NAP 2.3

                Yep, I love naps. I love NAP too. Chad works his butt off for the pure payoff of ‘making the alt lit world a better place’.  NAP is getting busy this 2012 too. 2012 is the ‘year of the NAP’ in sloth culture, along with most other years. But I think this may be my favorite type of nap, a literary nap. 

                Melissa Broder makes the world better with Cherry Coke. I love Cherry Coke. I feel bad that she has to sort out knockwurst. I don’t even know what a knockwurst is, but it sounds really European and fatty. She also wants a personal god. Good thing she doesn’t want a personal Jesus, or else that may result in a lawsuit from Depeche Mode. 

                Hugh Behm-Steinberg portrays the devil as a force of pure evil that ‘has no game’. I mean, the devil embodies the darkest forces. Really he should be able to seduce an angel every now and then. Pathetic work devil, I’m disappointed in you. At least in the construction business the devil shows a little more in the way of ‘guts’.

                Andrew Cox does this for the last time. It offers promises. Whether or not they’ll be kept is another matter entirely. I don’t know Andrew well enough. Maybe he can do it. I just don’t know. I promise. 

                Caroline Crew and Cyrus Parlin are a writing duo. I admire them. They have a few escapes. I recommend Mexico or California. I have heard good things. Louisiana is a mystery to me. Maybe that’s the best place to hide. 

                Chris Emslie might be a cat. He has all these lives. That sounds cat-like to me. I admire the power of his lungs. I will never argue with Chris, ever. 

                Tyler Gobble mentions Chicken McNuggets. I feel the food fits in with his last name. If my last name was ‘Gobble’ I’d probably do some sponsorship deal with McDonalds. Out of anguish he throws himself into a ball pit. Hope he’s okay. Ball pits usually spread disease. 

                David Greenspan is Alan Greenspan’s son. I like his large earlobes. Greenspan’s work has so much energy behind it; it feels like he’s excitedly shouting at you in real life. His second poem mentions his lover. In this poem is one of those ‘crazy nuggets’ I adore. The line is: ‘and fuck like pianos’. 

                Rose Hunter hates roses. After she bags them up, she puts the head of the rose on the front grille of her Prius. I wonder how the fifteen year old got there. Trains leaping on other tracks just don’t appear. I wish they did. 

                Kristin Kimble writes sad poems. I feel bad she got locked in a bathroom at Boston Market. At least it wasn’t a Subway (eat fresh) bathroom. Those are the worst. I am happy she wants to fuck fractions. 

                Thomas Patrick Levy hates tests. Every test seems to tell him horrible things. Tests need to leave poor Levy alone. This is why I don’t take tests. His house is an oven. He is cooking. He can’t taste breads. I feel bad. Breads are my favorite things. Wish he could taste them. 

                Rob Macdonald states the Chinese girls hate that song. I think he’s taking about David Bowie’s 80s hit ‘China Girl’. That song annoys the heck out of me. In the next poem he’s raiding the hen house. Good luck buddy. 

                M.G. Martin needs his vitamins to keep him strong. I don’t know how grandfathers get bootlegged. I think that means there is some street vendor selling cheap knockoffs of your elderly relatives. The second poem reminds me of ‘The Limits of Control’. 

                Roberto Mondes loves the Democratic Party. According the poem he uses it to attract hot people. Usually I hear about politics tearing people apart. It is a nice change to hear about politics smashing people together. The second one is about the classic game ‘Duckhunter’. In the third poem he catches some September. 

                Diana Salier is cool as heck. She has a straight-up rock and roll band up California way. This isn’t the first time she’s been in NAP, nor will it be the last. Her poem discusses the joys of downloading porn using free Wi-Fi. The end is sad though: downloading porn used to be a loving activity. Now it is just a bunch of people fucking. That seems bleak. 

                 Nick Sturm is crazy. His ideas are completely bonkers. Spray painting a lawnmower gold? Is he mad? Lawnmowers must be painted green so they can blend in with their surroundings before devouring unsuspecting blades of grass. I want my milkshake. Today is my birthday. 

                K.M.A Sullivan teaches virgins. I feel bad her face got dissolved into a tree. At least the tree has private parts, like stomas and such (via leaves). The second poem rues the death of ancient Egypt. 

                Parker Tettleton tells me no one is a record. I disagree. I think people are like records because sometimes they get played. At least he doesn’t support purchasing Apple products. 

                Bryce Thornburg sounds like a badass. I mean, I would not fuck with somebody who has a name that tough. His poetry reinforces this idea. Fragility struck him. I hope he beats the snot out of Fragility. Fragility doesn’t sound so tough. 

                Daniel J Walsh ends the series. His first poem discusses infidelity and Mars’s feelings. For his second piece he goes over absolute loneliness. You know the kind of loneliness that drives people to talk radio. Yeah, it is pretty sad. 

                I liked this collection. It gave me a lot of beautiful images. I’m happy to hear from some of my old favorites (like Salier and Greenspan) and hear from some new ones. Hope Chad never sleeps.