Events have an allure which public spaces lack. In both instances, you are a spectacle; yet there is a distinct difference in how people react to and approach you. Public spaces offer a nonchalant curiosity, but events open people up rather immediately. Everyone’s behavior is influenced by the fantastic, not-so-everyday surroundings and atmosphere.
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
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.
There is an intricate dance I think most of us miss out on. That is the art of delayed gratification–or, in this specific case, letter writing and snail mail.
Yesterday, a wonderful present arrived for me. I wasn’t expecting it, and that certainly added to the initial gasp-shock-love-dream-daze sensation. It’s a sensation I usually associate with making intense eye-contact with a brave, vivid personality. In the haze of it all, my mind struggled to catch up and rearrange the circumstances.
Optimism has been a philosophy that keeps me going when logic just won’t cut it. For all of its pros, looking on the bright side certainly comes with a few cons. For instance, I have decided that I will actively strive not to delude myself with extreme idealism, as I am growing weary of crashing head-first into that solid shape we sometimes refer to as reality.
Artisanal LA is this weekend. Don’t ask me why, but I thought it’d be a swell idea to contribute 1,500 poems for the event gift bags. That’s right. 1,500 original poems. Via typewriter.
There’s one experiment I’ve been wanting to try for a while. It comes from being a fan of collaboration, as well as having a deep love of the internet.
Typewriter Poetry has always been a “we” project. In getting back to that, I’m asking anyone who reads this to help create a typewritten Internet Poem–or, as I’m singing saying in my head, #TyPoInPo (Typewriter Poetry Internet Poem!).
How to participate, you ask? All you have to do is create a single line of poetry and upload it to the internet.
Last week, I got a chance to meet up with The Little Black Coffee Cup. We only knew each other through Twitter, thanks to our mutual philosophy–“substance over stuff,” as she aptly says. We connected over delicious gourmet coffee, then explored the artsy streets of Culver City.
While wandering in Oregon, the Newer York contacted me about appearing at their annual Literary Carnival. I got back home to Los Angeles just in time last Friday for the event.
The carnival itself is a theatrical book release for an experimental literary journal. The show was full of performance, readings, social experiments, short films, and curiously quirky delights for the senses.
Rain falling on chicken wire covered trees reminds me of Christmas lights strung along each branch down the boulevard.
To say it has been a while is an understatement. I stopped writing for the public sometime in October. Life sometimes moves in a way where I learn I only have the energy to keep up with myself. Since last autumn, I ended up driving through Mexico to learn Spanish, explore, and climb Mayan ruins; soon after, I impulsively bought a ticket to the east coast and stayed in Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey. I also fell in love.
Here’s a poem I wrote at one o’clock in the morning. The anonymous prompt is great: “ennui… and maybe I like it that way”