1. This morning I read Marie Calloway’s “Adrien Brody” for the first time.
2. I’d been aware of her and vaguely aware of that story for what seems like a long time.
3. I rarely read fiction; I read ~90% of “Adrien Brody” with uninterrupted focus. I was not on Adderall. (Maybe her style is “what it takes” to keep people off Twitter long enough to read fiction; maybe that “isn’t for me to decide.”)
4. Thought, “This alt lit shit is like an internal monologue virus. I can’t stop thinking like this now.” Thought, “If I write about this, should I change ‘this alt lit shit’ to ‘Tao Lin and his ilk’?”
5. Thought, “Thought, ‘We are never ever getting back together.’”
6. Googled. Learned the “identity” of “Adrien Brody.” Thought, “Oh my god.”
7. Mentally compared, despite near-complete ignorance, the initial critical response to Hemingway to that of Calloway.
8. Worried more about what people think of Calloway. Tentatively decided that “literature is doing what painting did,” but in reverse: moving from heightened/imaginative to “as ‘realistic’ as possible.”
9. Thought, “This is a genie that will not go back in the bottle.”
10. Wondered whether I was mentally composing tweets or a Thought Catalog essay.
11. Got on the train to work. Getting out of the L at Union Square, I immediately smelled blood. People were gawking at a hurt woman. She was sitting on the ground crosslegged with her head down, a few feet from a pool of blood. A couple of people were beginning to help her. The smell of blood was so strong and iron-y; thought, “My nose evolved for this.” Wondered whether her injury would make news blogs; felt conflicted about that thought.
12. Saw a friendcquaintance on the train. Felt incredulous that so many unusual things were happening on a morning that my “mental camera” had been turned on by Calloway. Told the acquaintance about the blood and we talked about subway danger. Told her about a bet I lost last weekend about how many people are killed by sharks. She got off the train and I realized I had talked for ~85% of the interaction. Decided that Calloway had helped me realize the importance of the feelings/experiences “outside the edges” of what is usually depicted in art.
13. Thought about my friend at the New School who made me realize how ridiculous men sound when they call an album or book “important.” (It seems to always be men.)
14. I feel strongly that Marie Calloway is important.