This bit of auto-flarf (a collage of sentences I wrote on this blog) is inspired by Jordan Ellenberg (author of the forthcoming How Not to Be Wrong), who was in turn inspired by Jody Rosen's collage of David Brooks statements including the words "we live."
I am drawn to frustrating people.
I am currently involved in a happy monogamous relationship.
It seems I am almost never home when I get the hiccups.
Some people rabidly oppose the idea of a guilty pleasure, arguing that no one should feel guilty about what they like. I am not one of those people. I am not a chemist or a perfumer. I am not an actress, but I did play one in 9th grade.
I'm not particularly offended or hurt. But I am kind of grimly fascinated by what's transpiring there w/r/t my second book. Could you please point out that I am not in fact the author? I am, quite literally, asking for a friend.
I don't pretend to understand how right-wing cokehead douchebags use expressions. But I am from Texas.
I’m weirdly obsessed with it.
I am weary from travel.
I am a SUCKER for any pop song with a string section.
An unadulterated wave of pure schadenfreude passed over me. How much of a dick am I?
I try to be honest about when I am jealous, which is not unfrequently. I'm currently in a "taco period."
I'm not really convinced that I've done something wrong.
I don't usually turn to poetry when I'm sad; I'm more of the "watch bad movies and eat candy" type. No, I'm not pregnant, really. I'm not trying to speak for everyone.
I'm not even sure that there aren't Shakespeare conventions. But they made two sequels to The Hangover, I'm not the barometer of comedy in America.
I am really wondering: Is this satire?
I'm not the only one.