Category: AHT UND ITS PREROGATIVES

AHT UND ITS PREROGATIVES, po-uh-treeLeave a comment

GRAVITY’S RIMBAUD: A LIT CRIT PROSE POME

Steven Augustine

hit college at just the right time to have all my poetry-reading chums lionize the slave-trading Arthur Rimbaud and pooh pooh my misgivings with metropolitan condescension. At no point did I suggest that they, my chums,  disavow the cocksucking adolescent Nietzsche-lite work of that tragic asshole Arthur, I merely wanted it known that I could not be counted on to cheerlead their faddy obsession. Likewise considering the case of that racist old trash-emitting typist Ray Carver, equally-embraced, by my college buddies, at the time: fine, if that tripe gets you off.  But if I’m going to nibble at and swallow … Continue reading GRAVITY’S RIMBAUD: A LIT CRIT PROSE POME

AHT UND ITS PREROGATIVES, GENUINE ART AS HEROISM, THINKING TO THE NTH ON THE TOPICLeave a comment

TOTALITARIUM

Steven Augustine

When I was being raised in the 1960s and 1970s, the ambient cultural value I absorbed from books, music and films was anti-business/ anti-square/ pro-Creative/ pro-Sex/ marginal materialism. By the time I hit college in 1977 I was wearing these presets like a behavioral badge and the people I befriended and hung out with seemed to radiate these attitudes as well, attitudes I embodied to such a degree that I drew quite a bit of attention. I was so confident in my espousal of these embodied beliefs that I became a sort of militant philosopher, spreading the word.  This militancy … Continue reading TOTALITARIUM

AHT UND ITS PREROGATIVES, GOAT BRAIN, HUXLEY ORWELL INC6 Comments

thoughts on craig raine’s gatwick*

Steven Augustine

thoughts on craig raine’s gatwick as if according to wiccan principles or karma’s schoolyard tit for tat, old craig raine’s latest hornéd spree of underworked verse in the LRB called forth the curse of hissy twits from the red-sash brigade,  critiques of little greater wit than raine’s parading of his need to word-fuck every wrinkle-free chick within his neck-chained reading glasses’  fucking range as if the disparity in age is why the pome bit. well do old dogs still paw buried memories of gnawing lust like treasure bones? if yes who else should write such pomes? or is lit’s report … Continue reading thoughts on craig raine’s gatwick*