When I saw these fries spread out on the street like the pamphlets of a frustrated PETA street teamer, I thought, "les pauvres frites!" That had to be documented. I was bored when making soup.
First, we have the study I did on the hole in the ceiling at Jori's place of work, Transitions Bookplace:Then, there's an inside joke between me and my little brother. But anyone can appreciate the comedy of this coffee press's name:
WE ARE Failed poets, artists, philosophers, geniuses, cigar aficionados- in other words we are the Chicago Heights Literary Mafia. a combination of underground organised crime and literature. an amalgam of spectators turned plotters.
It's not about sexism, racism, rankism, ageism* or any other "ism" (good or bad). it's not about what makes us different or what makes us the same. it's how we don't care. it isn't about religion, music, t-shirts, art, street cred, or even literature sometimes! it's about you and me and something stronger than guns to bring us together. we late night wanderers and tea drinkers know of one thing stronger than the derringer: the pen.
WHY?
Things get neglected. interocean avenue, fording the river on the oregon trail, rent-a-poets, awkward silences and nervous laughter, the acceptability of dogearing pages, tri cornered hats(really haberdashery in general), poetry as the art of literature, the scarcity of benches--never should it be limited to literature.