughterhouse where I was the butcher and the cow. Everything went Red. Oh fuck. I pulled the razor out and pushed a wad of the towel on my thigh. My legs were shaking now. I took off my t shirt and held that to it. I put more than 10 band aids on there but it leaked. I checked the bottom of my feet for blood: none. I wobbled on the carpet to my desk and secured the band aids with scotch tape. I wrapped toilet paper from the bathroom and the sheet from my bed around it. If I stained my mattress with blood I was finished. I cleaned up trash and hid it, took two benedryl and fell asleep.
More spit. He is eating me out and drooling then his cock is a salamander in my asshole with his breath in my ear biting me. He is pushing further and further and crushing me harder and harder.
:I fucking love you, baby, my baby my Gabriel.
I am falling into leaves and needles and they are stuck to my face and the floor of the forest is in my mouth like I am being buried alive but I love being impaled by this dead carved branch that they used to burn witches with.
In the morning it was pulsing. I investigated the landfill of bandages on my thigh. I removed the spotted toilet paper and replaced it with fresh and scotch taped it all together. Time for school. No point in breakfast. I wore baggy black jeans.
It hurt bad all morning and felt hot and wet. I resented chairs, the sun and other people.
I forgot that I had P.E. I took my t shirt and shorts from the locker into a stall with me and looked at my wound again. It seemed quiet. So I changed and I think I walked like I had just been raped. Volleyball. I avoided the ball and got yelled at. I hit the ball then jumped and hit the ball and then I felt it rip open. The dam broke and it started bleeding so much so fast and I couldn’t stop it. Oh fuck. It soaked my shorts and started running down my leg. I should have used duct tape. Everyone was silent and staring when someone said
:Gabe started his period.
Everyone started laughing.
:That or he cut his dick off.
More laughter.
:What are you thinking about? Paul asks.
:Nothing.
:QUIET! the gym echoed. The teacher walked up to me like he was gonna run me over but just grabbed my arm.
:go to the nurses office NOW!
The nurse was confused. She asked what happened and I said I didn’t know but I thought about saying that I had been attacked by a dog. She told me to take off my shorts so I did. She looked at my bandages and the blood wept through. I looked at her. Don’t touch it please. She didn’t.
:I am calling your mother.
:Here
He hands me a joint. He kisses my forehead. He laughs.
:You look like your mother.
My mom came and picked me up. The nurse told her she thought I should go to the E.R. In the car she didn’t say anything and I started to wonder if she knew what was going on this entire time. The light turned red. She looked at my face then my bloody crotch and then my face again. I didn’t look at her.
:What did you do to yourself Gabriel?
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*
p.s. Hey. Welcome to the workshop. I basically explained everything above, but I’ll just add that I really hope you’ll take some time to read Plexus’ piece and leave a related comment, even if it’s just an acknowledgement that you read the work. Putting one’s writing on the line is quite a vulnerable situation, obviously, and your kind attention, whatever that involves, means a lot. As always, I’ll put in my two cents at the end of the weekend, Paris time. Thanks, everyone. ** Destroyed beyond emptiness, You’re not too late, you’re early, ha ha. Of course, it’s my great pleasure to be able to direct people to your work, and I’m adoring the new pieces I’ve managed to read thus far. I hope to have all of them in my head by the next time I see you. Seriously, about the poetry night and possible poetry club? Great idea. The white vest and nipple alterations too. Looking forward to your thoughts on Plexus’ stuff, and have a great weekend otherwise. ** David Ehrenstein, Hey. O’Donnell is really the bottom of the nasty barrel so far. Wtf! If she and those other monsters get elected, I may have to start looking into French citizenship or something. The white Andre Leon Tally, ha ha ha, wow. You gave me a laughing fit right there, David. That’s hilarious. ** Allesfliesst, What are ‘those candy selection micro-cities’ you speak of? Whatever they are, I want one. Atmospheric dullness, yeah, very nice, yeah, thanks. Do you have a free weekend ahead, or a weekend of work, or, uh, both? Is that even possible? ** Kent Johnson, Hey, thank you for chiming in. I’ll pass along your links. Everyone, The whole ‘did Kenneth Koch write a Frank O’Hara’ poem controversy that I linked you into yesterday and which seems to have spilled in the comments arena to boot is complicated, and Kent Johnson, who authored the book that started the controversy, offers two links to those who are interested to learn more. This one leads to his reply to the Tony Towle quote I printed here yesterday, and this one leads to some discussion of the legal maneuverings regarding KJ’s book by Edmond Caldwell, who also popped in here to give his opinion yesterday. ** Pilgarlic, I’ll start culling and restoring my porn stories. Porn stories make might for yet another good SPD theme idea. Everyone must have at least one really good story. You might even please both partners at the party with that Wax Trax box, depending on how mainstream the younger half was back then. Have and create a blast, man. ** El Caimán Divino, Hey. So pleased you liked the post, and the commiseration on the music selections is really nice. Amazing about your friend who plays ‘Rebonds B’. I’ve been kind of obsessed with that piece lately. I’m going to see if I have ‘Zyklus’ filed somewhere ‘cos I don’t remember it by name. I just put together a Brothers Quay post and was watching/ listening to their collab with Stockhausen. Anyway, great, and feel more than free to recommend things that spring to mind. Porn opera, wow, very interesting. I can’t imagine that’s been done, or not in public, ha ha. Gaspar Noe’s next film is supposedly going to be a 3D porn film, so maybe the time is ripe. Thanks, man. Best of all weekends to you. ** Edmond Caldwell, Hey. Best of luck to you with all of that. It sounds complicated. ** Alan, Hey. Hm, yeah, maybe the difference is that I let myself play somewhat loosely with my firmly predetermined direction. I think that’s probably my problem, but, like you, I don’t seem to know any other way to go about it. Well, very best of luck to Noboku re: the upstate job if that would be for the best. So screwed up, though, that it would need to come to that. ** Steevee, No, ‘I’m Still Here’ isn’t here yet. I guess now that it’s been revealed as 100% hoax, I’m more interested. I’m in the smallish camp that has never thought Joaquin Phoenix is much of an actor. He hasn’t convinced me since ‘To Die For’. But I’m curious about the faux-documentary’s gamesmanship. Very glad to hear you’re starting to feel better. ** Armando, Hey, man! Great to see you! No, I haven’t watched the extended cut of ‘The New World’ yet, which is very weird. My Recollets-sharing pal Kiddiepunk has the DVD or a download. I’m so headlong into my novel that I’m avoiding stuff. Anyway, I’m going to watch it pronto. And of course I’m kind of tearing my hair out waiting for ‘Tree of Life’. You doing good? What are you up to right now? ** Michael_karo, Hi, M. Oh, it’s over already? Your Warhol tweeting? Will you eventually gather them into a permanent, non Twitter place, or would that be inappropriate? Of course I’ll link the folks up. Just watch me. Everyone, the eminent Michael Karo’s Twitter art project Warhol_Diaries with its 1997 tweets and 3000 followers has reached its finish line, and you’ll be very, very happy if you click that link and have a long look. Thanks, Michael. I’ll click as soon as I’m not busy with this. This: p.s. Bon weekend! ** JW Veldhoen, Hey. Wow, a lot of disappearing going on there. What’s up with that? I could be way off, but you’re doing a lot of generalizing there about NYC bookstore people, eaterie patrons, alienation, America, Canada, etc. Me, I finding generalizing to be the entrance of untruth, so I always try to stop myself when my woes seem due to massed concepts rather than to individual cases. May not make any sense or work for you at all. That just popped out and connected with my problem solving side regarding the ways I blindside myself and the ways I try to parse the dilemmas of others, I guess. ** Statictick. Take care of that exhaustion, man. The rest waits patiently. The semi-long-distance boyfriend doesn’t want to see GbV?! (Deep breath.) I’m sure he’s a very lovely person otherwise. ** Chris Cochrane, Do I mind if the music gets loud? Ha ha, dude, I collaborate with Stephen O’Malley, for goodness sake. Of course loudness is cool with me. I’ll just say to you what I say to SOMA: don’t drown out my texts, man. Awesome about the music making. Can’t fucking wait to hear it, and hear about the rehearsals and, you know, all of it. ** Sypha, I hope copies of the Philip Best book are still around when I can afford it. Cool you got it and that it rules. ** Inthemostpeculiarway, Hey. Other docs about me? Hm, there’s a short doc about me by James Bolton made in the earlyish 90s. I think it played a few film festivals. I think that’s it. Oh, Dutch TV did a forty-five or so minute program/doc about me in the 90s, but I don’t think it’s viewable online anymore. I’m briefly in a couple of docs — the Kathy Acker, the JT Leroy one, if it ever comes out. That’s heavy and, yeah, Jesus, about your great aunt. 99, not bad, though. But the family gathering stuff gave me the willies, and I can’t imagine how it felt to be there and to be family. I’m sorry, man. I hope you get a respite this weekend. My Friday was mostly spent doing that radio play recording. We did it at this sound studio just off the rue St. Denis, which has long been mostly the street where you can buy great cheap vegetables and fruit, but which is starting to get hip now with trendy cafes here and there that are beloved by the fashion crowd. Anyway, the studio is on this little street rue Martel, which I’d never seen before and is kind of pretty. The studio is in the building where Julio Cortazar lived, and there’s a plaque saying so and everything, and that was cool. The day before we recorded there, Sylvie Vartan, who’s a legendary French singer/ songwriter, but I don’t think she’s known outside of a France — she’s very brassy; that’s her thing — was recording her new album in the same place and sound booth. That was kind of cool too. Anyway, we (Gisele, Jonathan C., and I) recorded from noon to 8 pm with one coffee break. This won’t make much sense if you haven’t seen the ‘Jerk’ theater piece, but Gisele decided that I should do all the non-Jonathan parts, meaning the audience members reading the fanzine texts aloud, Professor William Griffith, and the pretentious student who reads part of an essay at the end of the piece, So, I had to adopt different voices to do all that, and it seemed to go okay. We have a short last session today, so I’ll find out. Jonathan nailed his parts, of course, since he’s performed that piece 170 times now or something. I got home around 9 pm, and then I had the rude shock of discovering that the reason my ATM card bounced the other day I that I have no money at all. So, I have to get some somehow from somewhere right away, and I’m pretty stressed about that, but whatever. Then I slept badly/ stressily. Oh, well. Please tell me about your weekend, and I will do the same. ** Misanthrope, Well, that not leaving the house stuff solves at some of the mystery of your recent sluggishness. Go out there and play Frisbee with Little Show or something. Ugh, about the stingy money guys, but I’m glad you’re getting a decent fraction, at least. You’re coming to NYC in October? Awesome, but don’t blow your wad. Uh, well, you know what I mean. I mean that particular wad. Man, you know the weirdest people. A baby fucker and killer? I mean, Jesus. What next? Spend this weekend like there’s no day after the day after tomorrow, man. ** _Black_Acrylic, Great luck tonight, Ben. Have fun, give fun, and I can’t wait to see whatever I can see. ** Okay, now you guys go dig yourselves into our beloved Plexus’ work and have your say, please. I’ll do that too. Thanks a lot, everybody! See you back here.
Now available in North America 
oh, 'microcities' was probably exaggerating it a little. i was just talking about this. a department store at alexanderplatz holds a pretty huge candy selection, and when my little japanese girl is walking past the boxes with her little plastic bag in her hand it really looks like a city to me. sorry, if that raised expectations…
yes, i guess my weekend will be both work and non-work, whatever the ratio. a friend who is in a deep crisis with her husband was here and stayed overnight, and so the start into the weekend was mainly me trying to listen and say something comforting while i was really totally helpless. we went to a bar but she had a panic attack after we'd just nipped at our first round of cocktails and we had to get out, then watched "man on the moon," which was interesting and weird because there were so many parallels between andy kaufman and christoph schlingensief, including the lung cancer death. well, i hope they find a way to get out of the mess they're in now. i've never seen her so down, and i like her husband too and i like them both as a couple, which is a rather rare thing with me. we'll all meet in graz in october.
plexus, if i can find the time (and i think i can) i'll be back and comment on your story a little later. i read the first version of the story on your blog a while ago and found it quite impressive, and now that you seem to have interspersed it with another streak it's probably even better – but i'll give it a thorough read first before i say more.
the days of drowning out your text are gone. who know what that was about – some young buck doing his thing no doubt.
Great story, Plexus. The interspersed sexual encounter (rape?)helps provide context for the rest of the piece.
I had not read any of your blog stuff, Gabe, but, now I will. Color me impressed. What I know about cutting is how important the whole ritual aspect is to the process. Order, proceeding the act, culminating in the endorphin buzz, which goes all kinds of places, to that warm afterglow, inspiring contemplation, and, satisfaction with one's great secret, and, subsequently, the cleanup, and, aftercare, which,returns to ritual.I hope that's not too verbose, and, off the mark. Of course, that's the masochistic bottom's viewpoint, and, I'd love to see the abusive top's salamander turn into an engorged eel, up your ass, and what that means to him.
Dennis, yes, everybody has porn stories, because, lets face it, it's an important rite of passage. I never walked in on my parents, or, if I did it was so horrific that I've COMPLETELY blocked it from my memory banks. So, my first look at sexual congress was porn. Juxtaphosed images from that time of awakening, cum flying from an older boy's cock, as a neighborhood girl gave him a handjob, and, the t.v. horror of that Viet Cong guy getting shot in the head by the South Vietnamese officer, alternately, man's humanity, and man's inhumanity to man…different spurts causing different quirks, in my case. Yeah, I'll be the rest of my life working that one out.
Hi, Plexus.
It's a beautiful piece of writing, as you're probably aware.
I especially like how you reveal what the character is getting out of the cutting with occasional bursts of poetry, like "I was cutting scars open so they could breath."
It sort of reminds me of Jean Genet, but maybe I'm just trying too hard to name-drop on you.
To be honest, though, I'm not sure what's supposed to emerge out of the juxtaposition of the two stories. The description of the sex scene doesn't suggest rape to me. But maybe rape can more ambiguous?
Or maybe that sex story isn't there to explain, only to describe?
plexus- i properly enjoyed your peice. i thought the matter of fact description of the self harm was realy effective. durring one of the longer paragraphs my skin started crawling and i had to go take five for myself with a newspaper magazine. but i am over sensertive. i loved the details and specifics of cleanliness and bandages etc. That opening paragraph is actualy phenomenal, and the dialogue dureing PE was realistic, witty and fabulously unnerving.
also i thought the wood sceene bit was also realy interesting and enjoyable and had some amazing imagery in. however this bit seemed less fully realised than the other part. the rhythem of some of the lines and ideas seemed to jar. for me. for eg this bit seemed to just be tacked on to the end of the sentence.
"but I love being impaled by this dead carved branch that they used to burn witches with."
but i must say that this was the only one realy. and the wood bit was still enjoyably viseral.
i just put the hole thing on my phone so i can re-read later. as i learnt yesturday on gilmore girls that u have to read something three times before getting a true understanding of it 🙂
hope every on is well 🙂 and having a fun weekend 🙂
True that, actually. Maybe you missed the development of my tone, or supplemented it. Thank you.
Gabe,
I haven't really seen all that much of your blog either, but I'll certainly look into it now. Your piece was very interesting, though of the two narrative threads I preferred the cutting one. It seems as if you spent more time developing those scenes, whereas the sex scenes don't seem to be as fleshed out (though they do have some good details, like the whole "salamander in the asshole" thing, and the mention of witch-burning). Like Hugo, I like how there are poetic bits throughout, which blend nicely with the more harshly matter-of-fact details. Is there a reason why you use : to indicate dialogue? Are you just not interested in the more conventional quotation marks? Just curious.
Incidentally, back when I was in college I was friends with a cutter, a slightly overweight lesbian. She started with cutting herself with razor blades, but then she took things to a more hardcore level when she started burning herself… I think she had to spend time in a mental institution after that. I haven't heard from her in years now and I wonder what ever became of her.
Also, I know you like Crowley so maybe this story will interest you if you haven't come across it yet, and it does seem to be slightly on-topic: Crowley once conducted an experiment in which he tried to go through an entire week (or some length of time like that) without using the word "I" to refer to himself. Every time he accidentally used the word "I" he would cut his arm with a razor.
Good luck with your future writing endeavors!
Plexus, beautiful writing. l also read the earlier version over on your blog and on 'Sometimes They Don't Come Back.' And I love what you've done with the piece, how you've linked it in with the other narrative and how they kind of hint at coming together at the end. Also the last line ending with a question here works so well. You have this incredible way of making subtle and suggestive connections between texts and bodies and education, mutilation, and ritual. Intensified by the emotional balance that Nick mentioned so accurately. A deceptively straight-forward surface with so much going on underneath. One of my favourite images is the bleeding towel tapestry, a kind of substitute body of text, hidden in the closet, waiting to be written on, the process of developing as a writer. I don't think I'd alter a thing. Sorry, if that feedback's a bit rushed. I'm really blown away with what you're doing and totally waiting to read more of your writing.
Hey, Dennis, I'm back in London and pretty much over the jet lag. Going to start back on the novel next week. How are things with yours? I just saw that report about you reading all the other 'Jerk' pieces – man, I've got to hear that! Great collection to go away with yesterday too.
Cuttin really scares me. I'm apoplectic over paper cuts. So I'm not sure if I can analyze this, or offer advice.
The NYT discovers Bradmania but doesn't quite get the essence of his gay-geek charm.
Hey Pl,
I like this a lot. I thought it got stronger and stronger as it went on as well. This line really stuck out as something brilliant to me:
'The pain would evolve in waves and burst through me then say shhh and repeat which made me shake.'
The part during p.e was my favourite and i thought was really nicely balanced but I got snagged on the preceeding sex scenes a couple of times. I think the problem, as i see it (which is very likely a non problem objectively but might be worth considering maybe…) is that the intercuts between them happen too quickly. That the sex scenes are too short. I think there's a lot going on in those sex scenes and i think the piece might benefit by giving them more space to breathe…or run…not that you have to unpack them totally or at all just that the cuts between that narrative and the cutter one was for me at times too sudden…sometimes the being jarred, the not being fully orientated in either scene really worked, functioned as part of the piece, but I didn't feel they were all intentionally doing that.
Good stuff man, look forward to seeing more.
Plexus : I’m the kind of guy who twitches and cannot clutch his fist when he sees a medical operation on TV, it’s not that I faint at the sight of blood, far from it, but I am generally somehow physically impressed by these things. Reading your story, I get the same feeling: your writing is having the same effect on me as the real thing. That’s definitely a sign that it’s good; it’s very sense-oriented, and it’s very efficient. Keep it up!
Dennis: I don’t know if you have heard anything by Claude Vivier (1948-83). He is still arguably the best composer Quebec has ever produced, and Ligeti was all praise about him. His life was outstanding, like a very good book. He was murdered by an escort in Paris at the age of 34, and hence he’s our little Mozart, we all wonder what the music would have been like had he lived. In any case, there’s a Dutch documentary out on his life and works, and it’s definitely worthwhile. This is it: http://www.amazon.com/Claude-Vivier-McFadden-Makuuchi-Schonberg/dp/B000CIWXSW
If you get a chance to listen to ‘’Lonely Child’’ I am sure you will love it. It is quite unlike any music that exists. Trust me, I know my chops. Oh, I’m sure I’m like ages late on this one but I just watched ‘’A Single Man’’ and I’m desperately trying to get my hands on a copy of the Isherwood now. I’m flabbergasted: sometimes a work, movie, novel, grasps me so intensely that I believe that it’s been tailor-made for me. Which is not true, of course. And then when it happens, I always have an urge to write an opera…well, here shall I be, waiting for my Don Bachardy…
You too, Dennis, have a great weekend & thx for sharing Plexus’ work!
p.s. Gaspar Noé 3-D? Rofl! Rock on!
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p.p.s my computer really sucks…
Hi Dennis, I sent you a text this morning, but don't know if you got it. Ugh, so pooped, but having a great time.
Plexus: 'I hunched over myself and made 4 quick horizontal cuts then the universe stopped crawling.' is just amazing. I enjoyed the entire piece, and don't have much in the way of critique, but this operates very viscerally and I could see and feel it all. How would the piece read without the forrest, the sex?
Marcus: Hey! I think your Titular thing sounds hilarious. I don't mind at all; look forward to reading it!
Dennis!
Primarily uneventful last couple of days. Thursday was a rough day: woke up just intensely depressed. It lasted into the night. Aviva saved me. Weird how it can rises up like that, seemingly out of nowhere. Now I feel great, though. There are so many chemical & emotional and complex triggers that we contain… hard to pin down where anything comes from. Bless the psychologists of the future. The absolute best to you.
Yours,
Ken
thanks u guys this already helps so much incredibly. see you on sunday.
dennis,
hi my man. i am in vermont. um yeah things are intense with casey. good intense. we talk alot talk too much maybe even. his lipring makes me crazy and i love to suck on his tongue piecing. i cant think to write a peom and now i am here really bummed out missing him and resenting all else. i am in my fathers large clean carpeted home office. i dont know. i hope you are very good.
lovelovelove,
gabrora borealis
The Dennis Monster.
Plexus–I thought the shifts in time had a lot of impact. I particularly liked the abruptness of the first one. The story has a really visceral quality – I kept imagining what it would feel like to experience what your narrator is doing to himself.
The whole "Kenneth Koch wrote Frank O'Hara's poem" business is the height of cultural silliness.
To begin with there's the notion of an O'Hara poem being "canonical." The closest he ever came to that (and surely not by design)was "Lana Turner Has Collapsed."
That Koch read the O'Hara poem at the funeral and it seemed super-appropriate to the moment at hand raising "suspicions" re authorship 44 Fucking Years Later is the stuff of comedy.
I'm sure Kenneth Koch wanted to be Frank O'Hara. But Koch was straight and as far as I know (I'm sure someone will chime in to correct me if I'm wrong) not a Happy Alcoholic of the O'Hara mode.
The thing that I've always taken away from O'Hara's death is that he was chatting away with the Babe-a-licious J.J. Mitchell when disaster struck, and while dying in the hospital was doing his best to calm his friends. The thought of O'Hara saying to a disraught DeKoonig "Oh Bill, how sweet." warms the cockles of my dark heart. As for the rest, I have only one question.
I was overly optimistic yesterday. The Seroquel is knocking me on my ass today. I'm cutting down to half a pill tonight and seeing if I feel better tomorrow. I left a message with my doctor, although I don't expect her to return it before Monday. The New York Film Festival screenings start Monday, and I can't afford to be half-asleep during them. I looked Seroquel up on Erowid (a drug information site, albeit mostly oriented towards recreational drugs) and found many reports of negative experiences akin to mine. "Zombie" and "chemical lobotomy" are frequently used to describe its effects.
The O'hara/Koch Pseudo- Mystery is quite like Kenedy Assasination Conspiracy Theories in that they begin from an assumption accepted as Truth (someone other than Oswald killed Kennedy, Koch wrote a poem he attributed to O'Hara) and works backwards. Everything from who said what on a whole seires of days to "why" O'Hara wouldn't "Mention" a poem so "Important" to Joe LeSeuer becomes "EVIDENCE!"
Poppycock I say.
Oswald killed Kennedy and he acted alone.
Hi Gabriel. I want to say this is very good writing, but impossible to critique. I think blood in the veins is like blood always spilling. The permanence and truth of it is with the flow of blood in your veins. You have to make sure to make sure that blood stays where it belongs, just as much as one might spill it. Knowing the difference between ritual and tragic repetition is sometimes too late. Time is neither a flow of things nor is it make up of tiny hard objects, but it is both. Writing is one of a number of good ways to work this out. You are very expressive and your writing is well-organized and intelligent, so you can use it to ask yourself questions, just make sure you come up with answers and don't keep asking the same thing over and over, and make sure you take it easy on yourself while you make your inquiries. Remember people who want to hurt you, they are usually hurt too.
Or as Spike Jones put it —
Hi Gabriel. I enjoyed this piece quite a bit. I like the way you formatted the dialogue it's interesting visually and slows the pace a little. I enjoy that a lot.
And hello Dennis. 🙂
@Dennis, hey there, how goes? Things here good. Hope you're having a good weekend.
@Gabe. I totally loved this, really, and feel that you could take me anywhere as a reader and I'd go there. I'd make three edits… sorry I liked it so much I read it a few times and these struck me each time:
1. I'd move the kissing sentence about sand and water down to the beginning of the paragraph a bit down where he's describing the ass sex (starts with (more spit').
2. I already knew the blood was fresh, as its implicit in the descriptor 'new', so I'd get rid of that 'fresh'.
3. I don't like the word 'crispy'… er sorry about that… no accounting for .. etc.
Anyway, these are minor quibbles, and I'd probably never have noticed if I'd read the piece outside a workshop context.
But, yes, I loved this piece. You should try getting it published.
hey, plexus. i really enjoyed this. i guess there are a few things i was wondering about. in the seventh paragraph you use two more or less structurally identical similes back to back, the water/sand one and then the dog/water one, and this read as rhythmically weird to me in a way that made the two water images clash rather than, i don't know, echo or something. i think the passage might be improved if you could find a way to let those two sentences breathe a little more, if that makes any sense, haha. anyway. what else? oh, the cock/salamander metaphor is amazingly evocative, well done. overall there's this cool, um, almost strobing effect that happens with the two storylines alternating as quickly and as programmatically as they do. i feel like you might be able to enhance this in the last paragraph by somehow establishing the context–the car ride to the ER with your mom–in a less linear way, since the two subject-verb sentences that begin this section seemed to work against the momentum that the piece had built up for me by then. uh, i hope all this is coherent. by the way, are you the gabriel who friended me on facebook a while back? if so, hey, i'm jared, it's nice to, um, come this much closer to meeting you.
dennis, hey. sorry to have disappeared again for a while. i was moving in to this place and everything was in a kind of flux. uh, what's new. oh, i ended up getting that internship at LACE after all, which is pretty cool. now i just have to find a job that pays… ugh, wish me luck. i picked up an employment application for book soup that i'm gonna turn in tomorrow, so if tosh is around, put in a good word for me, hey? also, it turns out i don't actually live in sherman oaks; sherman oaks is literally the other side of my street, but i'm in van nuys. are you cringing? i'm kinda happy about it, actually, it's a cooler name at least.
i heard a vicious rumor that you might not be able to make it to LA for halloween. o dennis, please don't break my heart…
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Plexus, what an amazing, powerful piece of prose. You handle extremely difficult subject matter with unbelievable delicacy and tenderness. I find it particularly impressive the way you blend the different interpretations of that phrase 'physical education', and someone already said it, but the scene in the gym is incredible well-done. I guess it's a dangerous strategy putting humour in at a point like that, but of course, that would be the cruelly innocent remarks of the schoolkids. You pull it off perfectly, with exactly the right dialogue to confound the central character's humiliation, & 100 % realistic and believable. It really works very well indeed.
I also thought the spliced-in conversation- sex- worked very well, pointing towards (but not too overtly) possible traumatic motivation for the cutting, but not being anywhere near as heavy-footed as my clumsy description there suggests.
And, also as other people said, your language is amazing, like when at one point you say the pain burst through then said 'ssh', which captures that relation between excruciating pain and calming relief better than any metaphor I've ever read before.
Plexus, Hi Gabriel. What a great story, it flows well and I like how you alternate between sections. The use of dialog works great and feels very natural. The characters really feel alive in this piece. A lot of other people have said good things, so I'll cut to the critique now. First thing that stood out to me is how a lamp would work in the forest. 🙂 There is a tense issue in the fifth paragraph. "He rubs it against the back of my neck and on my face in circles until it was totally fucked." That should read "it is totally fucked." Also, is the "it" the hair? I lose track of what "it" refers to, probably because the subject goes from "hair" to "hand" in the sentence before. Also, if it is the hair that is fucked, I'm not sure how. He rubbed his neck and face in circles, not his head. Replacing the "its" see what I mean: "He grabs at my hair. He rubs his hand against the back of my neck and on my face in circles until my hair is fucked." (I cut the hand relaxing because you get to it next and it doesn't really add anything. Same with the "totally.") Overall I think your imagery is very good, but there are a few things that I feel don't work quite as well. I'm not big on the kisses saliva image. It feels awkward to me. If anything, you are really ingesting saliva. The dog image feels a tad bit cliche, or, I just feel there might be a simpler, stronger image to convey the meaning there (both of those sentence into one). Salamander in asshole doesn't work for me either, I think squirmy and limp. Like I said, I think this is a great story, and I can't wait to see what you come up with next. My suggestions are just focus on more simple imagery (there is a lot to be said on a simple sentence) and watch out for grammar. Yours, Nicholas.
Dennis, I had a dream you started lifting weights. When I asked you about it you lied and said you'd only been running. But you were very buff and you almost crushed me when you gave me a hug.
wv
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Whew. I’m not going to be able to read this one over. Squeamish, sorry. So, yeah, it’s a vivid description of that practice, definitely. The interspersed scenes I took to be a fantasy that the cutting somehow enhanced, not sure about this though. I wish I could read this more closely but I had this intense physical reaction to the subject matter (my problem). From what I could tell it’s very well written on the sentence level and the piece has a satisfying unity of structure. One comment is that the intention behind it seems a little straightforward.
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Plexus,
I am completely unfamiliar with your work and have never posted anything here before. I enjoyed your story, though, and hope this workshop provides a positive experience for you. I have a few haphazard thoughts… my initial reaction.
Grammar, mechanics, and usage are incredibly important aspects of the craft of writing. As you successfully illustrate at points, it is often necessary for a writer to break grammatical rules, or to bend them to suit his or her personal style, but the reader can usually tell the difference between a skillful manipulation and an oversight. I am being pedagogic here, stupidly, sorry. I do not mean to overemphasize this point, as this piece does not suffer from excessively poor grammar… but weak constructions, sometimes abetted by lumpy comma uses or absences, are present here and there and only serve to make the story, in total, feel uneven. This is most evident at the beginning; by the time we hit “I am falling into leaves and needles and they are stuck to my face and the floor of the forest is in my mouth like I am being buried alive but I love being impaled by this dead carved branch that they used to burn witches with” there is a definite dramatic logic behind your grammatical choices, and it’s apparent, and it works.
The juxtaposition device is thematically tenuous, as far as I read it, but formally works quite well… and feels almost cinematic, which is an interesting achievement considering the interiority of the general tone. I thought the present tense paragraphs were more poetic than the cutting paragraphs, but you pulled off a narrative of self-mutilation without being at all maudlin, which is great; moreover, the cutting aspect of the story was incredibly engaging because the voice is so descriptive. The first paragraph needs a complete rewrite, though, because, for me at least, it starts the piece off wobbly… in a more uncertain and juvenile measure than the rest of it. Also, I think the opening-of-the-wound-in-gym-class incident should be filled out. It felt too rushed exactly at the point where I was getting most drawn into the story.
There’s much to praise here. You know how to make something disturbing and engrossing and compact it into a few forceful paragraphs. Keep writing!
— Lonely Christopher
Well, the pool party for my friend and neighbor went well, and, the music I provided was a hit, even if the pumpkinseed salsa, and fruit salad, wasn't. Fucking three HUGE fruit salads, including mine, and we ALL must've gone to the same Kroger, and got what looked the best, as they all had strawberries, red, seedless grapes, and pineapple. The salsa was too much trouble for non-discerning palates, since there was a washtub full of regular "table salsa". The younger b/f loved all the music, even the much older stuff, and the more underground "Black Box", though, admittedly, I played the more sedate selections on that one, since, children were present. In other words, I passed on 1000 Homo DJ's "Supernaut", and, Revolting Cock's "Beers, Steers, and Queers" with its opening dialog from "Deliverence" :
Hillbilly : "Awright, how bout yew jest drop them panties !"
Ned Beatty : "Drop?"
Little kids even danced to the Who's "See Me / Feel Me" from the Woodstock cd, which, cranked-up on the Bose Wave Machine, was a terrifically lousey performance from one of only two bands who were paid at that free festival.
( The other ? The Grateful Dead, of all fucking bands ! ) When, almost, everybody had gone, save us old farts, I put on a cd from the Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers "Playback" box set, the one of all b-sides, called, appropriately enough, "The Other Sides", and, I love it, because most everybody always goes "Is this Tom Petty ? Which cd ?" It's good in that whacked-out b-side kind of way, and, as the sun disappeared, and twilight threw its' blue-grey veil, and a family of cardinals tweeted, I was a better fart, old, or not.
David,
OK, I understand your skepticism!
I hope you'll read the book.
The Kennedy assasination conspiracy theories analogy is not quite germane, though, inasmuch as these posit multiple actors, the definition of conspiracy, after all. The hypothesis in the book has nothing to do with a consipracy in that regard. There is only one actor.
And that "Do You Wanna Funk" video is fantastic!
Kent
Latest FaBlog: Bell Book and Christine
You're welcome, Kent.
What connects JFK conspiracies theories to this O'Hara/Koch mashup is everything proceeds from accepting the notion your supposedly trying to prove from the get-go, with all "evidence" working backwards from it. IOW the whole way everything is phrased in this debate (if that's what it is) proceeds from the assumption that Koch wrote the poem.
If you buy this, then what other O'Hara poems did Koch write?
Did O'Hara exist at all or was he something that Kenward Elmslie and Joe Brainard dreamed up over a bag of really great hash?
See where this is going?
No David, you misunderstand. It's a hypothesis that poses questions based on very strange things surrounding the poem. Within the O'Hara canon, the poem is a complete case apart. That is why I suggested you read the book. Though you'll have to order the second trade edition at this point. The fine-press edition is sold out before publication.
Kent
I should also say we've been forced to redact all copyrighted material from the book, even though everything was perfectly in line with principles of Fair Use, so working now to type paraphrases in. The cover has had to be redisigned as well.
The intense pressures have been interesting. One would think that if the questions posed by the hypothesis were merely idiotic and irrelevant, no one would give a hoot.
Kent
I don't see how it's a case apart at all.
I've read every scrap of O'Hara I've eber been able to get my hands on over the years, Kent — including the stuff he put on the typewriter in front of the Olivetti store on 5th next to Brentano's (Joe LeSeuer says he never wrote poems in there but he was fucking WRONG!) Alas I never met him, though I did view him swanning through MOMA (at rather considerable speed) several times.
Yes I'll read the book, but I find the entire notion deeply offensive in that elevates to a new level of seriousness a particular O'Hara poem, whne his entire life and art wasn't about that at all.
Besides, you want a great Frank O'Hara poem? HERE!
I'm sure I don't have to tell you who that poem was about, or the circumstances of its writng vis-a-vis the trip to Europe he took with Ashes.
If I were in a Canonical Mood I'd declare it the greatest love poem ever written.
But its' just Frank O'Hara being Farnk O'Hara.
Gabe,
First, I really love ‘Physical Education’. I think it’s just extraordinary, and I can’t speak highly enough about the quality of your writing. I think your instincts are amazingly spot on, and your gift for beautifully correct and simple but daredevil, winding sentences really takes my breath away. You have some really crazy kind of feel and gift for sensing how the dynamics of sentences and paragraphs can be pushed and for knowing when it’s best to push and when it’s more effective to lay low. It makes for something very exciting purely on the level of the prose, but, at the same time, the prose never loses its emotional purpose, and there was the strangest effect for me when reading this story of feeling moved and shaken at the very same time that I felt jazzed and giddy about your bravura language play and stylistic experiments.
I was immediately startled and very impressed by your gifts when I first started reading the writings on your blog, and to see you pull off something this ambitious and intricate is really kind of joyous. You have a super rare and amazing talent as a writer, Gabe, and in addition to the considerable, stand alone pleasures of this beautiful piece, it’s boggling to imagine what’s next for you and what incredible works you’ll create as you continue to write and as time and experience bring their inevitable refinements.
Things I especially love: The precise thinking and construction and low-key, ominous beauty of the opening paragraph. Your use of a colon to indicate dialogue, which I would never have imagined would work so well or add such visual pop and interest. The paragraph/scene of you on the floor with the lamp, which is just a knock-out, and, as someone else mentioned, that ‘shhh’ is so powerful, very disquieting. The images and metaphors are impeccable throughout, always sharply thought out and weirdly wrong yet totally right. That incredible long sentence about falling in the leaves and the impaling branch and the witches reference. ‘… and the blood wept through’. The saliva/water/sand image. Actually, I’m going to end up listing everything in the piece as a particularly beloved thing, I think, if I keep going. The P.E. scene. The ending scene and exchange with the mom, wow. Etc. Etc.
The advantage or disadvantage or whatever of commenting fairly late is that a lot of people have already offered their critiques, and of course I read them with interest. I notice that some people have had issues with the interlacing of the sex and cutting scenes/ narratives and with the sparseness of the sections in the forest. Obviously, you should consider these thoughtful readings, but I guess I’ll offer as a counterpoint my personal opinion that I think the way you’ve mixed and contrasted the two is very effective. I like the stops and starts and the confusion that creates at first, the blurring, the abruptness. I found the way you handled that thrilling, and I can’t that say I would recommend expanding the forest scenes either. I love their vagueness, the way they offer peeks and nothing more, as though the trees or some fog in the forest were obscuring the characters, the sex, leaving the reader with only the most fragmentary images and bits of dialogue. I feel like the fact that the sex scenes are secondary and kind of subservient to the main story is one of the piece’s real strengths.
Well, I guess that’s enough of my talk for now. Really, Gabe, your talent is really, really something special, and you’ve outdone yourself in this piece, and I hope the wonderful, really considered response your piece has gotten here this weekend helps make that clear to you. I cherish your work, and I’m enormously excited when I think of all the astounding work of yours that’s still to come. Much love and great respect and many thanks to you.
Me again, but this time to pass along Allesfliesst's thoughts on Plexus' piece. Apparently, he has had trouble posting, and he asked if I would pass along his comment, and here it is:
allesfliesst said …
plexus, just a few words on your story after others here have said a lot of good things that i can only agree with.
first, what i like about how you publish your writing on your blog is the way you line up poetry, prose fiction, photographs of yourself and personal updates in a manner that creates transitions or leaves open what is to be read as what. in the version that appeared on the blog, "p.e." could be read as an eloquently worded diary entry as well as a consciously crafted piece of fiction, or as the result of a movement that went from one towards the other or back in the course of writing.
presenting the story here on dc's has altered the context, and it was interesting for me to read it again as something unambiguously meant to be a 'work of art.' against this background it also makes sense that you introduced a second narrative for the piece to become more complex, more like a 'work.' this adds something to it, and it also takes something away, and i'm kind of in two minds about the result. in a way i like the 'simple' version more, i guess, though i can totally see the point in breaking it up into fragments and interspersing it with something different, and if you want to work further on the text i'd recommend to try different breaks, tuning the rhythm of alterations.
for example, it might be interesting to enhance that 'stroboscopic effect' catachrestic spoke of (though we don't know how much of his impression we owe to acid aftereffects…) by breaking up the cutting story into smaller parts – which will probably destroy more of its classic beauty but may make the two parts work together in a more energetic fashion. or, on the contrary, you could reduce the 'sex scene' part even more, to a point where it is nothing but a series of flash-like interjections a fast reader would risk to miss.
reducing that part may be worth considering also because its explicitness in matters of sex dulls the subtler, but very intense eroticism of the cutting story. like many others here i love how sensual that story is, and the way you tell it – the choice of the most delicate (and to me most erotic) part of the body for the cuts, the menstruation metaphor, the hero's wavering between excess and caution, and of course your sentences which are immaculate to an almost frightening degree – displays great skills and talent. juxtaposed to this, the account of a sexual encounter, despite some great inventions (like the salamander), is almost a little bland.
the point where the two narratives meet, or one is supposed to become the other's echo, deserves to be further worked on as well, as someone here already said. it's not easy to say how – i think i'd prefer it to be either more of a revelation or more confusing, and maybe the latter. also, i'd be more economic with using your own name – like, wouldn't it be more powerful to mention it only once, when the mother says, "What did you do to yourself Gabriel?" -?
and one last remark that concerns a very small detail: „I swallowed for the millisecond when I tried to see which came first: the blood or the pain but they just came.“ this is a brilliant sentence, one of many in your text, but maybe my favorite. still, every time i read it i think that "second" would have been short enough and the "milli-" sort of overdoes it. indeed the observation that neither comes first has a much stronger effect, becomes more uncanny, if one considers that swallowing takes a good second.
–ok that's it. i hope this doesn't sound too know-it-all. and i can only repeat: that text and everything else i've read on your blog is really good, and you're definitely a very promising writer.
David,
Given that most people (including Koch, by his account) have taken the poem as premonitory message of O'Hara's death eight years later at the very location where the poem was supposedly written, and given that the one line of writing O'Hara carried with him when he was struck eerily points back to the "1958" poem, it is safe to say it is a case apart, I'm afraid.
As to the minor Olivetti issue, we know O'Hara sat in the store because there is a photograph of him there. But the widely believed notion that he composed the manuscript of Lunch Poems there on his lunch hours is a bit of myth-making. A joke Koch himself was in on… I mention this in passing in the book.
I do appreciate your comments!
Kent
I don't quite see how Kenneth Koch could write a poem as good as one of Frank O'Hara's, but that may be neither here nor there in this context. I went swimming with Frank O'Hara from Larry Rivers' house in 1964 and almost fell in love with him at that very moment.
Jill Johnston died yesterday, aged 81.
The typewriter was outside the store and there was no place to sit and use it.
Of course he didn't write "Lunch Poems" on it. He tried out all sorts of bits and sntaches on the Olivetti, some of them more complete than others. But he DID wirte on it.
Well of course you fell in love with him, Christopher/Mark, and I'm sure he was turned on by you.
R.I.P. Jill Johnston. None like her before — or since.
Nudged by Dennis' comments I took anothe whirl on Plexus.
It's like a giallo with a blow-job.
Plexus,
Above all else, I enjoyed the dialog best, sparse though it was. I'm looking forward to seeing more from you.
-HD
>The typewriter was outside the store and there was no place to sit and use it.
Must be he's standing in the photo, then!
Hey Plexus –
I really enjoyed your story. The prose was extremely well written. The sections describing the cutting were especially vivid and I found myself wincing at the computer screen several times. Those parts were really effective and affecting.
Overall I liked the juxtaposition of the sex scene in the woods with the cutting and its aftermath. It's wonderfully disorienting in the beginning and I loved that you didn't telegraph what you were doing immediately.
That said, the scenes of cutting are much more developed and vivid. If you want to the sex to play a supporting/counterpoint role then that's fine. But if you want the two sections to both carry a more-or-less equal emotional charge then I think there are some opportunities to explore the dynamics in the sex scene more. It's a rich situation and I'm sure there's more there to mine, if you're interested.
The language throughout is so sparse and perfectly chosen that I felt a little let down by the last line, which seems more pedestrian than what came before. It seemed to "on the nose" a conclusion for such a sly and complex story. At first it made me think that the story wanted to go on further in time, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe you could end with something from the scene in the woods? Or perhaps stay in that scene with the mother in the car but end with an image or line that's a bit more mysterious and offbeat?
Hope these comments prove useful to you as you think about the story. Congratulations on such a wonderful story!!
I heard from my shrink today, and she said it's OK if I want to quit taking Seroquel and go back to 10 mg of Zyprexa. She said that I would build up a tolerance to Seroquel if I kept with it, but it's so unpleasant that I don't want to stick with it. I feel like I've fried my brain, and I can't wait to return to normal. I've never taken psychedelic drugs, but I wonder if this is what the aftermath of a bad trip feels like. I hope I wake up tomorrow feeling much better.
Have you heard DJ Nate? He's a product of the Chicago house music micro-scene called Footwork, and he reminds me of an odd blend of DJ Screw, Autechre and Timbaland. His music uses very complex rhythms, with layers of percussion cutting in and out, and vocal samples taken from hip-hop, R&B; and rock. The vocals are pitch-shifted up and down and used as rhythmic elements, rather than for melody or lyrical content. His album feels like a mixtape, although it has gaps between songs and runs almost 71 minutes. I think it might be stronger at half that length, but it's intriguing, and I haven't really heard anything like it.
Rue Martel! That's where i lived when I was in Paris! If all goes well, I may be returning next year.
Okay, back to sleep…
m
@ Plexus, I'm commenting in a very late and very rushed manner, so sorry for that. My first thoughts are that I enjoyed your story very much, and I thought the shifts between the protagonist's conflicting lives were handled with a deft touch. Those gear changes were all the more effective for being jarring and painful. That's what moved me in your story, the feeling that the tension is being ratcheted up until it snaps, and at the end I found it to be uplifting, like the boy will emerge stronger from his ordeal. That sounds trite but I mean it. I'll check your blog too, as I've new to your work so far.
@ Dennis, the good news is that the AGK was a triumph. Attendance was about 150 which is fantastic, the audience had a great time and we pulled it all off without too much of a hitch. I've posted lots of photos on my blog and they'll hopefully give an idea of what it was like. Just now I really do need to go get some shuteye. It's been a hectic weekend but a worthy one, and I'm just so proud of everyone involved in making this happen.
Plexus: I would have commented earlier but I had unexpected things come up over the weekend and, therefore, I offer my sincere and slightly truncated version of the comments about your writing I have been constructing in my head.
First of all, I think it is incredible writing. Visceral, evocative, powerful, and poetic. I feel that your comments about cutting are incredibly true to real life (since, though I know this piece probably contains elements of autobiography, it is rendered in a fictional form) and the force (and tenderness) with which you describe the act of mutilation, makes my old scars literally hurt.
I feel that the juxtaposition of the sexual imagery is entirely appropriate since pain/mutilation/releasing tension seems very much related to sex. And sex, I think, can be considered an act of mutilation in some senses. So, yeah, I think the juxtaposition of those two images is entirely appropriate–if for no other reason than that they "feel right" together. No to mention that they both tie in to "Physical Education".
And, overall, this writing has a very potent way of describing things. As Ken and others mentioned, there are certain phrases you use that, to me, heighten both the poetry and the visceral effect of the writing.
I apologize for this being so short. There are many great things about your writing that I would love to mention. But, for now, I just want to reiterate your mastery of writing. Thanks for sharing!
hey gabe, okay i wanna begin by saying that i'm kind of terrible at critiquing art of any kind, and i dunno if what i'm about to say is of much use. but i really adored this. i think a lot of folk get apprehensive when they begin reading a work of poetry or fiction or whatever that's about self mutilation, cuz it's a subject that's written about so much, and oftentimes not very well. but the qualities that make such writing kinda crappy, they just aren't present in what you shared here, and that's really awesome, and i think it communicates much about your maturity and intelligence as a writer. and, y'know, as a person too.
firstly, the prose is beautiful and really poetic, and part of what makes it such is that it's kind of blank. there's a sense of emotional distance and absence, and that makes it different from much of the writing about this subject. and the blankness and distance, it conveys a certain truth about the subject and experience that the writing is about, the way feeling is kind of empty and weird, and as an example i think a sentence like 'i think i wanted to cry' conveys this truth really well.
and it made me think about the nature of representation too. like, is it truthful to write about this stuff in a hyper-emotional way if you don't feel that way when you begin to write? because, maybe the text, that is to say any text, is as much about the time of writing as it is about the experience that's written about. and by bringing the subject of self mutilation into this kind of stylistic context, it's like you're making possible a different understanding of the subject, and encouraging the reader to think about the nature of truth and of the writing process in a new way.
the second thing i wanna say is about the passages to do with sex. i think somebody said that they're unclear, like, it's difficult to tell if the sex is consensual, and i feel the same, but i think it's amazing. it doesn't let the reader take from the writing a 'message' that fits with whatever pre-existing perspective they have. it's writing that expresses the depth and complexity of experience.
the third thing i wanna say is about the ending. when i was fourteen, i had a crush on a girl from my class in school, and one day my friend that we gave a ride home to at the end of each week, said something about it during the ride home, to embarrass me in front of my dad. it worked, and later that day, my dad began talking to me about it. he just asked a couple of questions, but i felt paralyzed. the complex weirdness of loving a person that wants to be there for me but that i feel distant from, that i believe can't ever understand me, and hating myself for believing such a thing. i guess i just wanna say that the ending of what you shared helped me to understand and express the stuff that i did. it's gorgeously evocative, and it has this amazing way of suggesting a truth about a certain aspect of experience, and helping the reader find and understand their own truths as well.
lastly, i believe that this is radical and important writing. somebody that has influenced me really deeply is the poet ariana reines, and in 2008 she did a reading at uc berkeley, in which she talked about the way confessional poetry has become this degraded form, and the way artists get taught to believe that the first person singular is something to be gotten over. she said this incredible thing, that when she witnessed suffering in her life, when she experienced somebody she loved being destroyed, she had to say, she had to speak out. and she described the act of saying 'i' and 'you' as 'drawing an ethical line in the sand'. i think, for such reasons, this work is very brave, and radical and important too, and what makes it braver and more amazing is the intelligence and poetic beauty that it possesses.
and ummm the very last thing is, thank you so much for sharing this with us. and i hope what i've written has been of some use.
lots of love,
darren
xoxo
dennis! my face is breaking out and i begin work in ummm less than ten hours. my vacation is ending and i'm gonna be like the guy from william blake's 'ghost of a flea'. i think i need to try and sleep, but i'll send a fun-filled update on my progress in the morning.
hugs,
darren
xoxo
Whoops, wish I'd seen this a bit earlier. I read the earlier version on yr blog Gabe, obvs as I commented. Not the best critiquer but I will comment..
I find it hard to be objective as a former, not-former sometimes cutter myself. I liked the addition of the sex scenes, though as others have said you could maybe take them further. I like the contrast of cutting and sex because they often feel really related to me, the whole cutting ritual kinda turns me on. It's kinda like masturbation even, well if you're fucccckkkked. You know, all skin bursting open and stuff.
But yeah, I love the PE scene so much. I can imagine it very clearly. Oh and good to hear a guy cutting story because I get sick of it being only about melodramatic girls..oh that's not fair.
Dman – cheers for the Richard Hawkins post, it was awesome. I've been off the internet recently. I'm working on a painting related to my conspiracy death website. It's on an old table top I found under the house, I want it to be like a discovered artifact or something. What else..I got an umbrella with kittens on it. Have been sorta gloomy interspersed with ragey and annoyingly existential…go back to high school…but I think it's wearing off.
Oh and I got all these books at a church fete and one of them, Jerry Spinelli's Milkweed has a bloody finger smudge left on the cover. I'm fucking intrigued by it.
Plexus, that's a lovely piece. I liked how the short Gabriel/Paul passages interacted with the longer episodes; they seem to shape the mood and the pacing in important ways, rather than make concrete references to each other. And the way it cut off at the end is perfect.
Dennis, a work eating contest sounds peachy, though I fear Blake Butler has us all beat in that department…
Bill
gabriel.
I think this is erotic on many levels. Word and sentence and voice and literal and yeah you are a bit of a grammar raper. Eroticism and pain is a popular genre but its limits are endless. I agree with a lot said about its being physically effective but also disagree about comparing it to pulp fiction. I love the cutting of the scenes and how it mimics the cutting ritual. It's almost like a conversation between the two. The main characters are "Sex" and "Mutilation" and they are having a conversation.
You can do this or that when it comes to incorporating criticism and praise but never lose your voice. It will develop and mature the more your write and you obviously already have the foundations.
dennis.
I have NYC blisters on my toes. I have been abusing some of your choice blog followers:
I slept on Math's couch and I saw a ghost…or maybe it was just a blinking smoke detector (I was stoned). Then I forced the toilet in her building to let me hover over it a few times. She gave a towel with a naked man on it.
I dragged Nick around Chelsea and forced him to feed hotdogs to teen boy whores in tight jeans while I took photos. It gave Nick a stomach ache. Today I met Alan and forced him to bareback a stump in Prospect Park while I pet someone's free roaming guinea pig. Then we watched hasidic Jews play baseball. I love NYC.
-S810
AND Nick took me to St. Marks where I bought Smothered In Hugs and Ugly Man. As Nick pointed out, they were put in an unmarked black bag like they were porn. The checkout dude was like no man, they put porn in clear bags. God bookstores smell good. I was reading Ugly Man on the endless train home. My god just amazing.
You suck.
Killer Luka, I notice you left out the part where you made out with that junky nodding out in the women’s restroom while I jerked off. HOT!
They were at least veggie dogs. It was the cheese that bothered me.
wv
Plexus, I really love your story. My favorite parts are probably Red, the tapestry, the :'s, the forest floor in your mouth. The only thing I didn't really get is what he was fucking up exactly. But yeah, really great piece.
Hey Dennis,
Well I'll definitely watch the doc with/about you and Tea, if it gets made, before it vacates cyberspace.
99's incredibly…well it wasn't 'good' but it's extremely long.
It's weird whenever something you like randomly becomes somewhat culturally relevant, isn't it?
Yeah, I don't know Sylvie but that is cool that she was recording there.
It doesn't make much sense but it's interesting anyway. And one coffee break? Jesus. I'm sorry about that.
Oh shit, I hope you found money somehow. Loans aren't really the way to go but if there's nothing else, I mean, you know.
My weekend:
Saturday:
Sleep, woke up, shower. Stubbed my toe as I was getting out of the shower on the door, so the door was bouncing around as it's incredibly cheap 'wood', and I kicked it out of anger and it happened again. So that wasn't fun.
Hung out with my friend, who for some ungodly reason really connected to the 'over and over' part in Crimson and Clover so she obeyed, and after about the eighth time of hearing it I asked her to please change it, so she did to another Joan Jett song and I sighed.
Did nothing and so I sat down and thought, "I'm going to read and it will be peaceful," so I did for a while whenever my phone vibrated and ended that for me. Stressful Anxiety Friend was having another meltdown and was really close to my house so could I come out, please, and we'll just drive around, but that didn't happen because she had to stop the car to tell me everything. I just wish everything would be fine with her, you know, I really do, but it's probably not going to happen anytime soon. So that was sad.
Go back and as I'm walking to my door I get this overwhelming feeling of depression and start thinking about other people far away in neon stained cities and felt better. I don't know why that works but it does, sometimes.
Tried to sleep and couldn't, so I cleaned a lot. It was necessary, as it always is. Finally fell asleep on the floor which is unusual but happens sometimes.
Woke up and tried to read but couldn't. Watched TV, some awful movie. I don't know, nothing really, wandered around, bought cigarettes. Today was just an off day, where everything feels strange and you look at something like an ugly wingback chair and have a deep internal discussion with yourself about the positives and negatives of fingernails. That's a real example, too.
Watched Boardwalk Empire, the new HBO show. It's practically begging to be loved but it may be worth it. Watching it I reminded myself I need to read some more Fitzgerald (no relation except the 20's settings) and hey, Paz de la Huerta! oh I'm excited for Enter the Void, thank god this isn't like The Sopranos, nice banister, oh Michael Pitt what happened?. But yeah. I liked it and will continue watching it even though not much happened.
So I'm aware this report is really just a giant mess, so I apologize for that. Just a shitty weekend, I guess. But yes! Yours, please, Mr. Cooper.
(1 of 2) Plexus, Oh, you have a piece on here today? Really? Hehe. I'm kidding. I read this, or I guess these pieces when they were separate on your blog, and loved them.
To be perfectly frank, I'm just not sure how well these work together for me. Or at least, I wasn't until I got to the end, where they dovetailed splendidly. Especially where your mom's picking you up and the fellow's saying, "You look like your mom." That works great.
I do like your use of different tenses – the past tense for the main part of the story, the present for the part you're remembering or that the main story makes you remember. It suggests a duality and a backwardness that both scenes slowly reveal.
Something else you do really well is subtlety, something that I think is the mark of a more mature writer. That, and humor. I saw the former in a number of instances but no more apparent and crushing than in this line:
"So I changed and I think I walked like I had just been raped."
And this might be the funniest line ever:
":don't fuck up my belt"
Something else I really like about your writing is your phrasing and the way you let words play against each other and with themselves, especially when they appear in a form we're not accustomed to seeing, such as in this line:
"In the morning it was pulsing."
Pulsing is such a better word than pulsating there and your ear for the music of language is obvious by your using it.
Now to nitpick a bit, I think there are some throwaway lines in the piece that I'd get rid of or at least change or think about changing, such as:
"I never figured it out." This is so vague and unimportant. Your story tells us this.
And this one:
"He rubs it against the back of my neck and on my face in circles until it was totally fucked." Totally fucked how? You give us great detail or at least enough detail about everything else to extract emotion from us but then this line is so vague it does nothing for me. What if my version of totally fucked is a small little raspberry on my forehead? I don't think that's what you meant by that.
A third: "the older blood was like rust and the new blood was bright and fresh." Bright and fresh don't signify much for me. But 'like rust' does.
(2 of 2) I like your similes and metaphors throughout and don't think they're overdone at all, except in one place:
"He kisses my saliva like it's water and he's made out of sand. There’s a lot of kissing and licking and lapping like a dog and I’m the empty water dish." Excellent similes and images on their own but I don't think they work back to back like that.
Otherwise, I like how you focus on colors in the cutting part and on the use of animalistic similes in the rape part. I find both very effective because as bad as the cutting is, it's really nothing like being raped, which you take to the next level with the use of the animal imagery.
Here are a few other lines that I loved and just had to read over and over, either for their subtlety or humor or both:
"I resented chairs, the sun and other people."
"It seemed quiet." Excellent how you personify the cut with just this one little sentence and humanize the whole act in three words.
"I should have used duct tape." Ah, so that's the most of your worries, eh? 😉
Well, I've told you this off-blog on an occasion or two, but Gabe, I find your writing really good and for so many reasons. My only suggestion would be to tighten things up a bit here and there, especially grammar-wise (there are a few typos and a couple parts that make for harder reading because the punctuation is wrong (unless it's intentional, of course; then that's completely different thing)).
And man, keep writing from your gut and your heart and your brain. You're a poet and poetry, even when it's in prose form as your short fiction pieces are, is all about guts and heart and feeling, which all of your stuff has, thank God.
plexus, i really loved physical education. i'll go ahead and echo what both JW and dennis have said: i think the alternation between forest and self-mutilation is an effective and jarring way of introducing the tension between private and public, sovereign and submissive, which to me is an essential element of your piece. the whole thing – the abstracted voice, the images which convert the body into a landscape, the active/passive dialogue – is a pendulous and truly provocative interrogation of what it means to be a body. but, like JW says, the story would be more provocative with answers, with the gamble of resolution. bravo, though, really terrific story you've got there.
dennis, language thought and the world is a fucked analytic philosophy class, which deals with philosophy of language in extremely boring ways. on friday the professor assigned this guy frege, who was a national socialist, anti-semite and whose hero was hitler (really, he was an explicit nazi in the way, say, heidegger might not have been), and this a few hours before yom kippur. only in the discipline of analytic philosophy (and maybe math or something) would this make sense and not be problematic at all. horrible.
AWP is in DC this year. i don't think i'll be able to make it to NYC when you're there in october, but i'm sure i'll catch you there, or somewhere else, some other time. i decided to submit my novella to the caketrain chapbook competition, which is being judged by deb olin unferth. figured i might as well do something with the damn manuscript. anyway, going to go finish work, but i'll talk to you tomorrow. have a good one my man.
Plexus,
The piece is good. The attention to detail and the systematisation of numbers and blade against flesh in the cutting scenes works brillantly against the vaguenes and the confusion of the sex in forest scenes. i think this is very strong and the strength of the piece.
i too was wondering if it was consensual or not sex. not sure though whether it needs to be clarified as i think the uncertainty offers multiple readings which in my opinion is always a good thing to have in a text.
good luck if you decide to send it somewhere to get published. i'm sure that there'll be places willing to publish it.
Dennis, wanted to say a quick thanks for the interactive blog day and fridays links day. nice to read kathy's last writing. the cancer theme was particularly heart renching knowing that was what she passed away from.
hope you've had a good weekend and the radio play turned out alright.
Dennis, Haha, after I commented about how tired I was the other night, I walked out into the living room and Little Show attacked me! We wrestled for a bit – he loves trying all his submission holds on me, for some reason – and I got so energized, I couldn't sleep all night. So your remedy for the sluggishness helped even before I read it.
Well, it all depends on the check, of course, but yeah, I'll be in NYC soon. If I get it this week as I was told, I'm gonna get up there to see Luka (and everybody else).
Then I'll be there in October for a few days. Do you have your dates finalized yet? The reading's the 15th, right? Am I being lazy and you've posted it and I'm just not looking at it? Hmm…
Anyway, I'll be doing everything on the cheap, so no worries about blowing my wad…oh, wait, um, nvm, mwehehehe…
Well, the babyfucker I only met a few times. My niece's mom was pretty good friends with him, though, and he'd always come by to get her and sit and talk for a few minutes. Never about the case, though. Hehe.
What's funny is, the reports in the paper don't tell about the alleged baby rape part. I only know that through my niece's mom. But in one I found, it was interesting that there was no mention of that dropped charged, but his statement was, "I'm not a murderer, and I'm not a child molester." Maybe they didn't print it for his protection or something? But that would be odd. Especially since everyone in jail knows about it, obviously. But yeah, I've met some fucked up people through my brother and his friends and their friends.
Plexus- I really enjoyed your piece! It suck me in quickly and I was definitely wanting more at the end! 🙂
Hey Dennis!!
Decided to post a quick Hello!
Yes so the last time we talked was when I had my first day at Strand?? Wow so much has happened since then….. Marcus really liked me, so I decided to work there tuesdays and thursdays and then work at Here! the rest of the days. Honestly at the end of my internships I enjoyed Strand way more. The people there were so awesome and friendly. Plus I was around so much rich history. There was Araki memorabilia and random 16mm and 8mm prints thrown around everywhere. Plus part of my job was archiving posters from theatrical releases and Marcus told me I could keep whatever I wanted, so I ended up getting some super rare posters! Like The Living End and Edge of Seventeen. Really awesome stuff!
So I saw you're gonna be in NYC! Sweet stuff!! I wish I could come to that event at the New Museum where I guess you're reading some stuff?? It's on a thursday though 🙁 i've got school…. Although I am trying to come up at some point in October mostly because of Enter The Void!!! 🙂 I really wanna see it on the big screen! Plus I'd get to see NB (the Cookster!) again which would be really nice.
I just got a package from printed Matter the other day with Scott's new zine with Hannum and also the new issue of Straight To Hell. Both of which are immensely entertaining and beautiful. I think you know which each descriptive word goes with :p
Well as usual this is where I tell you that I'm going to start trying to get back into the swing of things and post more, but we both know that school and other stuffs get in the way (oooh which by the way! I am now the assistant director for the PRIDE student union at my school [the LGBTQ group on campus]) I can't wait to start talking more with you, I miss knowing what's going on in your exciting life!!! 🙂 Hope all is well!!!
xxfrank
Hi Gabe, thank you so much for putting Physical Education on DC's.
I enjoyed reading it a lot, I think it is both extremely well written and interesting in its contents.
I think the 'cutting' part works especially well, I liked the secretive mood of it, the thought of the main character (you?)in the night time in a school. I think the visual images the words give are very strong, and they made me think of several references in visual art and film (it just came I wasn't looking for any reference).
I liked the fact that you describe the physical and emotional consequences of self mutilation without necessarily talking about the causes. The emotional distance between the character and the reader this cause, associated with the use of the past, is emphasised and very effectively broken at the end, when the character says to the teacher 'don't touch it please', and again when the mum says 'what did you to yourself Gabriel?'
Because of this, even though I do think it juxtaposition of the two scenes works, in my opinion the scene in the forest is less effective, and perhaps needs some more work or needs to be made less relevant, so that it becomes just an aura of the other
but as it is now it is perhaps too long and yet not strong enough, especially if compared with the other part.
I think the end works well anyway, with both parts.
Hope this made at least some sense.
Hey Dennis, exorcisms later?
plexus- hopefully you'll get to see this note. the piece is really really good, definitely one of the best in the writers workshop series. i like your poetry, but like this more. only thing i would say is the movement between the 2 stories seems a bit forced sometimes, and i found myself questioning why we were jumping over to the story at this point or the other, which isnt something i usually even care about [why we are doing whatever in a piece of fiction]. so yea, i would have fun fiddling around with that, but overall just way fucking impressive.
dennis- hi. been awhile and so on. just thought i'd pop in and say gross dude, that outta money shit happened to me too yesterday. major sympathies. i get paid on friday, but pretty much all of that goes to rent+ student loan, and til friday i have $8. cant believe i did that to myself with like 4 slices of bread and a jar of jam in the fridge.. dumb dumb stress stress.. all my housemates are like 'well you have your emergency bag of pasta right?' i refuse to believe 'emergency bag of pasta' is an actual thing.
killer luka- twas a pleasure having you on my couch. carbon monoxide detector. bushwick baby.
alan and luka- sorry i couldnt make it out today
love, math+
wv hypter
Plexis, I don't have any advice on how to improve this piece. I haven't read the other comments I'm not sure if this is a part of something larger or to stand alone, but I think it's very visceral and effective.
D- hey D.
Hi Dennis
just saw the new place yesterday its super lovely out in the sticks but 10min by car from a nice town so its not so far, but its gonna take some time getting use to commute to dublin which is around 2hrs, im gonna have to stay with my folks when im doing a long stint. but its worth it for the house. the studio space is nearly the same size as the whole apartment i live in now.
the Ryan Trecartin essay in Art Review is pretty great i hope/think theres a book coming out soon, it would be great to have, did you sort out the page issue yet?
cold is going i hope but damn sinus pains are still there.
oh and i think i may be able to grab Soma's tape as it appeared in Volcanic Tounges distro list recently just waiting to hear back if its still in stock.
hope your weekend was amazing
awww sweet, i didn't break out as much as i believed i would. before i begin work i'm gonna make a trip to university and see if anybody's there that can coordinate the student withdrawal process, because i felt scared and kind of physically yucky about attending the staff/student meeting (every time i imagined explaining to a board of, like, eight staff members why i wanted to withdraw i felt nauseous) and called to say i was too sick to attend. have an amazing day, dennis, and i hope you found money from somewhere, and talk with you later.
yours,
darren
xoxo
This comment has been removed by the author.
I just got to the computer since friday and the new day is gonna be here any second – so can I comment my comment on this then? is that irritating? i dunno – i'm gonna do it anyhow. i am.
Wow! Very powerful. The jumps between the forest fuck and the cutting work very well. Edgy, of course, but very human. Brave Work.
(whoops, turned out to be too long, so this is 1 of 2)
Hey Plexus, I know this was posted a while ago now and I don't know if you will read this. Also, I don't know much about poetry except for what I like or about formal composition and stuff.
Your story definitely kicks ass. A lot of comments were on if the sex was consensual. I thought the whole point was that you can't really tell. I mean, not abiguous in the story, but for the character. Paul is pushy and cruel, but then I'm figuring Gabriel likes cruel. I loved how Paul knows Gabriel's mum enough to compare them, because it makes me think, he could be an uncle or a friend of the family or maybe even the dad. And he comes off as a lot older anyway. But then, maybe he's just a school buddy who knows Gabriel's mum. Still, a bloke who knows your mum but screws you in the bushes is sort of creepy, fucked up sexy, cool.
Then some peeps wrote about how the cutting scenes and the scenes with paul work or don't work together. When I read it the first time, it seemed obvious to me that when Gabriel is cutting, he is doing it to stop remembering Paul. Maybe I'm wrong but it made sense to me that way. Thinking of all that was so painful – and I would guess both from hate and from love and from self-loathing, and confusion, and not-knowing-back-nor-forth – that the cutting pain took him away from the whole mess.
That was what I loved most about the plastic blanket and the circle of light in the night dark room. This small bright space in a sea of total darkness and quiet and solitude, it was like a tent. Like a shelter. Or an island. There was a peace there that wasn't anywhere else in the story.
(Oh, and I loved how Gabriel checked that his feet weren't bloody. In all the panic of bleeding, it was still so fucking important not to leave bloody footprints. That image alone made it all real. It's bit like that when I am 100% IN the story. Pure genius!)
I really like the short thing with the mum in the end. It had so many questions, and so many horrible suggestions for me. Why doesn't she ask first thing what happened? Why isn't she yelling or worried or panicked or angry? How can she be so distant? What is she thinking? The question, it's more a sigh. Resigned. She's basically given Gabriel up. Yes, she's still there, cuz, it's like her job. But she doesn't really want to know, does she? She wishes the answer to her question could truly be "nothing" instead of having to deal with whatever complicated truth there might be.
(part 2 of 2)
So, of course Paul isn't the reason for the cutting. Yeah, he's both good and bad, but he's there. He wants something, however selfish. He loves to see Gabriel, the real Gabriel, however fucked up. well, I don't know enough from the story to know if he really wants to see all of him, or if he too wants just the bits that are easy on him, but it's a lot more of the real Gabriel than anyone else in the story. That alone is worth being fucked hard, innit?
At first I was a bit annoyed that the gym-bleeding scene made me think of Carrie, because it sort of stole the freshness of it. Instead of being in Gabriel's head I was suddenly in front of a TV. But when I thought about it that vanished. Because, yeah, like someone commented, the blood really is like a period, isn't it? Gabriel IS Paul's girl. And he is growing up. ("You look like your mother.") And his mum isn't there for him. I'm guessing she never was, but this now has made the distance visible for everyone. Like an axe splitting dry wood. When he cut through the skin that last time, so deep that it couldn't be hidden anymore, he cut himself off from them, hasn't he? But he has also cut open that bubble of darkness he was hiding in. Maybe there's just darkness outside as well, the story doesn't tell us, but things are going to change.)
Maybe that is what I take away most from the story.
The kids, okay, first they think of him having period, and it's always fun to make a girl-joke about a boy, haha, gwaff, gwaff. But then they sort of guess that he cut his dick off. Not literally, but I mean, close enough, symbolically, or not? They know him. They just don't know what to do with him. Like his mum.
And the :'s, yeah, pure genius to. Because it's like listening through a keyhole. You don't see who is talking, no names. I mean that exact feeling of trying to figure out who is saying what, it jumps at you when you see these naked :'s. More being cut off, being distant. That Gabriel is eating dirt, feels buried alive, while he's being fucked, is the same. No closeness. Don't touch it, indeed. Better cut it out.
But mate, you touched it. The story touches it. Physical Education, yeah right. On all levels, huh? And you teach us to. Well, me at least.
So, if you read this, thanks for sharing. A lot.
And @Mr. Cooper and all the other commentators, this is a great thing, the Writers Workshop. I learned a lot reading the comments and all. Thanks to you, too.
Dear DonaldThe ice cream story is one I have seen so many times in different places, but that one sticks in my mind.Thanks for your feedback. I enjoy your blog very much. Bob
Stay with this guys, you’re helping a lot of people.
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