the week we sold out

We embraced pop culture at the behest of the folks at Carbon Copy Magazine, a new lit journal that claims Andy Warhol as an inspiration and answers Frequently Asked Questions in a poppy, addictive, Tom-Wolfean style (right down to the mid-sentence “poof!”). We will now embed Bananarama videos whenever we damned well feel like it.

We met the new boss – America’s new poet laureate Philip Levine. Different from the old boss - W. S. Merwin. And we revisited his classic “You Can Have It,” in which our hero, barely into his 20s, could already articulate the sadness of aging with stunning deftness. God bless America.

We met PEN America Center’s 2011 award-winners, each of whom will pocket several thousand frogskins, and we did not hate the player or the game.

We met the New Sincerity, the New2 Sincerity, or the new negative capability or whatever, and we did not greet it with smart remarks, guff or sass.

The long-dead corpse of Los Angeles drinking-man’s bard Charles Bukowski sold out to Levi’s. Levi’s: When you’re not sure which Skid Row dumpster you’ll be sleeping in tonight.

Like Buk before him, Montana poet Michael Earl Craig sold out to Hollywood. (For our purposes, independent, insanely skilled filmmaker Dalton C. Brink represents “Hollywood.”)

We rejoiced at some positive retail news: Despite the widespread riots in and around London (and the heartbreaking losses suffered by UK music distributor [PIAS]), most independent bookstores remain open, spared from the chaos. As Americans, we wondered about this weird aversion to setting books on fire.

Syrian poet Adonis leveraged his sociopolitical capital and asked his country’s president to step down. Somewhere, Sting cursed himself for not coming up with the name “Adonis” first.

Rejection letters, once private transactions between publishers, writers, and large bottles of Old Grand-Dad, are now being pimped out online.

We had kids. But we swear we can still throw down.

First, there was spam poetry. Now, we’ve got Craigslist poetry. We’re waiting for Foursquare poets – they’re easier to stalk.

There are a few things that are too badass to ever sell out. The legacy of the bizarre, hilarious, unpredictable and iconic cris cheek. The Poe House. And Dorothea Lasky. Those are all un-eff-withable. (Since we had kids, our vocabulary isn't as expansive as Lasky's. Okay? We probably shouldn't have even said "badass.")