ANNOUNCEMENT

I once read Stephanie Young's Picture Palace & immediately made a small book about militant dysphoria, flarf, an idea of dj/rupture 's, chocolate cake, geese, objects, money, midwestern apartment buildings, self-indulgent (or political) despair, motherhood, work, the poets (probably you), the perpetual sickness that comes from rubbing up against things, Charlemagne and the German girl, etc. It kept me busy for several days.  I thought it was a memoir until I thought memoirs were only written by property owners.  At first it wasn't anything, ever, but now it is this.