Bright Stupid Confetti

by Gary J. Shipley

Reading these poems, I have the constant feeling of having to catch up to their speaker. He strides ahead of me and beckons with his head. Comparisons are made, often to as-tronomy, climatology, genetics, computing, medicine, ani-mal studies, but Shipley has already leapt over the fences of the metaphors. These prose poems have the elegance of both scientific proofs and the Goldberg Variations. They offer no answers but the wry humor of their own making and unmaking. As Laozi taught, and Shipley demonstrates again and again, the way that can be communicated is not the way, but still we wish to communicate.— Jee Leong Koh, author of Connor & SealIn its form, tropes, tone, and intensity, Bright Stupid Confetti joins a nightray of decadent prose running from Baudelaire to José Antonio Ramos Sucre to Johannes Göransson. This volume explores the hope/fear that the body can discover more of itself, and that the voice uttered in the chasm of one’s own bodily dream-terrain may pro-nounce an infernal logic to blot out the sun. “The sound of that storm of barbed wire.” A book to curl up with.— Joyelle McSweeney, author of The Red Bird and FletFor all its formal beauty and gut-wrenching images, what I find most fascinating about Gary J Shipley’s writing is its perpetual endeavor to penetrate the impenetrable, which is to me the very definition of tautology—and of obsession. There is a kind of concentrated narrativity in these pure ruminations that I relish. If there really is something be-yond the language, it has to be either pointless, or bizarre. And that’s all part of the game. Nonsenseness is not sense-lessness. Read any of Shipley’s work, and you’ll get it.— Róbert Gál, author of Agnomia and Naked Thoughts

Genres: Poetry

120 pages, Kindle Edition

First published July 14, 2011

About the author

Librarian Note: There is more than one author in the Goodreads database with this name.

Gary J. Shipley is a writer and philosopher based in the UK. He has published work in various philosophy journals and literary journals.

Reviews

[Béla Malina · Rating 4 out of 5]

These vignettes are (un)real surreal head scratchers, but in the best way. They leave me feeling half-stupid, half-hypnotised.

His use of language is so unique and unpredictable. There is an effortless effort in the act of reading and chewing and digesting these prose-poems.

My excrements of understanding weren’t always aesthetic or charming to look at, but the process of chewing and eating was nonetheless enjoyable.

His sentences are so intelligent and witty that I started to wonder why I never think of such things..
He always puts it well, so to speak.

This is my 2nd Shipley and it won’t be my last. I’m looking forward to his novels and more of his essays:).

General themes:
Disease (brain, gut, everything), post-modern isolation, madness, trans-humanism, the horrors of biology.

[David Peak · Rating 5 out of 5]

I've been reading Shipley's books for nearly a decade at this point and he just keeps getting better and better. His last few books, Stratagem of the Corpse, Terminal Park, and now this wonderfully strange collection of poems, are his best yet. A truly inspiring and original writer in a class entirely his own.

[Seb · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Reality is a bird flying upside down to the moon, and finding its nest instead."

I've tried to read Gary J. Shipley before and I DNFed the book. I was going to abandon this author, but I was told to try again.

I picked up these poems, as Shipley is known and praised for his words.

Turns out I liked them! I had a better connection with those than I did with the previous book. The opening lines are real punchlines that immediately grab your attention.

3.5 stars rounded up

[Barry Paul Clark · Rating 5 out of 5]

The ending sentence to each of these half page or so prose poems is like the sonic boom your body makes after hitting the bottom of the dark void Shipley has hurled you into from the starting words, the starts of which launch from some unknown horizon, far past the invisible line of reconcilable damage the span of humanity has inflicted. Big recommend!

[Curtis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Did you read this book? Did you read about yourself reading this book? Did you read about yourself reading about yourself reading this book? Did you quit crack cold turkey but also take up meth while reading this book? Did you take it in the bathroom and use the pages as TP while reading this book? Did you quote passages to your child while reading this book? Did you get in a Twitter fight with Blake Butler while reading this book?

Congratulations — you read the book properly!

[korga · Rating 5 out of 5]

really, this is a book who can't teach much about the body but, says something more about understanding a book.

it is less capable of rendering much from he/she/it who touches the glittering pages, as it is a thing that completes some sick process of stampede.

what we get to see is much more grotesque than importance, and more important than any monster written about therein.

this is a beautiful collection and reminds me of every thick, layered goo that has driven me to collaborate or shirk off what has came before.

[Josh Doughty · Rating 5 out of 5]

See, I read “Cryptospasm” and had to get more.

Whatever “Serial Kitsch” was did not work for me.

Bright Stupid Confetti are if Cioran was much more abstract and chaotic and stuck with buckets of prose poetry vs aphorisms.

Almost every page has something clever or funny to read or say out loud.

One example:

VISIONS

The blind shall have light inside their eyes, and will not miss the other source. Blindness is horrifying, because nobody has anywhere else to live. I have many sentences built from this miracle, and I get to feel them when I like. Alternatively, an anesthetic for living isn't supposed to replace the living, but the difference remains unclear. His pulse, he said, was one of a list of similarly subtle impairments. As a visual artist with only partial sight, he aestheticized his depictive anomalies. When the last thing left to decide is whether to blindfold or not, demand both.

[Luz · Rating 4 out of 5]

please look

[J · Rating 3 out of 5]

"All my organs were transplanted from the same donor: a small boy who deserved better than this. And even if he didn't, a man my age is no kind of home."

With poetry, abstraction usually needs to be earned. You can't go telling all over the place without some showing. I guess. Shipley and his paragraph-poems are not respectful of this dictum. But that's ok, there's enough here to hold onto even if some of it is thick as a ghost.

When I was a small boy, and was told of the existence of the eternal soul, I imagined a ball of light forcing itself out of the mouth of each new cadaver. Pop! But sometimes with teethmarks because some souls are thiccc.

Shipley is, like me, fascinated by our fractured realities where climate change can't be real because "Na na na na I can't hear you!" Good poems for those of you who feel like straight up spiritual garbage.

Look on my womps, ye mighty, and despair!

[Zach Werbalowsky · Rating 3 out of 5]

much too sentimental for me compared to the newer collection (which I read first) that had more humor.