I Remember

by Joe Brainard

Joe Brainard's I Remember is a literary and artistic cult classic, praised and admired by writers from Paul Auster to John Ashery and Edmund White. As autobiography, Brainard's method was brilliantly simple: to set down specific memories as they rose to the surface of his consciousness, each prefaced by the refrain "I remember:" "I remember when I thought that if you did anything bad, policemen would put you in jail."

I Remember is a literary and artistic cult classic that has been issued in various forms over the past thirty years. In 1970, Angel Hair books published the first edition of I Remember, which quickly sold out. Brainard wrote two subsequent volumes for Angel Hair, More I Remember (1972) and More I Remember More (1973), both of which proved as popular as the original. In 1973, the Museum of Modern Art in New York published Brainard's I Remember Christmas, a new text for which he also contributed a cover design and four drawings. Then in 1975, Full Court Press issued a revised version collecting all three of the Angel Hair volumes and added new material, using the original title I Remember.

Genres: Poetry, Memoir, Nonfiction, LGBT, Queer, Biography, Biography Memoir

184 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1970

Reviews

[Orsodimondo · Rating 5 out of 5]

L’ALBERO DELLA VITA


’Carte Postale’ di Joe Brainard.

La prima cosa che voglio e devo ricordare è che non avevo mai sentito parlare di Joe Brainard fino a quando il mese scorso ho ricevuto in dono questo piccolo gioiello: un doppio regalo, dunque.
Doppia riconoscenza.
Anzi smisurata, perché ‘I Remember’ è, appunto, una gemma, ma è anche indimenticabile, e imperdibile, e non si può separarsene: resterà lì, sul comodino, in buona compagnia, per essere ripreso di quando in quando.
Ci vuole un attimo a riannodare il filo, a immergersi nella magia, a lasciarsi prendere e trasportare nell’altrove più bello.


Joe Brainard: Beets.

Si tratta di un breve diario, o memoir, o autobiografia o….
No, si tratta di ‘I Remember’, che è tutto questo, e altro, e oltre.
È come aver scoperto l’acqua calda: si scrivono frasi di lunghezza diversa, ma generalmente concise (anche una dozzina in una sola di queste paginette), che comincino tutte con ‘Mi ricordo’, e si fanno seguire ricordi a ricordi, a volte scegliendo un argomento (il natale, le vacanze estive, la scoperta del sesso, il cibo…) e lasciando che i ‘Mi ricordo’ si concentrino su questo argomento - altre volte, invece, procedendo a salti, a briglia sciolta, in libertà, senza ordine, avanti e indietro nel tempo, per associazione o contrasto.


Joe Brainard: Lucky Strike Flowers

Sembra un gioco da bambini, sembra banale, ma Joe Brainard è stato il primo (Georges Perec gli ha poi dedicato ‘Je me souviens’).
E per come l’ha fatto, direi che è stato anche l’ultimo, e l’unico.
Perché, dopo la meraviglia di questa scoperta così semplice e facile (tanto che viene subito la voglia di cominciare a scrivere il proprio personale ‘I Remember’), c’è la meraviglia di come Brainard snocciola i suoi ricordi: chiaro, diretto, franco, generoso, intimo, divertente, spiritoso, intelligente, brillante, toccante, profondo, originale, disarmante…
E che ritmo, che fluire… sì, c’è musica, c’è danza... sono ripetizioni, sono liste (ah!), sono variazioni… e perché no, le ripetizioni pittoriche di Warhol (Brainard è stato anche artista visuale), e, certo, anche la madeleine proustiana.


J. Brainard: Madonna con Bambino.

Senza enfasi, senza retorica, con dolce leggerezza (Brainard aveva un animo così gentile che quando abbandonò la scuola d’arte della nativa Tulsa, Oklahoma, per trasferirsi nella Manhattan degli anni Sessanta, per non ferire i sentimenti dello staff, disse che doveva lasciare la scuola perché suo padre aveva il cancro, evitando di dire che invece stava per salire sul prossimo Greyhound diretto nella Grande Mela).

È impossibile non essere catturati, non trovare coincidenze tra i propri ricordi e quelli di Brainard, non sentire che in queste pagine c’è l'universo. Un libro che non finisce mai, che si rinnova sempre, uno dei più belli che abbia mai letto. Uno dei più belli che leggerò.

Uno per uno, i cosiddetti libri fondamentali della nostra epoca saranno dimenticati, mentre la piccola, semplice gemma di Joe Brainard è destinata a restare. Paul Auster


Uno dei lavori di Joe Brainard.

[Guille · Rating 4 out of 5]

Un libro original en su planteamiento y adictivo en su lectura, una autobiografía de la niñez, adolescencia y juventud del autor construida a base de recuerdos. Simplemente una sucesión de “Me acuerdo de… “, completado con unas pocas líneas en las que se alude a hechos, sensaciones, pensamientos, deseos, fetiches o personas -amigos, familiares, simples conocidos o personajes famosos-, conformando un collage sin guion ni secuencia temporal alguna pero que acaban por dibujar la figura del artista y del mundo de aquellos años, aunque sea de forma tangencial, y siempre de forma amena y sin grandes estridencias.

“Me acuerdo de la dulzura de Marilyn Monroe en Vidas rebeldes.”

“Me acuerdo de intentar imaginarme cómo era por dentro”.

“Me acuerdo de querer dormir en el patio de atrás y de que se riesen de mí diciendo que no iba a aguantar la noche entera y de, al final, dormir fuera y no aguantar la noche entera.”

“Me acuerdo de algunas experiencias sexuales precoces y de las rodillas desolladas. Estoy convencido de que el sexo ahora es mucho mejor que antes, pero echo de menos las rodillas desolladas.”

“Me acuerdo de haber intentado chupármela una vez, pero no llegó a funcionar.”

“Me acuerdo de un niño muy pobre que tenía que ponerse las blusas de su hermana para ir al colegio.”

Dicho esto, también he de decir que…

Me parece que una persona estadounidense que vivió su niñez y juventud entre los años 40-50 del siglo pasado saboreará estos recuerdos mucho más y mejor de lo que yo lo he hecho.

Me parece que la gente que lo conoció disfrutaría como enanos con su lectura.

Me parece que hay que ser muy valiente o nada pudoroso o indiferente a la mirada ajena para escribir muchos de estos recuerdos. Su obsesión por las pollas en general y su tamaño en particular es un buen ejemplo de ello.

Me parece que todos encerramos en lo más profundo de nosotros mismos vergonzosos recuerdos similares a los aquí recogidos en la creencia de que nadie más los tiene o de que nadie podría comprendernos.

Me parece que todos compartimos muchas más experiencias íntimas de las que nos imaginamos, algo que queda demostrado con la cantidad de pequeños detalles que una persona como Brainard, tan alejada de mí en muchos sentidos, me ha devuelto de mi pasado.

Me parece que, tras la lectura, a muchos le entrarán unas enormes ganas de escribir una lista parecida con sus experiencias.

[Jennifer nyc · Rating 4 out of 5]

One of my favorite creative writing exercises was to simply write “I remember…” and follow it with all the memories that come. Anytime you get stuck, you'd start over again with “I remember….” It was effortless – no editing, no trying, just flow. And it was great to share out loud, the results moving, sometimes even poetic. We even played with variations, such as, “I don’t remember….” Well, I had NO idea that this exercise began with a book by an artist, Joe Brainard, in 1975! He wrote 160 pages of simple, honest sentences and paragraphs that form a unique memoir. It becomes a glimpse of life in midcentury US, the life of a boy exploring his sexual orientation through crushes and first times, the life of a young man making his way as an artist in NYC. Some of his memories were my memories, a sign that not much has changed:

“I remember the 4th of July. Sparklers. And stories about how dangerous firecrackers are.
I remember being allowed only sparklers. (And I remember only wanting sparklers.)”

Other moments felt revealing the way the postcards in the PostSecret project made me feel. (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8...) The effect was simple, charming and intimate:

“I remember feeling sorry for kids at church, or school, who had ugly mothers.”

This is an enjoyable read, and – whether you’re looking for inspiration or not – will have you writing your own list of I remembers in no time.

[Ulysse · Rating 5 out of 5]

I Can’t Remember

I can’t remember what it’s like not to be alive

I can't remember the night of love that made me

I can’t remember the inside of my mother’s womb

I can’t remember the taste of her milk

I can’t remember my baby teeth

I can’t remember what shoes I wore when I first walked

I can't remember wetting my bed

I can’t remember being scared of dogs

I can't remember petting a llama

I can’t remember seeing my father cry

I can’t remember preschool

I can’t remember my first fight

I can’t remember my first pancake

I can't remember my first erection

I can’t remember reading a poem for the first time

I can’t remember the brand of my mother’s cigarettes

I can’t remember Duran Duran

I can’t remember most of my dreams

I can’t remember every gummy bear I chewed as a child

I can’t remember my schoolteachers’ first names

I can’t remember who my great-great-grandparents were

I can’t remember not wearing a seat belt in the back of a 1980 Renault Le Car

I can’t remember a single 80’s sunset

I can't remember dropping a kitten from the top bunk and accidentally killing it

I can’t remember squashing slugs with a two-by-four (well I sort of can)

I can’t remember feeding jujubes to seagulls

I can’t remember Lingala

I can’t remember flying to Lubumbashi

I can’t remember the colour of my drowned friend’s eyes

I can’t remember the colour of my uncles’ neckties

I can't remember my first Jean-Claude Van Damme

I can’t remember the feel of hammer pants

I can't remember where I put my 1990 NHL sticker book

I can’t remember meeting Christian Cooke

I can’t remember the girl we both fancied at thirteen

I can’t remember the smell of Chris Richards’ car

I can't remember my first guitar chord

I can’t remember the first songs I tried to write

I can’t remember the songs of Skankin’ Pickle

I can’t remember my first love letter

I can’t remember the things I did or said when I got drunk at Matt Laboree's house that summer

I can’t remember when I lost interest in biology

I can’t remember wanting to be Lord Byron

I can never remember my best friends’ birthdays (summer babies)

I can’t remember my final soccer game

I can't remember the flavour of my last slushee

I can’t remember where I got my last brain-freeze

I can't remember the corner of Kingsway & Main

I can't remember who I was twenty years ago

I can't remember who I was two poems ago

I can’t remember Latin or Greek

I can’t remember the students I taught last year

I can’t remember why or how I got on Goodreads

I can't remember many of the books I've read

I can’t remember a million faces

I can’t remember a million voices

I can’t remember a gazillion memories

I can’t remember—very much

[Noel · Rating 4 out of 5]

A very fun read. The missing fifth star represents my discomfort with some parts of the book. I liked Brainard’s off-the-cuff candor, which includes “remembers” of the racism that was part of his childhood in the 40s and 50s, but there were a couple of times I had to put the book down for a while before picking it up again.

[George Ilsley · Rating 5 out of 5]

An astonishing little book, so unconventional and so perfect. I remember hearing of this book years ago and searched for ages but could never find a copy. Then I remember finding this reprint version at a bookstore on Pender Street (The Paper Hound, for those people in Vancouver who love bookstores).

I remember many of the same things, but of course Brainard remembers more and remembers better. So much is packed into each little sentence or paragraph. Definitely leaves you wanting more, but at the same time makes you feel like you have had enough. That is the miracle of this perfect little strange book. I remember feeling impressed, and inspired.

I remember this book.

[Steve]

I took Joe Brainard’s short work as a call to ‘have out with it, man’; all the repressed thoughts, shameful or egotistic, put to paper, along with all the other ordinary memory bubbles that make up a life. Mr. Brainard’s soul rests on those pages. For what it’s worth, we’re all capable of the same, if only we care to go there.

[Repix Pix · Rating 5 out of 5]

Qué maravilla.

[Eva · Rating 4 out of 5]

Es una pequeña joya, un libro singular, me ha encantado. Y con cada uno de los recuerdos del autor Me acuerdo de algo mío. Es tan sugerente que abre tu propia memoria.

[Tosh · Rating 5 out of 5]

I had an early edition of this book and I imagine this one is the same. Maybe not? Nevertheless it's a classic and it seems to be a writer's favorite. in many ways it reminds me of Raymond Queneau's Writing in Style. It is probably one of the great writing manuals as well as a work of poetry. Prose work to the max. Whatever you call it, this work is a masterpiece.

[Ben Loory · Rating 4 out of 5]

pretty much perfect. i don't know why i'm only giving it 4 stars. i guess because i wish it was about 10,000 pages longer.

[Laurent De Maertelaer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Prachtige herinneringen, die telkens starten met de woorden ‘I remember’. Brainards boek inspireerde Perec in 1978 om hetzelfde experiment uit te voeren met ‘Je me souviens’.

[Jessica · Rating 5 out of 5]

thanks to David E and others on goodreads, I too am now a fan of Joe Brainard and his wonderful 1975 memoir, recently reissued by Granary Books.

Yes, it's as good as they told me it would be. It carries a cumulative emotional power.

Brainard had this wonderful combination of acute observation, innocence, humor. His memories are both intensely personal and nearly universal.

Some random passages:

I remember an algebra teacher who very generously passed me. His name was Mr Byrd. I think he truly undersood that algebra, for me, was totally out of the question, so he pretty much ignored me. (In a nice way). He died the next year of cancer.

I remember globes. Roll-down maps. And rubber-tipped wooden stick pointers. (128)

I remember a small top drawer full of nylons, and my mother, in a rush, trying to find two that matched.

I remember finding things in that drawer I wasn't supposed to see, smothered in nylons. (131).

[Dionysius the Areopagite · Rating 4 out of 5]

There is an audio out there which I am unsure still exists of Brainard reading say thirty minutes of I Remember. I had a dream last night of a friend showing it to me recently, and loving not just the reading but the concept. Found a copy in the library today after a psychedelic case of deja-vu, and boy, over a nice lunch of double-espresso and another mention from a co-worker (Mind you, a professor in Astrophysics) brought up the girl who dances with teddy bears and occupies the American mind more-so these days than the twilight of American culture, I was livid, and when I get livid, I turn off my phone and excuse myself briefly for the bathroom. The dream came back: Brainard. Beautiful book. I mean, in terms of star-systems I did/do actually find it amazing, but the bitterness in my wanting to write this kind of book without being obvious in imitation, even though Brainard is obscure/whatever, leaves me disjointed. Actually, in a Hegelian sense, that star is a mere half-star. The other half is that I don't remember the other half, although it must exist; yet how can I say it must exist when I'm unsure of what it is - It could possible exist, then, but that is implausible. The doxological ramifications of a church banging bells all night, while freight train horns echo throughout this town. It's like trying to catch a butterfly in the adolescent firefly frame of mind - forget it. However:

I remember the October wind
and my reality television obsessed
co-workers, with greater credentials,
in some senses, than mine: Then I
remember there would be a tomorrow,
and to make it function by any means
necessary. Falling asleep thinking to
self: Concern not one's self with the
Super Bowl, or Rome, or Manhattan in a
garbage can; concern yourself with what
concerns you most; then theoretically
subtract a digit or three; then add in
an exclamation point; then go to sleep,
and get to work in the morning, thinking,
'I remember last night.'
And even if you don't,
remember it anyway, because
it probably meant something.
And today means more.

Brainard 2016 or I will continue my path of never voting (for reasons other than jury duty).

[Hank Stuever · Rating 4 out of 5]

My friend Janet recommended this book; once I looked it up, I was surprised I never knew about Joe Brainard. I do now. It's an interesting piece of work, taking only a couple of hours to read, an appealingly simple and artful approach to plumbing the depths of one's personal databank of memories. (I wasn't surprised in the afterword to learn that Brainard first started writing his "I Remember" collection after reading a lot of Gertrude Stein.) I was struck by how many of the memories are universal, even if they are 70 years old.

One thing I wish Brainard (or the people who compiled this final version of "I Remember") had done is arrange the memories, generally, from earliest to latest. That's just my preference, to read through them as a child becomes an adult.

I'm lately fascinated by memory (I happen to have a pretty good one, especially for things that happened long ago), and, as someone who is tempted to write a sort of memoir, I'm fascinated by the degree to which we can trust our memories. "I Remember" zeroes in on memories that are impenetrably true to the author, like little declarations of reported fact. That interests me.

[Juan Carlos · Rating 4 out of 5]

No puede haber nada más íntimo que compartir tantos recuerdos.
Muy buena lectura.

[Arno Vlierberghe · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a gem.

[Sweet Jane · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ξεκίνησα να διαβάζω το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο γιατί ήταν αυτό που ενέπνευσε τον Περεκ να ορίσει τα δικά του θυμάμαι> στο αξιομνημονευτο μεν αμετάφραστο δε Je me souviens. Γραμμένο με την τεχνική των fragments και αυτό, αποτελεί μία πρωτότυπη για την εποχή αυτοβιογραφία του συγγραφέα όπου παρουσιάζονται μονοπροτασιακά μνήμες από την παιδική του ηλικία και γενικότερα από την δεκαετία του '50 στις ΗΠΑ. Όλες ξεκινούν με την φράση I REMEMBER.

Ο Brainard είναι ένας άγνωστος σε μένα καλλιτέχνης μιας κοντινής/μακρινής εποχής, κι όμως οι μικρές του μνήμες κατάφεραν να μου δώσουν μια ουσιαστική και καθαρή εικόνα τόσο της εποχής του όσο και τους ίδιου του του εαυτού, ενός queer αγοριού που παλεύει ανάμεσα στα θέλω και τις κοινωνικές επιταγές.

Στην έκδοση που το διάβασα εγώ και που περιέχει και άλλα κείμενα του Brainard, στα οποία θα επιστρέψω στο μέλλον, υπάρχει και ένα δεκασελιδο εισαγωγικό σημείωμα του Paul Auster, καλογραμμένο και κατατοπιστικό, από το οποίο θα παραθέσω τα παρακάτω λόγια με τα οποία συμφωνώ μέχρι τελείας.

The book remains new and strange and surprising—for, small as it is, I Remember is inexhaustible, one of those rare books that can never be used up.

[Guillermo Jiménez · Rating 5 out of 5]

Cuando tenía menos de 25 años, repasaba mentalmente lo que creía era mi recuerdo más antiguo. Era el regreso de mis padres y mi hermana mayor a la casa donde vivíamos en Torreón. Papá había viajado a Los Ángeles, y mamá lo alcanzó con mi hermana allá, de vacaciones.

Recordaba ese recuerdo y lo guardaba celosamente. No se lo platicaba a nadie, hasta que un una buena peda, decidí sacarlo a la luz. Una peda de aquellas cuando papá aún podía beber en serio.

El caso es que, platicando del descubrimiento que significó leer a Braunstein, saqué a relucir mi recuerdo, solo para constatar, que tal recuerdo, era ciento por ciento una reconstrucción mía.

Papá contó cómo sucedieron las cosas "realmente" y dio al traste con lo que consideraba más valioso de "mi historia".

Con el tiempo aprendí a valorar mis recuerdos distintamente. Indiferente al acontecimiento "real" de ellos.

Todos somos una construcción de nuestra memoria. Y de la de los demás.

En esta obra, Brainard, parte la naranja y la desgaja a mansalva. Se siente debajo de la superficie de las páginas, cierta orquestación, cierto murmullo de aguas que corre veladamente debajo de la tierra que pisamos en sus palabras.

Pero, no deja de transmitirnos esa puerilidad, esa inocencia, que subyace no en los recuerdos, sino en lo que quiere recordar, y cómo nos lo dice.

Hoy papá dijo: Brainard es un Rulfo. O algo así. Y sí, es cierto. Brainard vuelve a la tierra llena de fantasmas que es su memoria, y la reconstruye a su antojo, a sus ganas, aceptando unas cosas, negando otras y pasando por alto muchas más.

"Me acuerdo" es un libro espléndido, bello, en ocasiones reminiscente a la obra de Mapplethorpe, aquella donde exponía imágenes de flores junto a infantes desnudos.

¿Qué puede ser el recuerdo sino eso?

[Charles · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved this book when I first read it over thirty years ago (the edition with the yellowy-orange French-looking cover, published by Full Court Press). I loved it for the glamour of all the references to American brands and customs, which made it seem both real and other-worldly. I loved the complete unavailability of some of the memories and the way others were not only available but shared. And I loved the sexiness of it, and the way it reminded me of sexy moments (and people) I'd forgotten, even - especially - the bad moments (and people) in a way that no one else ever had. Looking at it now, after thre decades, I find that I still love it.

[Patty · Rating 4 out of 5]

Joe remembered cinnamon toothpicks, twice!

[John Wiswell · Rating 2 out of 5]

I am uncertain if this is the same edition as the one I own. Mine has a living room on the cover.

However, the book I read could be a new genre: list memoir. Brainard recalls seemingly random moments and aspects of his life in small bites, many as small as a sentence. There's little sense of cohesion on any page (or block of ten pages), making it feel extremely vulnerable. Unfortunately, it feels more lazy than innovative, as Brainard couldn't be troubled to shape his recollections cogently or into a narrative. The prose, while competent and so minutely divided that it defies most analysis, isn't particularly winning and does not have the rhythm or heart of poetry many prose poets chase, though it certainly has a human heart behind it. At most points it's little better than a miscellany, except drawing information from one man instead of the entire world. Fans of innovative fiction or prose poetry in particular may find this more interesting than general readers.

[Andrew]

I remember that I promised myself I wasn't going to do a concept review of I Remember, and then did it anyway.

I remember reading the word "gnomic" for the first time years ago, and being disappointed it had nothing to do with gnomes.

I remember how Joe Brainard liked to combine his remembrances by a counterpoint of the unbelievably banal and the life-changing.

I remember that Joe Brainard said he got a "below average" IQ score, and wondering if this was a work of accidental genius written by a naif who didn't read much and didn't know how original he was.

I remember not caring either way, because it was an absolute joy for me.

I remember how all I could do when Brainard was remembering a '50s Oklahoma childhood was myself remembering a '90s Iowa childhood.

I remember thinking as I finished that something original and simple can never be done again, and grumbling something about the anxiety of influence as I looked at the empty page on my writing desk.

[Sam Albert · Rating 4 out of 5]

A gorgeously original and unconventional conceit for a memoir that reverberates in strange and unexpected ways.

One star gone for some shocking language when Brainard recalls the abruptly casual racism of his youth that at times feels almost too explicit (I can see why Brainaird included his childhood prejudices, as the book is unabashedly honest about many aspects of childhood and growing up which we often choose to suppress or not intentionally “remember”, but based on how the book is written it definitely felt difficult to distinguish what were opinions he no longer held or ones he was just ruminating on). Nonetheless, this weird, quirky, and entirely original artefact is one that I’ll probably want to revisit throughout my entire life because damn does it capture just that: the weird, quirky, and entirely original artefact that is a life.

Joel Brainard you have slayed me 🧎

[Lars Meijer · Rating 5 out of 5]

Dit kleine boekje is briljant. De zinnen van Brainard werken zo aanstekelijk dat ik in een mum van tijd ook pagina’s vol herinneringen heb genoteerd. Dit is het perfecte medicijn tegen een writers block.

[Gert De Bie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Heerlijk, speels en vlot leesvoer, dit cultboekje uit 1975 in Nederlandse vertaling van Johannes Jonkers opgevist door uitgeverij Oevers.

Joe Brainard was een Amerikaans kunstenaar en auteur die in de jaren '60 aansluiting vond bij de New York School, met Frank O'Hara als middelpunt.

"I remember" is een uniek literair tijds- en egodocument dat Joe Brainard in verschillende stadia schreef tusseen 1969 en 1973. De eerste verzamelde uitgave dateert van 1975 een laatste herpublicatie in het Engels volgde in 2012.

In korte, heldere stukjes - dikwijls niet meer dan 1 of 2 zinnen - somt Joe Brainard op wat hij zich herinnert. "Ik herinner me" wordt heel het boek door gevolgd door dikwijls herkenbare, soms erg intieme of net heel universele dingen die onze terugblik kleuren.
Een detail van iemands kledij, de geur van een huis, een zin die je je hele jeugd door te horen kreeg, een eerste zoen, ...

Het speelse en volstrekt willekeurige karakter van de herinneringen en de rechttoe, rechtaan beschrijvingen zonder uitweidingen of overbodige details geven het boek een fantastisch ritme.
De behandelde herinneringen zijn herkenbaar, dikwijls ook als ze heel erg intiem zijn en het boek is volkomen pretentieloos.

Bijzonder boekje dat ongetwijfeld met plezier herlezen wordt en telkens iets nieuws openbaart.

[Octavio Villalpando · Rating 3 out of 5]

¡Vaya! La crítica coincide en afirmar que la maravillosa simpleza de este libro hace que sea incomprensible que no se le hubiera ocurrido antes a nadie. Y también dicen que es una joya...

...tienen razón. Nunca antes una serie de enunciados tan simples, formaron un contenido tan rico e matices y tan hipnótico a la vez como este "Me acuerdo", algún día diremos: me acuerdo de haber leído un libro llamado "me acuerdo", Me acuerdo que me gustó muchísimo. Y me acuerdo que me hizo preguntarme donde diablos habían quedado todos mis recuerdos!

[dieguito ‧₊˚✩ ₊˚⊹♡‧₊˚ · Rating 5 out of 5]

inclassificável, exuberante, terno e engraçado.

essas memórias não tem início nem fim nem tempo nem espaço nem objeto. um corte na cabeça, uma salada de batatas, sonhos molhados, a bibliotecária da escola com nome engraçado, frank o’hara dando pinta, cenas de estrelas de cinema, desenhos animados, uma piada mal-criada, fotografias de homens nus, chocolate quente depois das canções de natal… joe brainard não tem hierarquias na hora de reconstruir seu arsenal de afetos, afinal, tudo o que nos cerca, somos nós.

eu me transformo nesse livro.

[nathan · Rating 3 out of 5]

READING VLOG

erections and frank o'hara

this book is essentially the uncut version of 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 for a lover who wanted to hear it all. a pillowtalk 'til the 6am trains run again.

think about it. if you started a book with 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 and went on and on with every sentence like that, what do you remember? how do you remember it? try a decade later, does what you remember change?

tell me everything.

[Montse · Rating 4 out of 5]

De este libro he aprendido varias lecciones: que la infancia con sus miedos, sentidos y placeres varía muy poco de una generación a otra. Segunda lección que la iniciación sexual es igual de complicada para todo el mundo, con independencia de tu sexo, género o preferencia. Tercera lección: debería empezar a escribir sobre las cosas que me gustaban para intentar recordar a la niña/adolescente/joven que fui, y quedarme con lo bueno.