Yesterday the reading. At an afternoon. A bright trip from Brooklyn with Maureen who caught a train & the strong silent husband. Gary said I am like mini golf all the way. I pretended to be 1895. I played at being a marm, except I drank beer. Nada sang her introduction "Me & My Michael Magee." Michael's poems were hilaritastic. I thought to myself (again) absurdity is realism--&--twenty dollars for a snatch-licking frog is cheap. Michael said "this is a fascist fairytale" & everyone agreed. He seems to really speak Spanish because he puts his tongue out in todo. Everyone was very "presidential."
On good authority, "[she] who touches this book touches [Michael's] ass."
& also he publishes Katie Degentesh's The Anger Scale, which is "Not like a wimpy girl who always gets her partner to save her / with $300 designer cowboy boots."
Both ace the "David Hasselhoff Cutlass Sierra" & "point your camera at the sun."
More on these later.
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