So you hear it from me first…
I’ll be in Orlando next week on a job, Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Gotta fly home on Thursday night, so no slam for me…and my days look long and busy, so not sure I’ll be up for anything Wednesday night (Tuesday is spoken for by work obligations).
If I can get out Wednesday night for something mild, I’ll let you know. Sorry, gang, if it doesn’t work out.
Was the book release reading for “Word Warriors” — the new anthology of women performance poets. Picked it up — haven’t had a chance to read it yet, of course, but the list of artists is fabulous.
Reading tonight were Alix Olson, who edited the anthology; Karen Garrabrant ( aka nerak_g ); Genevieve Van Cleve ( aka genvc ); and Lenelle Moise. All did a terrific job to a packed house in the relatively small Food For Thought bookstore, which was standing room only. In addition there was a short set by Nice Shoes, the Mount Holyoke feminist a cappella group (their description, and they were great).
I was standing in back and happened to be overlooking a pair of young guys (16 -18, I’d say) who were clearly not happy to be there — one was there for class, the other was “dragged along.” The Drag-Along was texting madly through the night, giving his opinions to a friend who wasn’t there.
I admit it — I looked over his shoulder to see what he was texting. Copied two comments to my notebook because…well, just because, I guess:
my friend dragged me here theyre singing lesbo songs
Ah, but the second comment. There’s a poem here with all its existential and identity unease on display:
wtf i feel mad weird some of these girlz r manlier than me
I admit, at first I was laughing inside at both comments…but on the way home that second one really started to get to me…something so frightening and frightened there, so much inherent violence and hate…
I’ve already dared Karen to write a poem from that line. I extend the challenge to you as well; I’ll post mine soon. (On second thought this morning, maybe not soon; reading Norman Mailer’s obituary has triggered the usual wave of complex associations that herald a Monster coming on. Provincetown, machismo, feminism…tailor made to make me go way too fucking deep in my head for stuff for this poem. Sigh.)
But I’m home now…tired, sleepy, and ready for bed. A good night.
Dark Matter 