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about
the unknown
i’ve thought of a few titles
all my unknown poem titles are fairly doomlike
for example
the last dance of the unknown
or
the unknown’s last dance
or
the end of the tour
or
the end of the tour
well you get the picture
it’s not that i’m pessimistic
just that i’m dramatic
The Unknown reading in Atlanta may be webcast although
it is admittedly unlikely as it has been scheduled during the panel called
"The Future(s) of Narrative" which is no doubt more urgent. I mean, which
would you go to if you were truly striving to cut the edge: the future
of narrative or the present. Let’s be reasonable.
Besides, this is an international conference of people with really intense
websites, and I’m afraid some of the Norwegian digital animation
artists won’t get into our encyclopedic hypertext novel or my rap
song about the Reagan Administration.
Regardless. Robert ("Bob") Coover and a couple of other interesting people
(one hopes) will be there. And I’m going to ask Michael Joyce to
autograph my handheld Windows CE system LG Phenom ("sugar") with an indelible
felt tip I have been saving for just the proper occasion.
I wish I could go to one of these things with all of the Unknown and
Newspoetry sometime. They would give us a floor of a hotel. Mike would
drive. We’d
buy a schoolbus and paint it all psychedelic. We’d tool down I-74
to Dirk’s house cranking Ani or Public Enemy. Cops would take one
look at us and feel too tired to pull us over. We’d fill up the
hotel bar and we’d each order the weirdest drink we could think
of—a vegan Kahlua and creme, something blue, something on fire in
a coconut.
A Virgin Bloody Mary. An Income Tax Cocktail.
In closing, I think we can all learn something from the Future(s) of Narrative.
Peace.
Love.
Etc.
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William and Scott talk to the Marriott Bartender 2: Bob Coover,
Renaissance Man
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