I don't know what got me to thinking
about it. I was still in bed, so maybe it had been a dream. Either
way, I was taken back ten years, possibly more, to a time when things
were rather different. There was always the mailbox to look forward
to. Walking in from the warehouse, I would think, surely there
must be some response. Perhaps this would be the night when
I might be validated, accepted....
then I would spend countless hours reading periodicals and quarterlies
and reviews with an eye on what I should send them in return. Licked
countless nasty envelopes and stamps, sent them in the direction
of places with names of intrigue like Poetry Motel, Mind In
Motion, The Wormwood Review, ONTHEBUS.
had it in view to unseat Lyn Lifshin, who was featured in almost
every such publication that I ever read, as "Queen of the Small
Press." I was confident I could do it, I still looked pretty
good in a skirt. And although I wasn't without some success, in
the end I ran out of stamps. And time. And patience.
there were books to write, some of which are excerpted here. And
a whole lot of detours to ensure more of them weren't written, or
executed in finer fashion.
I never would have guessed just how crazily things would have changed
in so short of time. Nor that I would ever have something like this
of my own. You have to think: One couldn't get gratification any
more quickly. I mean, I can reach out and try to touch you at will.
Wait a second, what kind of site
is this? Oh yeah, it's mine, Mark Flanigan's. I hope you
enjoy it for what it is--a work in progress, not at all unlike myself.