FANZINE

I strained my neck but supposedly had fibromyalgia for about three gruesome days (it didn’t take) because hypochondria, and I’m over that now, because who has time for that? Which means I count myself infinitely lucky and here is a summary of everything that happened during that time:

Anhvu Buchanan sent me his forthcoming book The Disordered (Sunnyoutside).  Some of the poems were previously featured here on Fanzine. When I met him in grad school he had a poetry reading series at Haight & Ashbury at Truong Tran’s house (Living Room Reading Series) behind the Ben & Jerry’s where the clock always reads 4:20.

Pretty sure the party there is gonna be more fun than whatever happens in ATL this weekend.

I bought the shoes I’m wearing today on Haight Street, ruby slippers, velcro red suede & red shiny plastic bits by Gola, and they did bring me back, and as long as we’re being precious this morning, I also picked a dandelion clock on the walk to the coffee shop, so there.

Last night Vouched ATL got together with Safety Third Enterprises and presented the joint book launch for Gina Myers, Hold It Down (Coconut) and John Carroll, Slow Burn (Safety Third) in the Rodriguez room of the Goat Farm. Also featured were readers Cristen Conger (Stuff Mom Never Told You), Jayne O’Connor (Hyde ATL), Winston Ward (the five hundred). A veritable Who’s Who of Atlanta writers, celebs were spotted, a sea change from 3 years ago when I arrived and couldn’t find anyone of my ilk (have you checked out ilk journal?).

Kurt Vile released Wakin on a Pretty Daze, sad bastard music that accumulates like leaves until you’re pretty much screwed & quietly thinking how nice it would be to die. Except in a really good way.

Ian Svenonius released Supernatural Strategies For Making A Rock’n’Roll Group (Akashic Books)––which is part Edward Gorey’s Madame Groeda Weyrd, part Rumble Fish––and is currently on a book tour coming to Atlanta on May 11th at 529, which is catty-corner to the coffee shop where I’m writing this.

A woman walks into the coffee shop and says she’s new to the neighborhood and looking around. Is this a coffee shop? She asks. Everyone looks up suddenly, straining, squinting through their glasses or above their computer screens, pause in blowing on their coffee. She talks like she’s announcing something, carrying on a conversation with the entire room, all the work-from-homers, we’re all waiting for the internet to come back. She wants to know if there’s cheesecake. She figures she can read the cardboard cake markers for herself. Her aunt used to own the tanning salon down the street. And then back into the street, ‘bye honey. We stare after her, collective and stunned.

We thought it was a coffee shop. We really did.

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