Little Red's Recovery Room

Kasey gets to have all the fun . . .

My double-header tomorrow is Helene Cixous in the morning and Bernadette Mayer at night. Not quite SWAT Teams and Vagina Monologues, but hey. . .

On the subject of the absurd, I was sort of hoping that somebody besides Tony would provide a general rebuttal of the Hoy piece in Jacket, but I guess its asininity was fairly transparent, and fairly clearly not worth the effort.

A more nuanced, astute and less ad hominem consideration of the technologization of the poetry world--and the changes (good, bad, indifferent) it might augur is worth asking for. But I don't think Hoi Polloi's our guy. It's hard to not detect the smell of vendetta on his keyboard stomp-dancing. It seemed pretty, well, lame that someone who takes such obvious pains to carefully and level-headedly explain where he stands--agree with it or not--should be the target of a basically personal attack.

I certainly don't have any doubts that it's only a matter of time before Google calls in its loans--you, me, everyone. But by that time, man, it might be either too late or too early. Anne Boyer will have let the squirrels loose. . . There might not be any way to get them back into their cages. Don't Be Evil? OK: Don't Be a Publicly Traded Corporation.