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An Interview with Jason Koo

29.07.10

I�ve had the same circumstance. Not to steal your rumble, but the SAME experience. I keep in mind it so specifically -- looking at the sandwich (egg salad in my cause) and feeling this indicate of deep gloominess and near hopelessness come over me, and then the sandwich sense so small in my hand and me opinion suddenly so chagrined and wanting to be rid of it, like not short of it to be associated with, as they say in Catalan, �el tuUsuallythe you, your being, who you are, all the things that toady up to you up. I relayed this sensation (which I�m sure is some arrange of phenomenon being researched and written about as I�m typing this) to my squeeze, who said she loves that I had such a time and recalled it so vividly and, even more than that, likes that I have the sandwich as a practised objective-correlative now. Then she asked me, �What is so sad about those situations, I marvel at. Is it the mayo? The choppedness of the eggs/tuna? Is the sandwich an inherently depressing scoff delivery system?� My responsible: No clue. What�s yours?

It�s diverting, I�ve never thought of subsistence as a source of afflatus for my poems, but lately everyone has been pointing this out to me, as if I were obsessed with eating. I have a lot of obsessions, but eating is not one of them. I aversion lunch -- it�s such an stop to the day. Since I like to correspond with in the mornings, the sally of the lunch hour, or what I�d like to call the lunch ache, is so annoying, because it means I have to rest writing and thrive on myself and take a shower and unspecifically get on with my day. I have to take off my pajama pants. Flaubert wrote all day and night-time and I�m sure never took off his pajama pants. I don�t prize having to provender myself in the middle of the day in also kelter to keep my consciousness booming at a high focus be. But anyway, to answer your dispute: the sandwich itself, whether tuna or egg salad, is not inherently depressing; it is the act of eating lunch alone in your apartment that is depressing. Breakfast is eaten in the morning, when the lamplight is purer, fresher; it�s regularly eaten in a turbulence, or with only a groggy consciousness of what�s affluent on, so you don�t have time to get depressed. And since it�s the morning, you�re sensitive that other people are most qualified also eating at competent in, or groggy, or sleeping, so you don�t sense like a shlimazel. Lunch is new. The light is louder, more snoopy; you see all the dust in your apartment, the wander hairs, the cat fuzz (if you have a cat). The amount of the world face your window is grievous: you feel everyone out there, out there. But here you are inside, chomping on some chips. Lunch is the accomplish acoustic for your remoteness: in this state, at this hour, you can learn just how youthful you matter. When I wrote �I�m Charlie Tuna� I was living in Columbia, MO and eating tuna fish sandwiches with barbecue chips and a pickle almost every day -- to hold money, in all probability. Lunch for me has always been proper a meal to , so at unconventional stages of my way of life I�ve hooked on to things that I liked and could convey eating time -- until I couldn�t. Before I got to tuna fish sandwiches I went through phases where I was eating shit like Hot Pockets and bologna sandwiches. Recently I went through a Saleswoman Joe�s chicken burritos gradually eliminate -- until I couldn�t second c campaign for heating those frozen fuckers up anymore and moved on to their Thai noodle boxes.

Source: Bookslut