Beach Sloth is a critic (and writer) of a certain internet writing community. This certain internet writing community is often refered to as “alt-lit”, yet I prefer the title “internet literature” because ”alt-lit” seems to refer to poets, writing misanthrope poetry, which I enjoy. If my tone denotes that I don’t, or my stuffy 19th century “English” use of ”certain”, it is that as the poets are prone to classify themselves as “alt-lit” and other writers who would not consider themselves “alt-lit” but are contemporaries in the blogging misanthrope “internet literature” community. These writers are usually 20-somethings college students, college dropouts, misanthropic, pill poppers, gchatters, sometime MFA candidates or MFA dropouts, sometimes 30-somethings working in offices, sometimes gay, sometimes mentally ill (in various degrees), sometimes purporting a ‘feminist’ viewpoint, or a deconstructive look at ‘feminism’ and misogyny, or just women-objectification/body issues/ contradicting views on sex they face, or a broad scope writing regarding being a women in the 21st century, or as a man, sympathetic towards feminist leanings, as most men of the 21st century are, while trying to console their animalistic misogyny, to look at their own mental disorder or social maladroitness with a manly outside, non-effected, voice, while realizing the malaise of this life, the pointlessness of blogging (or anything), when even the critically heralded and loved, like Jimmy Chen, whom wrote online that his google analytics show 20 people look at his website everyday, and is not a “published writer” but a blogger who writes for blogs that are well read, though I would say Jimmy Chen is the greatest writer on the internet–even greater than Tao Lin–though Tao Lin’s novels are very well written and influential, as well as Tao’s ‘internet presence‘ and Tao’s model of promotion (thus being more influential, economically viable) though I love Jimmy Chen’s-William Gaddis-like writing, deconstructing ideas to the root suffering of man. That man’s sin is not Eve’s, and that eating the apple was the awakening of consciousness, that the garden was the source, an opiated pure consciousness of God, pushing the energy down the hill with math no one could ever understand that makes perfect sense, that the fragility of life is life and not Eve’s doing, but life as the unescapable suffering of birth, death, attachment and anger. Could Eve had stopped death and illness and the loss of your prized attachments like your mother and your MacBook Air, by not questioning what the juicy apple would taste like as a juicy apple-bottomed woman who holds the source in her uterus, brings life to the world, and when entering and joining with, man finds the connection he had sought since birth, in the warmth of a soft breast, and the soft warm heaven he had come and comes in/to again, in pleasure and spiritual renewal of a self from two selves and cells dividing when there is no end to the world or beginning, but in the mind of humans who only know that life begins and ends while the heavens and space know that time has always been and always will be, that there has never been a beginning, or an ending, just a continuing of energy that conduits into humans and animals and water until the conduit discontinues, the mind perceiving the world vanishing, the Buddha inside, creating the world, moving on to the Bardo (waiting) State and their next birth, the outer minds of previous life lost, as the Buddha core goes on, and the karma continues, the ball continues rolling down the hill despite your ego, or consciousness, or illusion of “self-grasping ‘I’”. We love Eve, Gaddis tells us, because she gives us life as it really is, equally and inherently the most beautiful and brutal thing we must experience.
Beach Sloth is a determined blogging critic, vigilant and relevant, knowing that the smartphone commercial decrying information that is 37 seconds old, is old, and blogs within 36 seconds of the original posting of a blog, or the going live of an ebooks, or however the “publishing” of “internet literature” is perceived. People refer to him as “Beachy”, a term of endearment, as he is nice. I would say he is very nice, and being an anonymous blogger, being nice is a saving grace. If you are ‘alt-lit’ and decry yourself as such, promote your ebook release on facebook, tumblr, twitter (Hip Hop quote “been following your moves all night on twitter / probably make you reconsider”) and blogspot, and realize “It’s a cold world/ ain’t nothing sunny” and you’re a man, and “I need that.” As the straight world, often refered to as heteronormative, goes to sex, as all animals/humans think of sex, and the complications of this desire, to the base cravings in your body, manifest in thought–disturbing and interrupting writing a sentence regarding Beach Sloth reviewing the works of poets, short-story writes, image poetriest, slam poetry 24-track Busta Rhyme editing to make each line like a yell into the existentialist void of the internet blogging world where no one will hear your tree falling, and you wonder if it even fell, and wonder if writing the poem in your journal, instead of your tumblr, and maybe editing said poem more, or thinking of it more, and letting it ruminate in your mind, but want “hearts” in tumblr, comments or hits in all the other blogs, or a retweet of your short url, to say “hey, I like your blog and what you’re doing and you’re relevant.”
Really if you want to know what’s relevant on “internet literature” you should read Beach Sloth. He is the Buddha watching you bite the apple. He gives recognition to your work, your effort, your craft, your time, your pain and even your blogging or “alt-lit” existence.
If my love is lost in words, mythology, and run-on sentences, and you consider a condescension in my tone, just know, that “humor” and “contempt” often coexist, but I have no irony when I say I love what Beachy is doing, and I love the creation people are putting onto the void of the internet. There are a few who love literature, though many would claim different; Beachy and you blogging poets are the bearers of a torch that has always been lit.