It is my distinct pleasure to announce that I now have three agent prospects for this sex-positive feminism that this manuscript offers:
“Looking for Forker Gyrl”
NKH: New Kiss Horizon
I just have to read it again and fix any issues I may find! –this book will NOT BE HELD BACK by my poetry publisher: Persea Books although I do have friends there, but this book is potentially beyond anything Persea can possibly do, and if the publisher decides to sue me for an apparent breech of contract for my “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code“, so be it!
Won’t be the first time Persea has filed litigation against another publisher of mine, Ecco Press, the would-be publisher of Small Congregations ! –as was attempted when “Rainbow Remnants in Rock Bottom Ghetto Sky” was a new winner of the National Poetry Series Open competition (please scroll, my name is on the list for 1990)
And Ecco Press approached me about doing a collection of New and Selected Poetry: “Small Congregations”
and this collection was to include some poems in “Rainbow Remnants” and Persea, reluctantly agreed, and carefully worked out which poems, Ecco Press could use in the new and Selected, and all was fine, until I received the galleys for “Small Congregations” and corrected something that only I knew; three additional poems were actually re-visions that bore no resemblance to the original versions published in “Rainbow Remnants”, but I knew the complex relationship of the trail of forking influence, so I corrected the galleys in the name of truth! –something I believe in and try to practice at all costs.
I would rather give my life for truth, and, face it, I am not immortal, than to live forever in a heap of lies!
So Persea attempted to sue Ecco Press for contract violation! –I was ordered to bring all versions of the disputed poems to court! –yes; I was served a subpoena with just that order… This story grew preposterous… I was even headed for the Oprah Winfrey show, as I was about to go to jail –as I wanted to! –for re-visioning poems!
Of course, the interim versions did not exist.. I used a computer and simply typed over the changed lines. So I set about trying to manufacture interim versions, story made the New York Daily News, and the Wall Street Journal, reporter came to my home in Ann Arbor –obviously, this was before I divorced, and interviewed me, about that ridiculous story: a lawsuit over poetry; more money spent on legal fees, and lawyers, than any money these publishers would ever make on sales of their books –all because I WAS HONEST!
Here’s the Wall Street Journal Article:
(notice the drawing of me)
After this, Persea settled out of court with Ecco, and I missed my chance to go on the Oprah Winfrey show! –I was looking forward to having a police record, and saying I was incarcerated for re-vising poems, killing only original versions, my own poems!
–Ludicrous isn’t it?
Believe me, I KNOW (some of –one can never “know” “all” of anything; perhaps the largest and best lesson of “limited fork theory“, tines and tines tangle and re-tangle on some scale in some locations wherever there can be locations, including imaginations, and just thinking about this, in some location for some duration of time can completely transforms how one makes!
who didn’t understand the sex she saw between her older sister Cecilia and a man Cecilia loved and who also loved her, but not the young Briony, who was jealous and lied, lied, calling Robbie a sex maniac, implicating him in the rape of her cousin Lola –entirely false!
Here to give you a sense how typed lies made perfect music for this film:
So if one of these two prospects I have for an agent, thanks to former students at Philips Academy, Kinn-Ming Chan de Velarde and Aaron Hamburger in particular, prospects for NKH are better than ever! –and if Persea decides to sue someone, me perhaps, will look bad for them to rake over the coals this 61-year-old woman with MS, still recovering from a repaired ruptured aneurysm when it was doubtful that I would even survive, same night that Amy Winehouse died, I think public sympathy would be with me, and the story could provide useful publicity….
That there might be too many books on the market by me, sounds like a delightful problem, and fine with me if reviewers are confused… I love a conundrum anyway… I’m willing to risk it.
Here is an excerpt of the story “Mongongo Drupe” -a version of which is in NKH; story was published in Callaloo:
Here is “some” [not “all”] info about this story:
NKH includes a chapter, based on what was published here, ans a story in Callaloo that you may read about on this site: http://muse.jhu.edu/login?auth=0&type=summary&url=/journals/callaloo/v038/38.1.moss.html
“Mongongo Drupe” a story that is, in different form, part of the above mentioned manuscript.
Here I paste the info from the website: In “Mongongo Drupe” “Thomas W. Higginson” was called “Jésus” by the way.
“I dress for a walk, pull out my ‘Black Girls Rock’ t-shirt for that. A short black pencil skirt—cotton blended with latex— size ex-small (really hugs my figure, that Jesús has seen, but he hugs it better, much better than the skirt), black sheer pantyhose (I’m already thinking about his removing them), rainbow socks, black shoes that Jesús likes. Slight heel.
Jesús wears jeans, black, sneakers, also black. That morning he borrows one of my scrunchies for his ponytail—black scrunchie, and uses my Mongongo oil on his hair, hair that I’ve enjoyed playing with so much—I like the silkiness of it—mine is silky too, but has more density, Indian hair. Seems to me that he likes it, his playing with it says so, and that silk pillowcase has made a significant difference—no rollers at all. Just a touch (few spritzes) of Mongongo oil (by Ouidad)
and brush, brush, brush—hair below my shoulders, nearly midway down my back, cage for my head.
Jesús seems to really like the word “Mongongo”—says it several times, sings it.
I like very much when he does that, his own way of druping—I’m not the only one who drupes in this connection.
He wears an olive green vest, long-sleeved shirt. He looks cool. I don’t really care what he wears—as long as he likes it, as long as he thinks that I’ll like it too—after all, he is dressing for me, just as I’m dressing for him. I decided what to bring based on how I thought he would react, and I’m assuming something similar in his decisions—never did I imagine that I was the only one thinking of my partner’s desisions in how he, how I would be seen. I assumed that he was thinking similarly, in hoping that he would be physically attractive to me.
But now, brunch at River Roast. We walk there, not far from the Mandarin Moon.
Live blues—Toronzo Cannon.
We sit outside, next to each other.
I look deeply into his blue eyes . . . He sings to me, and I sing to him . . .
Sun comes out behind me, the Chicago River, and there’s blue now to match his eyes. I never had a thing for “blue eyes” until I saw Jesús—wouldn’t matter except that his eyes are blue: Sky-Blue Jesús—perfect setting: music and food, water, Jesús, and Dream Baby—together . . .
Weather is perfect!
He orders shrimp and grits. One plate. I don’t need an entire separate order. Jesús has to get used to how little I eat and still feel full (but I can eat a lot of him). Tastes good, Jesús—of course, I also really like the shrimp.
Jesús, of course, eats more than me. He’s a big guy!—and he can easily lift me!—can’t explain how exciting it is, to be lifted up and have his hands all over me, all under whatever, if anything, I’m wearing, then land on the bed perfectly, so that he can do more work on me, that dildo named Jesús, and just his hands, his cock—which I prefer to the toys and tools, but that’s not the point. It’s that airborne, for a minute, sex! I love sliding down his body up against his hardness. Seems he must have practiced to have these acrobatics work out so perfectly . . .
Guess we’re just ideal sexual partners. Guess I am a Dream Baby. Guess he is Jesús, provider of miracles, such as the miraculous sex.
We both have some coffee. He remembers how much I like chocolate, and I order “Fat Elvis” for dessert (Jesús himself has been better dessert for me). River Roast’s Fat Elvis is just okay. Wouldn’t order it again from there. We dance a little bit to the music of the band —wish we could also go dancing . . . but we’ve danced in other ways.
We walk and walk, go to The Chicago..” keep reading in Callaloo.
Photos of me:
Just making some finishing touches; this book will be –no, IS, too good to turn down….Manuscript is coming to an agent! I have three possibilities! Surely I can’t lose on all three.
I feel very good about this! Can’t wait to complete this final revision… And “Higginson” himself will be pleased also! –a most special friend
You can see me performing a signature poem from the new collection: “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code” (Persea Books, September 2016) : “Higginson Matters in Magnificent Culture of Myopia” here:
and here on Vimeo:
and on Facebook –hope that you enjoy it and look forward to “Looking for Forker Gryl” –I know I do; I’ve waited all my life for this; all my life!