Finished reading 'Shoplifting from American Apparel' by Tao Lin last night.
It took two nights to read.
My poet friend lent it to me.
My favourite line in it at the moment is
'He wasn't really thinking anything, he thought.'
I've found that I personally don't shoplift any more.
I read a newspaper review of it - 'Steven Poole enjoys a cult joke'
He reckons 'The text is conscientiously scoured of narrative "purpose", "characterisation",
and anything else that would smack of novelistic bullshit.'
I dropped a cigarette butt out of the bedroom window.
It landed on the diningroom window sill.
I ran downstairs to move it.
Luckily it wasn't raining, because I was wearing slipper-booties.
Next I'll read 'The Giro Playboy' by Michael Smith.
'Like Rimbaud on the dole.' - Tom Hodgkinson, The Idler.
I hope it will be similar but from a British perspective.
I hope it will contain the words 'chippy tits' -
my boyfriend likes the words 'chippy tits'
and we talked about them as a nick name.
Last week I talked about the words 'snub nosed'
to my childhood friend in a garden centre
and the same night I read the words 'snub nosed'
in Louisa May Alcott's novel 'Little Women'
That happens a lot to me when I talk to people and then read books.
I like it. It seems like fate.
I'll have a shower and then I really must apply online for jobs at ASDA and McDonald's -
I told my lone parent advisor that I've done it already.
4 days ago.
Jaime Birch is a slow but sure poet. She lives and looks for work in Bolton. She has had poems published by BlazeVox, Parameter and Turbulence magazines and has had a small collection, 'I don't know where my horse is now', included in the Dusie Collective. She is currently working on her first book, which she hopes will be published by the Knives, Forks and Spoons press later this year. She has 2 cracking sons and a boyfriend who's a bit of alright.