Jazzy Romantics

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday....

Taking a train into the city from the burbs I opted to try something different upon my arrival. I put headphones in my ear and listened to Phaeleh, my current artist of choice. The atmospherics and sexy bass turned my eyes and soul into a fish bowl of fantasy. The city seemed sexier, and I felt sexier. Buildings blazed by as break beats stole my heart and molded my walk now with a little bit of confidence and steez... you know I was hitting drops while crossing streets with guns pointed as if to say brrrappppp...... I got this. I strolled my cart with my table, chair, typewriter, and sign through the busy streets anticipating my arrival at the Jazz festival that was happening. Soon I arrived and tried to post up near an object made of mirrors that was shaped like an alien potato, or bean. Before I could sit down I was asked to leave. Frustrated because it was going to be an incredible spot, and I have yet to be asked to leave on this tour I packed back up and moved on. I came to the entrance of the Jazz Festival and noticing that my roll cart and outfit kinda made me look like a musician I confidently rolled right through security with no questions asked....... Breath a breath of relief....... game on.

Posted perfectly in-between the city scape and a fountain that I used to see on TV as a child from a show with an opening song that went like this "love and marriage, love and marriage".... I felt hesitant but confident that it was going to go down, hard. Before I could even set up I had a crowd of people stand and watch as I pulled "Jolene" from her case.... I swear I heard a gasp or two from the 7 or 8 people standing by.

Click clack, click clack.... the poet attacks.

Awwww..... it DID NOT STOP.

The wind blew my long thick hair and I would wipe sweat from my face and share eye contact with those so inclined to stop by and be my friend. Whether it was Joe the poet from Germany who is fed up with doing business work, and so desperately wanted to share his desire to go back to writing poetry. Before he even came up to me he was inquiring with the lady next to me about her poem. He even stopped three other people to ask if he could read their poem. He was handsome. I later wrote a poem about his beautiful girlfriend..... , I think she needed to hear such words.

The country of Nederland apparently has a nack for gypsy poets, as I met 3 different couples from there. Each conversation started out we me responding kinda like this....  "Oh you are from the Nederland's ha? Sorry about your world cup lost to Spain.... Yeah, I am Spanish." This international attention was humbling and excited the possibility of European travel very soon.

A beautiful Arabian couple(at least I think they were) stopped and had me write a poem about them. I made sure to deeply present my admiration for their skin tone and dark eyes.

Two fun british lads (can girls be called lads?) came by and asked me to write about travel, as they had just flown in and had rented a car to travel on route 66..... I don't even know where that goes, but given the fact I was face to face with international travelers I felt that I was officially connected to the road.

Beautiful shaved head black lady named Krystal asked to write a poem about her, she gave me a few things about her to go off of. She was strong, her name was Krystal, she was horny, she liked wine, and she was very horny. With that I sedated her heat with words of temptation and lush undertones of sexuality that I can closely relate to. She read it swaying back and forth from her intoxicating day. After she adored it, I asked her if I could kiss her. She said yes, so I extended my defined lips to cover hers and put my all into laying one on her. We giggled at the orange lipstick I had stolen from her, now on my lips and then she stood beside me for 30 minutes while I kept typing saying nothing.

And then there was the 7 Canadian ladies, and single gay male all in town for a pre bachelorette part....
I danced my way through 3 beautiful poems reading 2 aloud to a crowd of about 10+ strangers. Finishing my dialect with a crescendo of applause that made me giggle like a little boy and momentarily run back into my shell..... momentarily that is. I was given a white rose that quickly I put behind my ear by a lovely gal named Heather. She is my white rose and I was a star, and they loved me, and I loved them. After stealing a show that I created we exchanged information, and they asked me to join up with them when I was done....... I thought to myself, now THIS is backpacking! I will continue this story in a bit.....

The evening set in brilliantly. The city lights were met with a misty red sky and the energy from Jazz Fest and labor day weekend was lingering and expanding into the streets. I took a moment to say my goodbyes to my neighbors, particularly one by the name of Andre Guichard who is an amazing artist and beautiful black man ( I want to acknowledge his skin color only to present that idea of strength and culture that he held. We are all human, I get that.... ). I wrote him a poem about how his art inspired me and we talked about life, art, the pursuit of following a dream. Him and his wife were so beautiful and humble.... they had a lot of wise and kind things to say as I departed.  I would suggest googling his work if you want to get an idea of what I was experiencing.

Ladies Night:

I took a quick cab to meet up with the Canadian ladies.... we will call them Toronto gals from here on out. I pulled up to their hotel room overwhelmed with so much emotion from what had just went down. Single handedly the best Untouched Poetry experience I have had. I was welcomed into their rooms with hugs and kisses and smiles from all parties that said "we are so happy we met you".... my smile said the same. Chit, chat, dinner plans, ideas of what to do after flew through the air. Music played, vodka was drank and we ended up eating at PF. Changs, and chain they had never heard of and I had never eaten at.... because it was a chain. Getting food out of the way and holding delicate conversations with my neighbor at the table I came to understand how different each of these 7 ladies and one man were. It was awesome. I have so much respect for groups of friends that are all very different, it speaks highly to the character of each individual and the thirst for eclectic souls.

The night carried on while consistantly having trouble making decisions on what to do in this city that not one of us really knew. I tried to be suggestive, but realized later how hard it is to take charge of a party you were invited too.... still I like to think I helped.

Bouncing around multiple neighborhoods searching for some banging music, I walked and talked with confidence. I carried the poetic flow from the evening into the night and was met with eyes of delight wherever we went. Life was good, life was great.

The evening faded as did our bodies. I proceeded to the their hotel to rest my weary head. When I woke the scene was different. Party time was over, and it was time for me to get back to my travels. Sleep deprived and a little hazy I hoped a quick shower said my goodbyes and blessed my heart with the experience of meeting my Toronto Gals.

Life is good.

Deep set with undertones of romance
I bury myself into the sweat of expression
Art holds my head in balance
While I caress the sweet surrender of moments that pass me by.