J (Dec 15, 2009)

Love your blog!^^ Found it by chance after google-ing Mr Easy Lai.. (:

Gayleen (Dec 15, 2009)

I can’t think of a better reason for someone to have found my blog. Welcome!

Anonymous (Dec 16, 2009)

As punishment, the offending newspaper shall henceforth be known as the New York Time’s.

Gayleen (Dec 16, 2009)

Agree’d!

Grymm the Pleasant (Dec 16, 2009)

To take this in a different direction, obviously this is a democratic review piece, about two works that unfortunately ended up with the same name. This lead to this unfortunate situation of having an article that compares and contrasts these works

“Of living with migraines” by Mr. The Up (formerly Dwayne Smith) is as pretentious as his name change. It is an overwrought mess of a work, self described as “genreless” and “unprecedented”. Really, it is a shitty poem, badly performed to someone dropping toasters down the stairs. It could be seen as that being the point, to elicit a negative reaction, except that it is done so haphazardly that it doesn’t elicit strong feelings, merely apathetic dismissal. That didn’t stop Pete (man number 4) from praising it.

“Of living with migraines” by Thurston Down is a novel about a man who is given a week to come up with a failproof wish to solve all problems for all time. The most interesting part is the evolving contract. Every few chapters he presents the current version. Talking to some lawyers, they claim that the citations quietly inserted are hilarious. So apparently they are some form of in joke.

Anonymous (Dec 18, 2009)

The only thing the two authors have in common is their love of Don Marquis’ poems about Archie the Cockroach. This is probably why each of the two men independently adopted the practice of using only lower-case letters in his name and in the title of his book. The reporter respects the authors’ choices when describing up’s and down’s work.

Nikolai (Dec 18, 2009)

Oops!
I forgot to sign my post. That last “Anonymous” was me.
Nikolai

Nikolai (Dec 18, 2009)

In fact, both the Anonymous posts were me.
I should be more careful. If my writing gets any sloppier, I will qualify for a job with the New York Time’s.
Nikolai

Gayleen (Dec 18, 2009)

Sure, everyone talks about Archie, but they forget poor Mehitabel.

DPCS (Dec 18, 2009)

What about Jughead?

Or are you all talking about Archy and Mehitabel?

Archie is the redhead with girl problems. Archy is a cockroach with existential problems.

Not to be anal. Or a prick.

Oh, who am I kidding?

Gayleen (Dec 18, 2009)

When you’re right, you’re right. You’re usually wrong, but in this case you’re right, so you’re right.

DPCS (Dec 18, 2009)

(dies happy)

DPCS (Dec 19, 2009)

So, kidding aside, I only knew that because Archy and his poems had a pretty strong impact on me. I’m not likely ever to forget the spelling of Archy’s name because I am always mindful of how he types. He’s a cockroach. He leaps physically from key to key of a manual typewriter. His poems take a lot out of him.

I was four years old when I first read “archy and mehitabel” tucked under a blanket, wheezing, afraid to sleep, at the farm where I spent countless weekends. It looked like a kid’s book, and I’d been told to quit reading the grownup books. Most of the kids books were too simple for me.

Something about the cover and the illustrations inside drew me. I was fascinated by the lack of punctuation and capitals.

Four years old is too young for Archy and Mehitabel.

I was already familiar with the concept of reincarnation, and that led me to an understanding of the Archy poems that was maybe deeper than I wanted.

Archy is the reincarnation of a desperately unhappy free-verse poet. Now that he is reincarnated as a roach, he still burns to express himself. He is further motivated by the knowledge that the life of a cockroach is short and brutal.

His best friend, if she can be called such, is the cat Mehtitabel, who claims to have been Cleopatra in another life. I doubt her claim. Now, she is a fickle, mostly detestable feral cat with delusions of morality and grandeur. It’s only because I pitied her so badly that I could not, and can not hate her.

As a cockroach, Archy is privy to the secret lives of animals and insects, as well as humans, and it’s a pretty upsetting trip.

The poems are sad beyond measure, dryly funny, and often horrifying.

Don Marquis, Archy’s agent and owner of the typewriter used to produce these works, published them in his newspaper column. They were later collected in three volumes.

Here’s one poem.

I remember reading that poem at the age of five the next summer, and thinking to myself that Archy DID have something he wanted so badly. He was KILLING himself to write these poems. He didn’t even know.

Here’s another.

That poem taught me everything I needed to know about the relationship between parents and children. Again, four when I first read it and five when I grasped it.

I knew at that moment I wanted to be a writer.

I was reminded of this again when I rediscovered the poems at the age of fifteen. I wrote about a hundred poems as Archy. They were as bad as you’d expect. I was fifteen.

Still, I learned a lot from Archy. I learned that horror and sadness are both enhanced when surrounded by wit and some humour. It gives it the sense of existing in real life, where all are commonly mingled.

I learned that behind every noble thought and deed, there are the animal parts of us who need and hate without reason.

I learned that terrible truths can be beautiful, and that the most beautiful expressions of things don’t have to be florid.

Archy writes in the lean manner that befits a creature jumping from key to key, word to word, and straining at every need to push the return lever back to the home position.

And, my god, it is beautiful work.

So, yeah, thanks to whoever brought up Archy.

And though I didn’t say much about Mehitabel, I did say some things about her. You should probably read the poems though.

For more info go here.