Author Archive
A Forsley Feuilleton: Stanley Kubrick Wanted A Taste, A Second Taste, Of Terry Southern’s Lamb-Pit
I love fucking Terry Southern. . . that came out wrong. I never fucked the writer, at least not proper fucked. But I have been fucking him intellectually, off and on, for a few decades now. By that I mean … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: I Would Have Obeyed Those Gods, Became A Dunce, And Joined The Confederacy
I read John Kennedy Toole’s A Confederacy of Dunces last month. But it was too late. My life was damaged beyond repair. If I had read it ten years ago as a high school student, I would have a career, … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: They Are Two Different Games But In The End They Are The Same
“There goes Roy Hobbs, the best there ever was in this game” – that’s what the protagonist of Bernard Malamud’s The Natural wanted people to say when he walked down the street. And they would have. He was a baseball … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: They Have Since Cut Their Hair Off, Sued Their Fans, And Are Probably Opening A Chain Of Vegan Restaurants
When Robert Johnson went down to the crossroads and called upon Satan to rise from the fires of Hell to tune his guitar, he didn’t have dollar signs in his eyes and titties on his brain. Material possessions were of … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: Flavor Flav Is A Classically Trained Pianist, Tom Petty Has A Dirty Fish Tank, and Selena Gomez Is Starring In Harmony Korine’s New Flick
Dostoyevsky used to watch his wife shit, G.G. Allin voted for Jimmy Carter, Jerry Garcia tongue-kissed his older sister on her deathbed, Diana Ross hated the movie When Harry Met Sally, Elizabeth Taylor is a beer enthusiast, Kirk Douglas collects … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: Gary Shteyngart Can Afford As Many Bottles of Vodka And “Double-Cured-Spicy-Soppressata-And-Avacado” Sandwiches As He Craves
As far as the schools of literary criticism go – and damn do they go far, so far that you need a dozen diabeticless Labrador Retrievers with MFAs to fetch them – I’ve always favored those theories, like Historical-Biographical criticism, … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: An Open Letter To The Anti-Ginger Grocery Store Night Managers Across This Once Tolerant Nation
I know you are going to do with this letter what you did with all the others: throw it, while laughing, into the wastebasket labeled, “Letters From Fiery Tempered Firecrotch Ex-Employees.” But I quit another Night Stocking job at another … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: In The Good Old Days You Could Use Books To Beat Your Perverted Boyfriends Into Submission Without A Problem
Everyone’s talking about the future of the book. Most aren’t actually ‘talking’ about it. They are Tweeting, Skyping, and Facebooking about it, trading one-liners back and forth over the internet – that collective consciousness of search engine optimizing keyword articles, … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: I Gave Up The Roadwork Of The Fight-Game For The Drinking Of The Lit-Game – Act Three
You don’t think writing is like fighting, that to get intellectual you have to get physical? You think I’m crazy for comparing writers to fighters, the lit-game to the fight-game? Then what do you call Haruki Murakami, the acclaimed Japanese … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: I Gave Up The Roadwork Of The Fight-Game For The Drinking Of The Lit-Game – Act Two
Those poets, the young happy rich people dressed like old sad poor people, spoke the truth: after I moved from Phoenix to San Francisco and gave up the roadwork of the fight-game for the drinking of the lit-game, the only … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: I Gave Up The Roadwork Of The Fight-Game For The Drinking Of The Lit-Game – Act One
Jake ‘The Raging Bull’ LaMotta, Muhammad ‘The Greatest’ Ali, Johnny ‘Mi Vida Loca’ Tapia, Arturo ‘Thunder’ Gatti, Bernard ‘The Executioner’ Hopkins – those were my childhood idols. I wanted to do what they did. I wanted to make a living … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: Buy the ticket, take the ride. . . and crack open a bottle of rum
The Rum Diary comes out on DVD tomorrow, and I haven’t been this terrified since the Halloween night it opened in theaters. I took the 14 Muni Bus to its midnight-showing and a limbless hobo offered to tuck me into … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: I’m funny how? Funny like a clown? I amuse you? I make you laugh?
In the days following last week’s Forsley Feuilleton, I wanted to surf the internet naked, vulnerable both physically and emotionally, yelling like Emmett Ray at the end of Sweet and Lowdown: “I made a mistake! I made a mistake!” Last … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: The seducing letter I got in the mail from Marie Calloway
Give The Rumpus five buckaroos a month and they’ll send you a Letter in the Mail almost every week from a more important person than yourself – like Dave Eggers, Nick Flynn, Emily Gould, and Jonathan Ames. By buckaroos I … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: He was eating my prose as the typewriter shit it out
William F. Buckley, the conservative writer from the right ruling class, owned a King Charles Spaniel named Rowley. Eli Cash, the Western writer from the film, The Royal Tenenbaums, ran over a Beagle named Buckley. Because the title character in … Continue reading
A Forsley Feuilleton: I believe he once claimed to have reeled in a marlin with one hand and beaten a bear in arm wrestling with the other
Even though Woody Allen is still sticking his wrinkled pecker into Soon-Yi, his ex-girlfriend’s adopted daughter, I support the great filmmaker unconditionally. It’s time to forget about his scandal and start shunning those writers that still use it as an … Continue reading