The Unknown: The Red Line.
  C: Tell me about your work The Unknown.

W: Oh, that’s our anthology. Which reminds me, didn’t you edit an anthology called Up Late: American Poetry since 1970?

C: Why yes, some years ago.

W: Do you know where I can get a copy?

C: Well, ha ha, I’m supposed to be interviewing YOU, I mean…

W: I’m totally serious. That anthology has that poem by Bernadette Mayer, about…

C: Yes, yes.…

W:… about how “I guess we’ll never live on a farm after all.” You know that poem?

C: Unknown. Now tell me, the very title itself suggests to me a sort of nebulous quality, your calling something unknown is playing, if you will, with the sign—

W: Do you know her?

C: Bernadette Mayer?

W: Yeah, she is so cool.

C: I don’t believe I’ve ever met her. We’re going to have to cut this out, sorry.

W: Do you have a copy of Bernadette Mayer’s Utopia? Man, that book is the shit!

C: Can I get some more coffee over here? Scott, finally, you’ve arrived. Could you remove your compatriot? Please—

S: Damn it, William. We’re here to do a job. I knew you’d get off on some obscure book. Do I have to everything myself?

[Scott hefts William over his shoulder, fireman’s carry, and removes William from the room as he babbles something about language poetry.]

D: My apologies, Andrei, for William’s inappropriate behavior.

C: Not at all. Close the door behind you, yes, that’s it. Okay now, let’s begin.

sickening decadent hypertext novel META fiction al bull shit sort of a doc ument ary corr e spond ence art is cool look at art live read ings