does anyone want to go to this on Sunday?
Ross Lipman, Tobias Seamon, and Michael Barrish
4 P.M. SUNDAY, OCTOBER 3, 2004 at the Bowery Poetry Club, East Village, 308 Bowery, between Bleeker and Houston.
and now, bullshit that has nothing to do with anything:
I don't write poetry during the school year. I don't think about beauty when I'm sleeping. I dreamt this afternoon of a friend's older brother, yelling at me to retrieve a towel from the other side of a deserted swimming pool, hanging by my ankles from plastic poles.
I feel dull. I feel thick-skinned. I feel pretentious, but without the prolific narcissus. I feel lost without certain things, certain people, certain constant reminders of certain ideas.
there's a knife and a pen on my table, arguing among themselves. spectacles and molecules, bickering for precedents, for attention, for loss and unintented stupid.
other people's lyrics resonate better than my own, echoing in my chameleon head and mocking the way I stutter on paper.
Posted by samantha at September 29, 2004 08:55 PMI sometimes sleep with my stuffed bear. He makes me feel safe when things get a little to scary. Ain't no shame in it.
I can relate to the parental pressure. It's tough. They will always always be who they are. I started calling my pop by his first name in my head. "Oh boy...here comes Frank with his wooly bully rant of the day..." It helps. Makes him more human and less powerful. My voice is as loud as his.
Posted by: Amanda B. at September 30, 2004 12:20 AM