Happy Rare Book Week and National Poetry Month!
Our new rare book catalog is now available, just in time for Rare Book Week in NYC! This edition features signed and modern first editions; including David Foster Wallace, Don DeLillo, W.E.B. Du Bois, Anais Nin, and many more. View the catalog here.
it’s that time of the day when i have a long monologue with myself (no, not a soliloquy). it goes something like:
WHY didn’t you just bring to work the masses of chocolate you got last night for your birthday, and WHY do you still have cinnamon hearts (that your mom gave you for valentine’s day) stashed in your desk drawer, and WHY do you keep eating the cinnamon crumbs even though they make you cry and WHY can’t you just eat the damn tangerine sitting on your computer
also why does said tangerine have a sticker that says, and i quote, “#sled”?
I had never driven the Bay Bridge before (you know, on my own, in my car, with myself behind the wheel, etc.) and, in fact, had never driven in San Francisco (well, duh, you might say—would I really have gone all the way down to one of those weird bridges or taken the Richmond AND Golden Gate to get there?).
That moment when you see a distant acquaintance comment on her estranged ex-boyfriend’s Facebook and you sort of have this weird sympathy for her and are just so PROUD that she’s putting herself out there in the most public arena possible
(full disclosure: the name of the post is the name of this song i liked in middle school lol. but it’s surprisingly pretty accurate.)
more dragon than dog,
he huffed smoke with saliva
and wanted for wings.
hipsters, foodies, starterups, techies,
those amateur ethnographers, descend
from perches suburban or gentrified—
they’re all like,
made it through the ghetto for this one
but it is a good ass burrito.
hope i make it out alive next time too!
and people are all like,
really, there is just always one
who ruins it for the rest of us.
after flying over the hill
at country road–speeds,
we come to a grind to merge,
then jump white lines like hurdles
to the fast lane. ha. tailing some
burner boy with the girl
with too much hair—
granny in her sportscar—
or worst, transplant—
north berkeley titan of artistry—
or just some marin fuck looking for
we grit our teeth and
it doesn’t matter the time or day,
there is just always one
who ruins it.