The day after rendezvousing at Rittenhouse Square in Philly, I felt sluggish, weary, cold, and uninspired. It took me a large portion of the morning to tap into my unknown energy reserve, then heave my typewriter over to the Princeton’s farmers market.
Sometimes all it takes is connecting with the right person to help you chart a course away from negativity and alienation. It wasn’t until Mona heard the dings and clacks of my typewriter that my outlook was, thankfully, altered.
Mika came up to me the first day I typed in Princeton. She was excited, alive–no hesitation in her stance or her talk. I admit, I was surprised to encounter someone like her in Princeton of all places. We connected with an immediacy reserved for those who fully recognize one another. (Full disclaimer: Mika offered me a delicious crepe while I typed for her, and also invited me out for drinks with friends later that night, so I might be a tad bit biased.)
It starts and it ends like this. Recall the moment. Insert something mundane, play with contrast until vibrant. What is forgotten is just as important as what’s remembered—and there it is. There, among quiet Hare Krishnas who are waiting for scavengers like us to take flight with our tupperware full of free leftover vegetarian food—there we are, still firmly planted and caught up in conversation, the night a time without stars only lights a bright porch beaming down on us from the second story staircase—there is where a poetry we often name neurosis gives everything a terrifying idyllic trim and your words, a felt glow, strike me like deja vu, words grasping at the mind’s edges like kindling flame, a series of click click BOOM—
This was the year music
was revealed to me. I don’t
Last week, I gave away free Valentine’s Day love and admiration poetry at the Mid-City farmer’s market.
A huge thanks to Moisés for giving me an amazing box of onionskin typewriter paper last year for my birthday…this was the first time I’ve used it. Love at first feel. The translucent, texturized, fragile essence made for a perfect poem this Valentine’s Day.
The first question people usually ask me after we’ve been talking for a while is “where are you from?”
“I’m from LA,” I always say, though now that I’m in Louisiana I wonder if I should be abbreviating it as “L.A.” in my head.
Whether it’s my clothing, demeanor, accent, or the fact that I use “dude” more than the average person should, everyone always nods their head in immediate understanding when I declare I am from California.
Spontaneous gift giving is something I do a lot while traveling. Besides poetry, I’ll also gift books, clothes, and jewelry to new friends I’ve made.
I also receive a variety of gifts. I’ve referenced intangible gifts in the past, the ineffable something people have offered me after we’ve created a poem. I don’t really talk about the physical gifts I’ve been given–with the exception of other poems created for me.