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A stream of consciousness poem/memoir published in 1970, where every sentence begins with ā€œI rememberā€. Memory is one of my favorite mediums, and Joe Brainard expertly sculpts memory into a written format that is intoxicating to read. While the memories are specific to him and a certain experience of mid-century America, they’re also somewhat universal and pretty tantalizing. I found the experience of reading this text to be deeply pleasurable. Here’s an excerpt: I remember when polio was the worst thing in the world. I remember pink dress shirts. And bola ties. I remember when a kid told me that those sour clover-like leaves we used to eat (with little yellow flowers) tasted so sour because dogs peed on them. I remember that didn’t stop me from eating them. I remember the first drawing I remember doing. It was of a bride with a very long train. I remember my first cigarette. It was a Kent. Up on a hill. In Tulsa, Oklahoma. With Ron Padgett. I remember the only time I ever saw my mother cry. I was eating apricot pie.Ā  I remember when my father would say "Keep your hands out from under the covers" as he said goodnight. But he said it in a nice way.Ā  I remember when I thought that if you did anything bad, policemen would put you in jail.Ā  I remember a girl in school one day who, just out of the blue, went into a long spiel all about how difficult it was to wash her brother’s pants because he didn’t wear underwear. I remember the first time I met Frank O’Hara. He was walking down Second Avenue. It was a cool early Spring evening but he was wearing only a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And blue jeans. And moccasins. I remember that he seemed very sissy to me. Very theatrical. Decadent. I remember that I liked him instantly. I remember liver. I remember the chair I used to put my boogers behind.
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Mar 20, 2025

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this is so beautiful
Mar 20, 2025
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@BISONSPIDER it is, and it’s an invitation for us to remember with him, and with each other. How lovely is that šŸ’•
Mar 20, 2025

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