Click on image to hear DW Shumway interviewing me just days ago:

Linh Dinh reading "Eating Fried Chicken" and "Borderless Body" at DC HomeStay in Vũng Tàu on 6/26/26

Eating Fried Chicken

I hate to admit this, brother, but there are times
When I’m eating fried chicken
When I think about nothing else but eating fried chicken,
When I utterly forget about my family, honor and country,
The various blood debts you owe me,
My past humiliations and my future crimes—
Everything, in short, but the crispy skin on my fried chicken.

But I’m not altogether evil, there are also times
When I will refuse to lick or swallow anything
That’s not generally available to mankind.

(Which is, when you think about it, absolutely nothing at all.)

And no doubt that’s why apples can cause riots,
And meat brings humiliation,
And each gasp of air
Will fill one’s lungs with gun powder and smoke.



Borderless Body

Before, I was a miserly person, dried up, stiff, 
Stuck, completely wrung, stuttering, fanatical,

But this morning, my skin felt unusually cool and conscious. 
My body tingled. Suddenly I could understand and speak

2,000 languages. My soul blossomed, my breasts budded.
I peeled back my foreskin to scrape clean all of my obsolete 

And labored presumptions. My teeth, the gaps in between 
My teeth and my breath felt unusually fresh and clean.

I could see very far away. I could sympathize with each
Strand of hair stranded on the skin of each person. 

Shuddering, I ejaculated for the first time in life, into life.
I became aware of my miraculous vagina and anus.

Finally, I had been allowed to spread out, to blend into 
All humans, animals and things. I just wanted to leap up

To kiss everyone right away. I just wanted to service 
And suck everyone right away. I also wanted to be sucked

By everyone on this earth. I was willing to forgive 
And apologize to each toe joint on each person.

Naked, I walk through the street as the very first human.

Linh Dinh reading one-sentence stories at DC HomeStay in Vũng Tàu on 6/25/26

One-Sentence Stories

 

Before he breathed his last, they led him outside to look at the sun for the last, and first, time.

 * 

Travel books fascinated him so much that he spent his entire life chained to his desk, with the curtains drawn, reading them.

*  

He loves maps for their own sake, it is true, and when he shouts out while pointing at a random destination, “I want to be there,” he is not expressing a desire to be anywhere, particularly, on this great earth, but only a wish to be a fiber, a speck at most, on an intricately-folded, colorful piece of paper.

 * 

After half a century, a man returned to the city of his birth to discover it practically unchanged: all the old buildings were miraculously intact, although yellowing slightly, and the entire population of half a century ago, 2,489,863 souls, by exact count, were still alive, although yellowing slightly.

 * 

Two men were life-long enemies because of a word said decades earlier, a word misheard, misinterpreted, and exceedingly trivial, in any case, to any objective observer, a slight inflection, some say, a thread of air escaped from between more-or-less-closed lips, or a twitch of the eyebrow, and yet the results were the horrifying death of one man, and the maiming of the other.

* 

He ignored public fascinations with movie stars, athletes, statesmen, revolutionaries, mass-murderers, and poets, by writing well-researched, footnoted, and illustrated biographies of bus drivers, cashiers, beauticians, filing clerks, plumbers, and roofers.

* 

At the border between there and there, a young man who was caught with a generic secret inside one of his bodily orifices was forced to swallow a strong doze of laxative, then whisked to an insane asylum, where he spent the remaining years of his productive life.

 *

Slang is crowding out real words, he foolishly thinks, forgetting that every word belongs to the shadowy vocabulary of an illicit crowd, invented to reassure and flatter its speaker, and confuse outsiders to what is being said.

* 

The pretty woman confided, “Whenever I closed my eyes I would see its aerodynamic head, its black turf, its angle, and then suddenly the phone would ring, dispelling my vision.”

 *

After his fifth gin and tonic, the scrawny, asthmatic man known as Uncle Moe divulged to an empty ashtray, “Yes, I must have known more than a thousand of them, but I’ve never known any of them more than twice.”

* 

There, he could appraise them without the anxiety of actual contact, without stripping himself, a pseudo yes to a usually no situation.

* 

On an unseasonably cold night near the corner of Broad and Pine, one dandy said to another, “Yes, yes, life is short, and we are the beneficiaries.”

* 

Resigned, the single woman begins each conversation with a male stranger: “We’re only talking because you want to fuck me.”

* 

He has traveled around the globe a thousand times just to spill his seed on the carpeted floors of unheated hotel rooms.

* 

At 40, the bachelor decided to travel, to see the world, and among the many marvels he discovered, he was dismayed to find out that women everywhere, judging from the evidences gathered through the thin walls of hotel rooms from Brussels to Johannesburg to Riga, always vocalize their pleasure during sex, and that men, any man, really, always last minutes and minutes longer than him, which explains, finally, why he was still a bachelor after so many years, despite the good looks and charms that had attracted countless women to him initially.

* 

The well-matched couple remain childless after five years of marriage, and now sleep on bunk beds, him on top, her on the bottom, although they flip flop occasionally

 * 

Suddenly she couldn’t remember her husband’s birthday, her children’s names, his face, whether she had ever cheated on him, whether she was even married.

* 

A boy was born on the luggage carousel at Singapore’s Changi Airport, spent his infancy in the storage room of the baggage claim, grew into a happy, healthy child prancing around the beautiful atrium of the food court (often serenaded by classical music), had regrettably brief friendships with people of many nationalities, had sex for the first time, with a backpacker of indeterminate ethnicity, behind the check-in counter of the Royal Brunei Airlines (terminal 2), read the biography of Lee Kuan Yew and many bestsellers, spent much of middle age brooding in the departure lounge, then died, of abdominal hernia, in a well-scrubbed stall of the men’s room.

* 

Convinced that war is the only authentic game, the only game worth playing, he dedicated himself to being a mercenary, and proceeded to participate in the Pakistani-Indian War of 1971 (where he lost a finger), the Yom Kippur War (where he lost his right foot), the Falklands War (where he lost the right side of his face), the Gulf War (where he lost the left side of his face), and the 1995 civil war in Sierra Leone (where he lost another finger).

* 

A fake life is not redeemed by a real death, he finally realized, as orange flames licked his angry eyebrows.

* 

A national icon in his youth, loveless and lampless, he languished for decades in cold, inhospitable countries, working an assortment of bullshit jobs that deeply offended his sense of personal greatness, his destiny, which he came to understand as the punishment of the people he had left behind, the wreaking of havoc on his homeland, when he would return.

 *

He is a lifelong ingrate, having betrayed everyone—lovers, friends, relatives, dogs—who has ever benefited him, on principle, but he is strangely loyal to one whom he has never met, who has done nothing for him, who does not even know that he exists.

* 

To your less-than-delicate question, Sir, I can only respond: Of course I would do it all over again, because even though I’ve lost my left eye, and my right ear, and my nose, and both of my legs, I’ve experienced something truly different, truly amazing, and have managed to escape an absolutely meaningless life that was slowly killing me back home.

Linh Dinh reading one-sentence poems at DC HomeStay in Vũng Tàu on 6/25/26

 

One Sentence Poems

I hesitated before the penetrating,
Seasoned, bright, slightly wicked face
Above a smooth, white body,
Perhaps malnourished. 

*

She yearned to be impregnated
By each bold, extravagant mind 
She met on the yellowing page.

*

Each night, without fail, it rang 
At exactly 2:13, but she never
Picked up the phone because
That’s the exact time he died.

*

All morning, a live ant carries 
A dead ant across the vast, 
Cheap, polyester carpet,
In grief or hunger?

*

Before making love, drunk,
After the party, mother and son-in-law
Despised each other.

*

Insolent, stupid or insane,
He declared his occupation as 
Resting, yawning and sleeping. 

*

He wears outdated clothes,
Eats outdated food, lives
In an outdated country.

*

Based on defeats big, small and spectacular,
A lifetime of continuous defeats, he decides to pen 
An instructive book for humanity, to stimulate 
Progress and righteous living, before he dies.

*

Deaf, blind, missing arms and legs,
Caked in blood, he crawls onto the stage
To receive his medal from a draft dodger.

*

Tearing up, puffing, he twisted 
My arm, yanked my hair, before 
He handed me the diamond-
Studded wedding ring.

*

Morning, night, in light or darkness,
I took the initiative, then waited,
Waited and waited, but he wouldn’t
Dare touch me.

*

Though she’s of a different race
And half his age, he likes to bury 
His face in her tangy armpit,
And calls her mom.

*

Though he’s of a different race
And decidedly sunken chested,
She likes to suck his nipples
And calls him mom.

*

Infatuated with women’s traces more 
Than actual women, he’s absorbed 
In collecting every fragment,
Memento, trinket, fossil, souvenir,
Scent, vapor and drip of women. 

*

After sex, she always forgot 
The name of whoever 
Was next to her.

*

The last day on earth, the sun
Doesn’t set but rises, rises
And rises.

*

Out of all sounds and colors, 
He could only hear two notes 
And see two colors.

*

Reading this sentence,
He forgets the previous,
Because his mind can only
Contain one relatively 
Short sentence.

*

Reading this word,
He forgets the previous,
Because his mind can only
Contain one common and 
Not too abstract word.

*

A lifelong liar,
He doubts everything,
Including dogs barking
And birds chirping.

*

To collect a paycheck each week,
He must lie nonstop to everyone,
Including his wife, kids, dogs, birds,
Fish, snakes and horses.

*

He would only eat each dish once,
Talk to each person once,
Sleep on each bed once.

*

Lying alone, naked, wrinkled and ripe,
He still mumbles in satisfaction, Betrayal
Is power.

* 

He’s hyper sensitive 
To every shift, twitch, twinge,
Belch and hiccup of his soul,
And oblivious to the conditions
Of every other living thing.

*

He’s very philosophical about 
The great suffering of others, 
And very emotional about
His minor irritations. 

*

He always sees another’s misfortune
As a consolation, a spiritual boost,
Frankly a personal stroke of good luck.

*

He knows a little about everything,
Except the things he knows nothing about. 

PDF of Kafka, Anti-Semite and other artsy fartsy essays

With no publishers and all my self-published books banned by Amazon, I will now sell PDFs of them directly, starting with Kafka, Anti-Semite. If you PayPal me $12, or more if you’re inclined, I will send you the PDF. This is the only way to get my writing out in some concrete form. The internet is ephemeral. Though canceled, I’d rather not disappear completely.

The PayPal donate button is at the top of this blog. Thanks!

Table of Contents:

Kafka, Anti-Semite
Hemingway’s Castrati
White Flight: Hemingway’s “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber”
Flannery O’Connor’s White Trash
Breece D’J Pancake's Quiet Magnificence
Democracy of Violence
Rockiest Horrors
Apocalypse Now
Capa's Moments of Death
Scitan in Mind
Shithology
Norman Lewis’ Blind White Girls Starving
Frontiersmen vs. Wusses
Jack London?
Orwellian Love
Architecture of Cruelty
Dying Thoughts
Fred Reed, Joe Biden and John Cassavetes
Marveling, Again, At Paul Bowles' "A Distant Episode"
The Sorrows of War
Trần Vũ, Gore Envy and Trauma Fulfilled
Brian Keenan’s Horrific and Wonderful Beirut
Evelyn Waugh’s Hippo, Die Antwoord’s Lion and White Malice Disguised As Charity
Henry Trotter and Billy Monk in the Tavern of the Seas
Room 666
Musical Omens
Crumbling Sewer On The Hill
From Caruso to Bebe Rexha
Genghis Khan vs. Thomas Jefferson
Reflecting on Jing Ke, Tian Guang, Fan Yuqi and Gao Jianli
Eating Your Children
Christian to Death
Namibian Peace Corps America's Last Hope

 

 Thanks for a $100 contribution from a repeat donor!

 

Linh Dinh reading seven poems about language at DC HomeStay in Vũng Tàu on 6/21/26

Late Sorrows

Infant, you don’t know me. I’m called Millennium. Some people call me Ciao. Others: Sudden Death Overtime. Even in this friable language, all my names shame and infuriate me.

Salted peanuts: their asset tends to dissipate even as you’re saving them. I’ve buried them all over my estate, and now I can’t find them.

If the tailgates are diced into triangles, after cooked, so that I can still see them, then I will not eat them, but if the tailgates are melding in with the other foods, after cooked, so that I can’t see them, then of course I will eat them, even though I know I’m eating tailgates.

I must admit that I am an admirer of Goatee, the author of Foost. Late at night, I enjoy strumming along in the company of my steel guitar.

Blue

In some languages, the word “blue” does not exist. In others, the word “green.” In my native language, the word “color” does not exist.

A man was given everything in life but the color blue. All would have gone well had he not been told of his deprivation. Thereafter, he vowed to destroy everything in his path: home, country, confidantes, God, all the other colors...

Because I cannot pronounce the word “blue,” whenever my conversation calls for “blue,” I always say “red” instead.

Language and Meat

Language comes from meat. Without meat, 
There’s no language. It’s too obvious.

Meaty words shaped and rolled by a meaty tongue, 
Such as tender, juicy or sliced, for example, would be 
Meaningless without the muscles, tendons and fat
That wrap around bones. Words such as dead, lovely, 
Haggard, touch, desire or satisfaction. Further, 

Everyday language is overstuffed with meat: 
Don’t you slander my meat. A piece of meat,
She turned down such prime meat.


The Death of English

It stang me to sang of such thang:
This language, like all others, will be deep fried,
Will die, then be reborn as another tongue
Sloshed in too many mouths. What of
“That kiff joint has conked me on a dime”?
“Them cedars, like quills, writing the ground”?
It’s all japlish or ebonics, or perhaps Harold Bloom’s
Boneless hand fondling a feminist’s thigh. 

Vocab Lab

This word means yes,
however, maybe, or no,
depending on the situation.

This word means desire,
love, friendship, rape, or a sudden urge
to engage someone in a philosophical
conversation.

This word is unlearnable,
its meaning hermetic to all outsiders.
It can neither be pronounced
nor memorized.

This word is protean and can be spelled
an infinite number of ways.
Its meaning, however, is exact.

This word is also protean,
and may be used in place of any other word,
without loss of meaning.

This word can only be hinted at, implied,
and thus appears in no books,
not even in a dictionary.

This word can neither be spoken nor seen.
It can be freely written, however,
but only in complete darkness.

This word means one thing when spoken by a man,
and another thing, altogether different, when said by a woman.

This word means now, soon, or never,
depending on the age of the speaker.

This word means here, there, or nowhere,
depending on the speaker’s nationality.

It has often been said that the natives
will only teach foreigners a fake, degraded language,
a mock system of signs
parodying the real language.

It has also been said that the natives
don’t know their own language,
and must mimic the phony languages of foreigners,
to make sense out of their lives.

The Most Beautiful Word

I think “vesicle” is the most beautiful word in the English language. He was lying face down, his shirt burnt off, back steaming. I myself was bleeding. There was a harvest of vesicles on his back. His body wept. “Yaw” may be the ugliest. Don't say, “The bullet yawed inside the body.” Say, “The bullet danced inside the body." Say, "The bullet tumbled forward and upward.” Light slanted down. All the lesser muscles in my face twitched. I flipped my man over gently, like an impatient lover, careful not to fracture his C-spine. Dominoes clanked under crusty skin: Clack! Clack! A collapsed face stared up. There was a pink spray in the air, then a brief rainbow. The mandible was stitched with blue threads to the soul. I extracted a tooth from the tongue. He had swallowed the rest.

39 động từ 

 Nhìn, chớp, mỉm cười, 
Chào, hỏi thăm, liếm, 
Xoa, thở dài, dựa, 
Chu, vuốt, tặc lưỡi, 
Nuốt, phỉnh, rung, 
Thêu, vỗ, quyết định, 
Bác, phì cười, phỏng, 
Nấc, trù tính, chạm, 
Nhủ, khen, chớp chớp, 
Nổ, trích, giải thích, 
Ra vẻ quan tâm, liếc, gãi, 
Khều, địt, đằng hắng, 
Ngáp, cạ cạ, thở dài.