I discovered Joe Brainard’s “I Remember” 8 years ago.            He filled it with simple, earnest, and seemingly random statements of things he remembered. One of his friends wrote: “Painterly in its vivid details and collagist in its hands-off juxtaposition, it is an accumulative, oblique biography . . .  much, much greater than the mere sum of its parts. [John] Ashbery referred to it, only half-jokingly, as ‘humane smut.’ It has that sweet, playful self-possession that per