A little essay of mine titled Resume was published in the fall 17 issue of "The Chaos" - a new quarterly, online journal of personal narrative.
Read it HERE.
Tori Amos - A True Story
We’d go to the city and sing all the way. Look I’m standing naked before you, don’t you want more than my sex? We didn’t know our bodies beyond objects and mall fashion. No one ever told us these were our parts to play with. Sometimes boys would steal us away from our houses through windows. We’d undress for them in hot tubs. Only cherry red lipstick remained.
Fame - With Michael Reinsch
A new Bachelard's Panty Drawer show is up for ear hearts. Today's guest was super-human Michael Reinsch
There is a wild poetry to Michael Reinsch. He bleeds cynicism and wry wit. He screams I’m lonely and leave me alone. He sings get me away from here and please don’t forget to invite me to the party. He grapples with contradictions, tickles toes and rustles uvulas. His poems come out in songs and rants, social media updates, collage and performance. He throws delight and unease into everyday objects. Transforms balloons and party tricks into existential playgrounds. His Facebook wall is a masterpiece exploration on the self and its thorny relationship to art and fame.
Michael’s art is the kind of art that makes you feel less alone in the world, less depressed, less agitated by humanity and being human, but at the same time inspires you to punch yourself (and your Uncle Horace) in the crotch. If Mike Kelly and Spalding Gray and Emily Dickinson had a baby, it may resemble Michael Reinsch with two distant cousins - the hospital clown who is hired to cheer up your sickly self and the stunning young lady at the drug store who may become surly if you don’t have exact change.
Michael Reinsch hates like a hug. What a man he is!