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a night with a poet.

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There I was. Just another numb face in a sea of insignificants. Below me was the most awesome poet in the united states sharing her art to the eager ears of phonies, intellectuals, up and comers and old people who forgot that the real poets were the ones who knew that more than anything, life was poetry, not words. I was dismayed because I thought the show was going to be about borrack obama and the up coming elections.

( excuse Im going to look for some wine. I will be right back.)

five minutes of life pass.

( rats. There is no more wine left. I looked in the cuburbs but only found some weird ass euro trash liquer shit... i would rather handle my reality.)

back to the story.

Upon realizing the show was not about politics, I got up and left. I walked past some dead feet and made my way down the stairs to the exit. I was about to leave but something inside me told me to stay for a bit. I have drunk illusions of being a writer one day, and figured if this lady was as bad ass as the intellectual horde said she was, I would wise to listen.

Her stuff was pretty good and got my mind eager to create. A cute girl wearing a red jacket and a red hat walked by. I eagerly waited for her to sit next to me and thrust her throat down my thought, but that reality never came. She just walked by and me and jumped into the lecture. Feeling restless I headed out into the night. I figured living would be more beneficial than listening to some ones thoughts about living. I walked past a great number of sleepy shops and kept wondering to myself who in gods name bought the shit behind the cold glass..... Probably ones with jobs and reputations.... the night was an errie fall creep. The moon was full and shadows from tree branches scattered on the side walk like dark fingers. The stores, sleepy relics of a panicked consumer culture.
( sorry needed to get artsy. I am half gay remember?)

My first stop was a bar called tonies. It is a place where all the tight pant rocker boys hang out. I I looked inside and only saw a bunch of short hairs and three girls. Not exactly a ryan sheckler commericial. I kept walking with a brisk pase and continued to look through shops of crap. Nothing looked appealing, not even the fur coats or expensive t shirts with plastic diamonds on them.

My next stop was a bar called the Ritz. It is ussually where all the ghetto kids go. Tonight the place was dead. I was going to talk with some girls but did not have the energy?I sat with a glass of water and collected my thoughts.

Time to flee. This town is dead.

I headed back to the poetry reading. The lady was almost done. She read some more poems. When she was done the crowd flooded out like a swarm.. presumbably rushing home to their tv and computer screens.

the end.

Posted by squidhead on 2009-11-03 23:35:45 | Rating: