A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || April 8, 2011 || 6:46 am

(we here at Superior Industries had some ‘technical glitches’ night before last, so the Carnivale is a day tardy. apologies!)

Okay, so. I don’t know how or through whom Deb Rox found me. I would consider the details unimportant if I weren’t so blown the fuck away by her on the fair regular. You know those women whose abilities and sensibilities and gifts and depth are too much for words, so you just resort to, ‘Maaaan, she’s somethin‘.’? Yeah buddy, that’s Deb. She is wise and generous and totally, totally cool….but the kind of cool that says, “C’mere kid, you can try on my leather jacket.’

Jett Superior was on my mind this weekend.  I caught the news of her birthday love letter fest just as I was leaving on a short trip to the Bay Area. Then her “I’m off to Doo-Nanny” tweets deja vued through my stream, and I had to tell myself I haven’t actually ever doo-nannied myself, I only know of it through her, through the Superior Stream. And that kickass marathon post from last year. Which reminded me of her old site design, you know the red one with those righteous buttons on the right?

I’ve rediscovered Alphabet Junkie two or three times during Jett’s Internet reign, this last time after discovering her on Twitter…when? Maybe a year and a half ago? It’s all this blur of knowing and not knowing, this digital helix of experiences not quite shared.

I have a vision in my head of Jett in a motorized cupcake. I have this idea of her soldering broken things. I have this concept of her with mad eyes lasering out a text message.  I have no awareness of the way she displaces the molecules of a room she moves through, but I know some of her words and some of her spirit and I’ve seen a bit of her character at work in complicated situations. Sometimes she confuses me, sometimes she’s clear as fire. I really don’t know how I know her or how much of her I know.  I like her.

So I thought about her on and off again in San Francisco because of her birthday email. Because she was at Doo-Nanny. I made a pilgrimage to City Lights Books, because that’s what I one of the things I like to do, make pilgrimages to run my fingernail in the crack between the walls to Shakespeare & Co., to steal Devil’s Ivy clippings from Hemingway’s house in Key West. Jett Superior lassoes writerly people, makes reverent space for their words and encourages them to talk as the ink dries in the corners of their lips, irreverently poking holes in the blue spit bubbles that form. I really like that about her.

I sat in the poetry room upstairs in City Lights and then plucked a few lonely staples out of the wall on the stairwell down. I walked through Chinatown and ended up sitting with my book in St. Mary’s Square. I read this:

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…” — Jack Kerouac, On the Road

That made a hell of a lot of sense to me, about Jett and about a few other things. “Commonplace things” are the most tempting of memes. The forms of social media cry for replication of the commonest of games. But we know this about Jett: for all we don’t know, we do know that girlfriend don’t play.

So of course I like her. She’s absolutely one of the mad ones. She certainly doesn’t yawn. And those roman candles this chick’s got–no one has to share a room with her to see them in all of their explosive glory.  I can hear the wicks spit and cackle – see the blooming lights doubling over on themselves – from way over here.

That’s how it works on this salon called Internet, I think. Writers and readers figure eight around each other. Manuscripts pile up, are shredded to make hamster nests. We bite into each others tails. We move from the garden into the alley, transplanting the clippings we stole from each other. Who knows why we are drawn to one or another, or what will come of it all. You wish strangers well, hello and farewell, every time they tweet.

What’s cool is that I’ve been to Doo-Nanny, last year and last weekend, with this fierce friend of mine who came with me to San Francisco last weekend–you should meet her, she’s this exceptionally fine writer, with a rad blog–and each trip was fucking amazing.

Happy Birthday, little Jett.


5 worked it out »

  1. Laurie 4.8.2011

    I love both of you and this pretty much explains why. I’m so grateful you’re both my friends.

  2. Alexandra 4.8.2011

    I nodded my head yes throughout this post.


    Jett is one of the mad ones.

    Not a second of this life wasted on her.

    Wonderful, happy birthday, Jett!

  3. Brynne 4.9.2011

    Big freakin YEP from me too. Ya nailed it.

  4. leel 4.9.2011

    i loved the image you described, the figure eight pattern of us all circling around one another. well written and I agree with the kids above, you nailed it. she’s special, the jett.

  5. jenna 4.10.2011

    Yep, me too. She is one of the mad ones, one of the great ones. One of the can’t live without her ones. Happy birthday my friend, happy birthday all month long. xoxo


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