Helvetica Film

Helvetica Film

Haiku #1, 2, and 3

Things I remember

University language

Collegiate lawns

Maroon sports jacket

One Intellectual per suit

Or school is the coat

Curiosity

Academically grown

As weeds among rocks

Reading Sources

www.yankeepotroast.org
www.monkeybicycle.com
www.smithmag.net
http://www.tinhouse.com/
http://www.earthweek.com/
www.channel101.com
http://www.opiummagazine.com/
www.looptard.com
http://www.spin.com/
Fun Home
http://www.creativenonfiction.org/
http://www.motherjones.com/
http://www.loyno.edu/~noreview/
www.edge.org
www.fivechapters.com
http://indianareview.org/
http://www.all-story.com/
http://www.barrelhousemag.com/joomla/
http://www.vqronline.org/
http://www.bu.edu/agni/
http://www.arts.cornell.edu/english/publications/epoch/
http://www.americanshortfiction.org/

How Steve Buscemi Became My Father

In November of 1982 my mother ran away from a small Appalachian town to the big city (New York.) Once there she wandered her way to Brooklyn where she spent the day collecting odd compliments and deathly diseases wrapped in foil. Out of boredom she began lighting sidewalk trash on fire. Engine Company #55 responded. The man that rescued her from the engulfing flames, that was Steve Buscemi. He took her back to the station where he fucked her and conceived a little baby girl (me.) The encounter inspired Steve to pursue greater things.

Me and Groucho

A couple of months ago, I was assembling a jigsaw puzzle with my mother. From the other room a PBS broadcast (one in a series) detailed the life of a comedian and star of stage and film. Groucho Marx. The broadcast proceeded to show clips from his early days and a show called You Bet Your Life. I was hooked. I found his brand of euphemistic humor (the oh so infamous eyebrow dance (a skill my own father taught me at an early age) and extraordinary improvised conversation to be without comparison. Since this hour-long foray into his life I have been struck by many things-Groucho. The most recent of which was a book I found amid an array of pretentious artbooks and wonky graffiti folios called Groucho and Me. A treasure. A diamond in this stuff. It was out of place. I took it as a sign that Groucho and Myself were linked in this uncanny way (that I have since been at a veritable loss of words to describe.) I did not purchase the book. Though I vaguely regret this I am fairly certain it will turn up again. I have only to wait. And wait I shall.