Come Celebrate the Literary Achievements of Ann Patchett with The Writers' League of Texas

speaking of great literature; i feel compelled to share a verse you may all know, but you can not stop me, everrr....

It so happens I'm tired of being a man.

It so happens I enter clothes shops and movie-houses,

withered, impenetrable, like a swan made of felt

sailing the water of ashes and origins.

The smell of a hairdresser’s has me crying and wailing.

I only want release from being stone or wool.

I only want not to see gardens and businesses,

merchandise, spectacles, lifts.

It so happens I’m tired of my feet and toenails,

my hair and my shadow.

It so happens I’m tired of being a man.

Still it would be a pleasure

to scare a lawyer with a severed lily

or deal death to a nun with a poke in the ear.

It would be good

to go through the streets with an emerald knife

and shout out till I died of cold.

I don’t want to go on being just a root in the shadows,

vacillating, extended, shivering with dream,

down in the damp bowels of earth,

absorbing it, thinking it, eating it every day.

I don’t want to be so much misfortune,

I don’t want to go on as a root or a tomb,

a subterranean tunnel, just a cellar of death, frozen, dying in pain.

This is why, Monday, the day, is burning like petrol,

when it sees me arrive with my prison features,

and it screeches going by like a scorched tire

and its footsteps tread hot with blood towards night.

And it drives me to certain street corners, certain damp houses,

towards hospitals where skeletons leap from the window,

to certain cobbler’s shops stinking of vinegar,

to alleyways awful as abysses.

There are sulphur-coloured birds and repulsive intestines,

hanging from doorways of houses I hate,

there are lost dentures in coffee pots

there are mirrors

that ought to have cried out from horror and shame,

there are umbrellas everywhere, poisons and navels.

I pass by calmly, with eyes and shoes,

with anger, oblivion,

pass by, cross through offices, orthopedic stores,

and yards where clothes hang down from wires:

underpants, towels, and shirts, that cry

slow guilty tears.

Looks like it made it. (Uh, kudos to Manilow I guess.) Cool, and thanks!

I love Ann Patchett, but not enough to lay down $100 for her. The Magician's Assistant is one of my favorite books.

Or, just email him:

allen(@)escapeest.com

He's all about being "in the know", so there's that.

All suggestions/tips can be emailed to any of the Austinist contributors (see the contributor page for links). We'll make sure they get to the right person.

Jooley - Here's the IST list as it currently stands:

http://www.austinist.com/archives/2005/09/27/the_ist_list_september_27_october_2.php

Send a message to Allen (email link and whatnot at bottom of that post). He's the man.

Now that you bring it up, how does one make a suggestion for the Ist List? Ken Webster over at Hyde Park Theatre is doing Eric Bogosian's Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll again. Will be an amazing performance, rest assured. I plan to catch it this weekend if at all possible.

you know how crazy we are.

Ha-ha! Boozin' it up on a school night! We might be a bit too predictable here at Austinist... and that's okay. We still hold it down. Or something like that.

i think our favorite Ist-list compiler is sleeping off a wicked hangover on his lunch break after celebrating an equally sexy austinist contributor's bday bash/shots barrage. so, fret not, it will be up by mid-afternoon. good lookin out, jen

hey man, where's the ist list? am i missing something? It was almost like a daily planner of fun times and free shows.