where the tangent is the architecture
I'm an independent bookseller, so please forgive me if I chatter about books. They're almost all I have.
New rule: motherfuckers need to actually read Emily Dickinson before they write about her, not least if their name is Dickman and I have to shelve them beside her. The only true word in this thing is Terrifying. She turns into Superman later in the poem, and that’s funny I guess, because of the hair. Like Kal El, Emily Dickinson did come from another planet, and it is called the nineteenth century. She had a vagina, and yet you’ve still heard of her, Dickman, even if you’ve never read her, meaning that she was a talent so savage that history itself couldn’t swallow her. Bow down, boy.
I do still think this is a great poem, though, particularly the last page of which this is not a photo.
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I think I just fell in love with this poem.
Why does stuff like this not appear more often on my dash? Why? It’s wonderful.
Here’s what I don’t understand about your responses: 1. You state that Dickman is “caging her in his received knowledge...
This is kind of against my usual approach to the internet, but for whatever reason I feel like I could stand to belabor...
This was featured in #Lit