What I would give to have all the amazing humans I have met in my life together in one room.
We would wear name tags and serve punch.
If we stayed too long
We might decide to take over the world.
All for the better.
Last night/Yesterday
I went on an epic run with my new French friend Arno. Arno is a doctor currently traveling some of America. He came over to take a course at John Hopkins. He is smart, cute, and full of unintentional English Poetry. This happens when a clever man speaks in a language not native to his own.
Example:
Arno decided to join me on my venture to Old City Philadelphia to set up Untouched Poetry at the First Friday's Art Walk. We ran into a wonderful man named Yoki who was selling fresh Lime-aid from his bike. Now, Yoki is another story all of his own, so what I speak of him will only give him some justice to his character. I ordered a limeade and Arno declined not really sure what was going on. After Yoki went into his spele about how refreshing and vibrant he felt his drinks were, and how much love and other healing items he put into the drinks, Arno soon replied(in a THICK french accent) "I thinks I will have one Finally"..... just brilliant.
The run:
Arno is quick, and does not smoke.... he is a doctor, at age 28 I believe. We decided we wanted to run to the UPenn campus to look at women while we ran. The day was hot, we became very sweaty, and we crushed that campus like men on a mission, given eyes, and catching them everywhere we went. Our conversations were great when we could understand each other, but I was most inthralled when he explained to me where the term marathon came from. http://ancienthistory.about.com/od/persianwararticles/a/MarathonBattle.htm
and after the whole story he ends with..... and people still do it. Ha!
Running:
There is nothing that puts me in a better place then running. I am sometimes lazy and I will talk about that more as my travels go on. But I know if I can pull my hungover, lazy ass out off the couch and away from whatever non-productive things I am doing and go on a run and break a sweat, that all of the cobwebs that make me feel sticky and stagnant will be shaken off . I am a runner. I have the body. I get the high, when I go on a run I see new things, and have great thoughts.... and most of all when I finish my run, I get shit done.
Philadelphia First Friday's Art Walk.
I had an entourage of men whom became family in a matter of fading words and eye contacts. These boys are just magical. The cobble stone streets were filled with local artist of all kinds. No real gallereies, just independent artist showcasing their work on the street. Jackpot for Untouched Poetry. I posted up in front of an old building with a stoop next to two painters and a guitarist. Arno went and got me tea, I waited. It was slow at first, but I was entertained the whole time hanging out with frenchie and commenting on all the great nature that was around.... I came up with the idea that women can be referred to as nature. So we had a blast with that...... we saw angelic nature, and dark nature, and angry nature, and large nature, and magical nature, and poisoness nature and so on, and so on. It was great. We laughed quite a bit. Soon untouched poetry was rocking and my brain/heart were flowing into my words. Eventually the man hosting me, the one and only Sean Glass showed up bringing new life to this party! They hit the store, grabbed some booze and they hung out behind me on the stoop the whole time making friends, announcing me to the crowd, giving more life to where there was so much life already. Sean Glass is a show stopping machine! I do not think there could have been a better host to break my first couch surfing cherry.... the only cherry he broke, just saying. The evening flew by, the wind blew, the magic of Old City Philly had my heart singing. I had found so many crushes, and devoured the attention I got. I made tears fall, smiles came in the hundreds, and mysterious eye glazes happen over and over. At one point a couple had been sitting next to me for awhile, I asked what was going on and they said they just liked hanging out and listening to my typewriter.... Jolene blushed. Towards the end, a sweet sweet girl had been sitting next to me for awhile, and I asked what she was up to. She said she was writing a poem.... but on her phone. I told her to stop, and got out of my chair and had her use my typewriter. She was a pro, though she had never written on one before I believe she said. I liked her, she liked me. I later saw her on a dancefloor and kissed her accordingly. Her lips were sweaty like mine, and I attempted to taste all of her poetic beauty within our salty exchanged. She was not the only person I locked lips with this night. As the night ended and I started packing up the energy was high, and we knew this night was going down! As we were setting to leave we chatted with a bunch of people, I met a girl who had just gotten back from burning man. She is a juggler, fire dancer, she hoops and does all that corky cook stuff so many burners do. I told her I would see her later, and I did. On our cab ride back we sang french songs and swung our hands out the window. I watched the city lights beam by me and remembered saying to myself that I was more alive then I had been in quite sometime.
After we all got ready, we hopped a trolly to go dance. We were all so pumped on life, I could not wait. Banging house music filled the clubs, liquor filled my mouth, and I filled my soul with dance moves no one else could shake. Kisses, and sweat, and loud music, with lights that blinded.... we took to the night like no ones business. Later more friends joined, we took over the dancefloor. I danced with all the boys, and all the girls. I jumped from stage onto boys, they lifted me up and down on there shoulders as if I had just one the world cup of best life ever! I had one button left on my shirt, my hat got passed around, I kissed some more..... and we danced on, never once letting go of dream.
Late night:
People come over, wrestling happens, poetry happens, and I eventually find myself first person to pass out.... on the wrestling mat, humbling fading to the next day.
Stoned streets bound players
crystal lining shields protect the risky
The game is not being played
The game is being created.
Macho men who like their feelings roam free
The tribe is one of potentially wonderful fathers.
Flexed hearts, and beating bodies
There is no substitute
For the male, who embraces his feelings.
And shares them
Knowing there is no other way.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
See me know. Lost for Words.
Who are all these people?
Why did I fall in love?
Why am I falling love?
How come I have never felt this alive?
Where do I go next?
I can not get her eyes out of my head. I love her. She was never mine. And we just met.
I can eat a peach for hours.
I prefer getting hit in the back of the head with a dry leaf because of the wind, to no wind at all.
Philadelphia.... the thing about giving you a piece of my heart is that I never knew I had that piece to give. So thank you.
I need to cry.
I must eat.
I must pack.
Train rolls on.
I have a new family of men. Some women, but mostly men. My brothers are cool. They make me laugh. They are my boys. I need this. I needed that. I will carry there hearts with my heart and so on.
Magic is real.
Really, I believe in magic.
I want to fly....
What am I suppose to do with all this passion?
I have almost drowned in it before.
But I want to surf with my passion. I want the waves of romance to glide me into a wild ride that is worthy of poster boy moments.
Wait, I am doing that.
AHHHHHHHHHHH.....
ahhh.
See me now.
Lost for words.
Why did I fall in love?
Why am I falling love?
How come I have never felt this alive?
Where do I go next?
I can not get her eyes out of my head. I love her. She was never mine. And we just met.
I can eat a peach for hours.
I prefer getting hit in the back of the head with a dry leaf because of the wind, to no wind at all.
Philadelphia.... the thing about giving you a piece of my heart is that I never knew I had that piece to give. So thank you.
I need to cry.
I must eat.
I must pack.
Train rolls on.
I have a new family of men. Some women, but mostly men. My brothers are cool. They make me laugh. They are my boys. I need this. I needed that. I will carry there hearts with my heart and so on.
Magic is real.
Really, I believe in magic.
I want to fly....
What am I suppose to do with all this passion?
I have almost drowned in it before.
But I want to surf with my passion. I want the waves of romance to glide me into a wild ride that is worthy of poster boy moments.
Wait, I am doing that.
AHHHHHHHHHHH.....
ahhh.
See me now.
Lost for words.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
The root is on fire.
I have to share this current thought in poem form.
We only infuse with the ignited
Embracing the ire within.
Living moments with fire.
Inviting others to come play with volcanic zest
Fellow compadres that throw wrenches in wheels that spin in one directions
Flame throwing at souls begging to become
Fist to faces
Hugs that burn
Burn baby, burn
Watch it crumble
Stumble upon the ashes
Finding stories among disintegrated stashes.
The rummaging with unsteady hands
Crying out for peace, and shifting into nudging a demand
Stand clear people.
We are walking a fine line
Courageous and steady in meditative mind.
We only infuse with the ignited
Embracing the ire within.
Living moments with fire.
Inviting others to come play with volcanic zest
Fellow compadres that throw wrenches in wheels that spin in one directions
Flame throwing at souls begging to become
Fist to faces
Hugs that burn
Burn baby, burn
Watch it crumble
Stumble upon the ashes
Finding stories among disintegrated stashes.
The rummaging with unsteady hands
Crying out for peace, and shifting into nudging a demand
Stand clear people.
We are walking a fine line
Courageous and steady in meditative mind.
Streets of Ill-a-delphia
In west Philadelphia hanging out with some gays.
Watching a local celebrity live in his praise
Living on lack of sleep and shitty food
Trying to figure out these eccentric dudes....
(Yes, this should be sung/rapped in the flow of the Fresh Prince intro... duh, your face)
My couch surfing cherry has been popped. My host is insane in a brilliant way. This should be a wild ride. I am now opting going to stay another night and work Philly's first friday art walk.
Philly Intro.
My body was a mess when I got out of the station and on to this new playground. I have go to find a better way to sleep on the train. Period. Anyhow the city was big. It was noisy, and crowded. Typical. Something I am adjusting too. Walking from solitude and quite on a train, to straight action and cluster on the streets shoots me with a moment of anxiety that sets me back. Sometimes I feel the pressure to be somewhere and make money over shadows my ability to take in the city with eyes wide. Perhaps I will learn something within that determination, something I can take home and put to good use.
Once I figured out my general direction to a farmers market in town that I found online. I decided I would not cough up the 2 or 3 dollars it might cost to get on a bus-line that I know nothing about and possibly get lost. So I opted to walk with my 30 pound back pack, 20 pound shoulder bag, and insanely imbalanced roll cart with my chair/table/typewriter/sign on, and lug myself and my shit 4 miles in a city I know nothing about. After my first mile, I decide a 4 dollar philly cheese steak from some dinky street vendor was a perfect idea for nourishment, and it was. While I ate, I thought, I looked up like I always do. Eyes glazed over these buildings, these peoples..... I think ants, ants marching in line. I wonder what experience each one sees. It makes me somber at times that my judgement of people passing are not thriving to be. I am sad at the possibility that they will go through life never knowing the art of taking chances and breathing in muddy air. I want them to get wild from time to time. Behave like rabid monkeys and take to their hearts with streets of ire. Or just take some LSD or something that will unleash the freedom of being considered mad in this mad world..... it is my understanding that two negatives combined make a positive.
Carry on. Food down. Time to roll on. Cigarette bummed. Lets rock.
I choose to roll down the streets of less traffic. This kinda just happened. And it was both very positive and very negative. Positive in the sense that Philly is a very old city, and some of these side streets are wonderfully small. Carriage small, houses snugged together, and arcade of flourishing trees, all layered with cobble stones that made my eyes salty, but my travels nearly impossible. I must of toppled my cart 7 times. Every time more frustrating then the one before..... Sigh, I am not a light traveler and I am mad at myself as a result.
Another Mile in, and I bummed a smoke from a man getting on a bike who was dressed similar to me.... skinny jeans, black shirt, handsome face. I took that moment to not move while I smoked, but rather watch the passerby's and try and settle my stress and remember what I was doing, and where I was, and how exciting that was. Rule #1.... Don't PANIC!
As I strolled along, I got to a point where the neighborhood was a bit tougher then those I had recently walked across. I jotted across the street with my eye set on a stunning pit bull that was being walked by his owner. I asked if I could say high to his dog, he said yes. It came up to me and licked my face clean of any doubt that life was not beautiful. I fell in love with that dog and it lightened my heart, but sadly not my load.
Soon my GPS suggested I was nearby. I found sweet relief in the smallest farmers market in the world. It literally had 3 booths. 1 Amish farm, 1 non-armish farm, and 1 baker. Centered in the market was a fountain that had a nice subtle watering sound to it. Italian restaurants surrounded us, and soon I realized that I had landed in a little Italy of sorts. At this point in my trip while waiting to hear from my couch surfing prospects, I was just happy to be sitting down, and did not care about finances. Soon I was approached by a few folks and made a quick 10 dollars, which in bum terms is plenty enough money. I was thrown an apple by one of the vendors, and given a peach by a half shaved head punk rock chica with more piercings on her face then I could count. She had heavy eyes. The best part of my writing experience came from an Italian father son combo. The son was charismatic, and father was genuine. Both very handsome and wearing blue. In his Italian accent, Roberto (the father) told me they loved poetry, especially Italian poetry. He asked me to write a poem about the market, the moment, and all. I finished, I read it to Roberto and Aldo (the son), and they both loved it. Roberto said it was beautiful. At that point I got to witness the single most beautiful back to back, verse to verse exchange I have ever heard. Roberto, and Aldo went back and forth with this poem.
Roberto started, and Aldo so brilliantly followed with such pure 4 year old expression. I owned a pure smile as they recited this insert.
From "Humpty Dumpty" by Louis Carroll
I hope Roberto emails me. There exchange made me want to have a son more then ever. To share poetry with your child..... I have no words for it, none.
The market ended with a bunch of "wise guy" style Italian older men coming by the table I had been using and sitting their as if they owned it.... and I guess they do. Soon 1 turned to 2, then 3, then 6. All trying to figure out who I was, and why I was at their legendary table. Soon I introduce myself, we talk about typewriting and I watch their interactions and constant "Forget about it", and "What are you going to do" rich conversations. I soon picked up a slight Italian accent because I am intrigued at how cool they sound. The sun is fading, and it is time to get going to meet my new friend who gave me directions to meet him at his rehearsal for "The Rocky Horror Picture Show".... but done with people and puppets..... No wonder why I picked him, ha. After a hellish time making my way through the piss smelling subways that have no handicap access, I finally bored a train and make my way to him, Sean is his name, Sean Glass to be exact. Right away, I can tell he is the type that does not sleep much, is incredibly bright, and is possibly gay.... no he is totally gay. He invites to come in and I watch some of their performance. He is talented, and the show is full of characters.... pun intended. He finishes, we have a smoke, he tells me the game plan and we jet towards the subway to get going. Sean is a fucking character first off, he is like a tasmanian wild man. He like myself is wonderful with words, and thinks so fast that I feel safe in this big city knowing I am with him. He is caring, and enjoys company, and sharing stories. He helps me with my stuff. We get caught trying to lug all my shit into the packed trains with the small doors. We get a chuckle out of this, as it provides a fun early way to bond..... I think that is what was felt.
Happy with my couch surfer choice, we make our way to west Philadelphia towards his place. His neighborhood is awesome. Old, tons of trees, parks, diversity, corner stores, porches and stoops. We scoop some beer, play some music, tell jokes and stories, smoke, stretch and merge our way into friendship. This man is a local celebrity as it turns out, he acts, he runs a quiz show, he is 40 years old and full of life. I feel pretty fortunate to have met him. We meet up with his friend, a young chef in the making. We drink and tell stories and head out to the neighborhood bar that is not considered a UPenn bar. The night is going well. The crowd at this bar is a mix of hipster meets local Rasta'ish, meets the.... I am not sure what to do with my life, type. It is a bit bizarre, my suspenders are a constant point of conversation. We bring Jolene, she is a big hit. The boys like me, the girls are not sure of me. I write a poem about a small gremlin looking dog on a table and some other random shit.... I place it on the table where the girls are sitting as we are leaving, and before I can even leave I see all of them coming around to read it. Maybe I am mysterious, maybe I give off a vibe that is unknown to these parts..... regardless I enjoy the mystery that comes along this trip, and with being a traveler.
The night ended with me eating a calzone that was given to me for writing someone a poem, and watching my host wrestle his buddy in their underwear while I enjoyed a traditional calzone from little Italy. I fell asleep contemplating either leaving a day earlier, or staying a day later.... it kinda went down like that, haha.
Watching a local celebrity live in his praise
Living on lack of sleep and shitty food
Trying to figure out these eccentric dudes....
(Yes, this should be sung/rapped in the flow of the Fresh Prince intro... duh, your face)
My couch surfing cherry has been popped. My host is insane in a brilliant way. This should be a wild ride. I am now opting going to stay another night and work Philly's first friday art walk.
Philly Intro.
My body was a mess when I got out of the station and on to this new playground. I have go to find a better way to sleep on the train. Period. Anyhow the city was big. It was noisy, and crowded. Typical. Something I am adjusting too. Walking from solitude and quite on a train, to straight action and cluster on the streets shoots me with a moment of anxiety that sets me back. Sometimes I feel the pressure to be somewhere and make money over shadows my ability to take in the city with eyes wide. Perhaps I will learn something within that determination, something I can take home and put to good use.
Once I figured out my general direction to a farmers market in town that I found online. I decided I would not cough up the 2 or 3 dollars it might cost to get on a bus-line that I know nothing about and possibly get lost. So I opted to walk with my 30 pound back pack, 20 pound shoulder bag, and insanely imbalanced roll cart with my chair/table/typewriter/sign on, and lug myself and my shit 4 miles in a city I know nothing about. After my first mile, I decide a 4 dollar philly cheese steak from some dinky street vendor was a perfect idea for nourishment, and it was. While I ate, I thought, I looked up like I always do. Eyes glazed over these buildings, these peoples..... I think ants, ants marching in line. I wonder what experience each one sees. It makes me somber at times that my judgement of people passing are not thriving to be. I am sad at the possibility that they will go through life never knowing the art of taking chances and breathing in muddy air. I want them to get wild from time to time. Behave like rabid monkeys and take to their hearts with streets of ire. Or just take some LSD or something that will unleash the freedom of being considered mad in this mad world..... it is my understanding that two negatives combined make a positive.
Carry on. Food down. Time to roll on. Cigarette bummed. Lets rock.
I choose to roll down the streets of less traffic. This kinda just happened. And it was both very positive and very negative. Positive in the sense that Philly is a very old city, and some of these side streets are wonderfully small. Carriage small, houses snugged together, and arcade of flourishing trees, all layered with cobble stones that made my eyes salty, but my travels nearly impossible. I must of toppled my cart 7 times. Every time more frustrating then the one before..... Sigh, I am not a light traveler and I am mad at myself as a result.
Another Mile in, and I bummed a smoke from a man getting on a bike who was dressed similar to me.... skinny jeans, black shirt, handsome face. I took that moment to not move while I smoked, but rather watch the passerby's and try and settle my stress and remember what I was doing, and where I was, and how exciting that was. Rule #1.... Don't PANIC!
As I strolled along, I got to a point where the neighborhood was a bit tougher then those I had recently walked across. I jotted across the street with my eye set on a stunning pit bull that was being walked by his owner. I asked if I could say high to his dog, he said yes. It came up to me and licked my face clean of any doubt that life was not beautiful. I fell in love with that dog and it lightened my heart, but sadly not my load.
Soon my GPS suggested I was nearby. I found sweet relief in the smallest farmers market in the world. It literally had 3 booths. 1 Amish farm, 1 non-armish farm, and 1 baker. Centered in the market was a fountain that had a nice subtle watering sound to it. Italian restaurants surrounded us, and soon I realized that I had landed in a little Italy of sorts. At this point in my trip while waiting to hear from my couch surfing prospects, I was just happy to be sitting down, and did not care about finances. Soon I was approached by a few folks and made a quick 10 dollars, which in bum terms is plenty enough money. I was thrown an apple by one of the vendors, and given a peach by a half shaved head punk rock chica with more piercings on her face then I could count. She had heavy eyes. The best part of my writing experience came from an Italian father son combo. The son was charismatic, and father was genuine. Both very handsome and wearing blue. In his Italian accent, Roberto (the father) told me they loved poetry, especially Italian poetry. He asked me to write a poem about the market, the moment, and all. I finished, I read it to Roberto and Aldo (the son), and they both loved it. Roberto said it was beautiful. At that point I got to witness the single most beautiful back to back, verse to verse exchange I have ever heard. Roberto, and Aldo went back and forth with this poem.
Roberto started, and Aldo so brilliantly followed with such pure 4 year old expression. I owned a pure smile as they recited this insert.
From "Humpty Dumpty" by Louis Carroll
'I sent a message to the fish:
I told them "This is what I wish."
The little fishes of the sea,
They sent an answer back to me.
The little fishes' answer was
"We cannot do it, Sir, because —"'
'I sent to them again to say
"It will be better to obey."
The fishes answered, with a grin,
"Why, what a temper you are in!"
I told them once, I told them twice:
They would not listen to advice.
I took a kettle large and new,
Fit for the deed I had to do.
My heart went hop, my heart went thump:
I filled the kettle at the pump.
Then some one came to me and said
"The little fishes are in bed."
I said to him, I said it plain,
"Then you must wake them up again."
I said it very loud and clear:
I went and shouted in his ear.'
I hope Roberto emails me. There exchange made me want to have a son more then ever. To share poetry with your child..... I have no words for it, none.
The market ended with a bunch of "wise guy" style Italian older men coming by the table I had been using and sitting their as if they owned it.... and I guess they do. Soon 1 turned to 2, then 3, then 6. All trying to figure out who I was, and why I was at their legendary table. Soon I introduce myself, we talk about typewriting and I watch their interactions and constant "Forget about it", and "What are you going to do" rich conversations. I soon picked up a slight Italian accent because I am intrigued at how cool they sound. The sun is fading, and it is time to get going to meet my new friend who gave me directions to meet him at his rehearsal for "The Rocky Horror Picture Show".... but done with people and puppets..... No wonder why I picked him, ha. After a hellish time making my way through the piss smelling subways that have no handicap access, I finally bored a train and make my way to him, Sean is his name, Sean Glass to be exact. Right away, I can tell he is the type that does not sleep much, is incredibly bright, and is possibly gay.... no he is totally gay. He invites to come in and I watch some of their performance. He is talented, and the show is full of characters.... pun intended. He finishes, we have a smoke, he tells me the game plan and we jet towards the subway to get going. Sean is a fucking character first off, he is like a tasmanian wild man. He like myself is wonderful with words, and thinks so fast that I feel safe in this big city knowing I am with him. He is caring, and enjoys company, and sharing stories. He helps me with my stuff. We get caught trying to lug all my shit into the packed trains with the small doors. We get a chuckle out of this, as it provides a fun early way to bond..... I think that is what was felt.
Happy with my couch surfer choice, we make our way to west Philadelphia towards his place. His neighborhood is awesome. Old, tons of trees, parks, diversity, corner stores, porches and stoops. We scoop some beer, play some music, tell jokes and stories, smoke, stretch and merge our way into friendship. This man is a local celebrity as it turns out, he acts, he runs a quiz show, he is 40 years old and full of life. I feel pretty fortunate to have met him. We meet up with his friend, a young chef in the making. We drink and tell stories and head out to the neighborhood bar that is not considered a UPenn bar. The night is going well. The crowd at this bar is a mix of hipster meets local Rasta'ish, meets the.... I am not sure what to do with my life, type. It is a bit bizarre, my suspenders are a constant point of conversation. We bring Jolene, she is a big hit. The boys like me, the girls are not sure of me. I write a poem about a small gremlin looking dog on a table and some other random shit.... I place it on the table where the girls are sitting as we are leaving, and before I can even leave I see all of them coming around to read it. Maybe I am mysterious, maybe I give off a vibe that is unknown to these parts..... regardless I enjoy the mystery that comes along this trip, and with being a traveler.
The night ended with me eating a calzone that was given to me for writing someone a poem, and watching my host wrestle his buddy in their underwear while I enjoyed a traditional calzone from little Italy. I fell asleep contemplating either leaving a day earlier, or staying a day later.... it kinda went down like that, haha.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Eating with the enemy.
Pittsburg. 5am.
Starving.
Low funds.
Mcdonald's.....
Ugh, I said never again.... But it is the only option for me that is in walking distance from the train station. I have two hours until I bust out to Philly. I went from the comfort of Chicago's suburbs and enough finances to support me. Now after having to pay a fee for booking my ticket on the same day, I find myself left with 20 dollars. I sure hope I figure something out in Philly quickly! I am also struggling to land a couch to stay on. This could be interesting. I am excited at the prospect of survival, but it is quite the opposite experience that my first stop was.
Well.... game on. Head up. Heart open..... breath.
It is never that bad. And when all else fails during the waking hours of folks.... just bust out my typewriter "Jolene" and see what happens. It beats begging.
Poetry is my currency.
I make the transaction from my heart.
Starving.
Low funds.
Mcdonald's.....
Ugh, I said never again.... But it is the only option for me that is in walking distance from the train station. I have two hours until I bust out to Philly. I went from the comfort of Chicago's suburbs and enough finances to support me. Now after having to pay a fee for booking my ticket on the same day, I find myself left with 20 dollars. I sure hope I figure something out in Philly quickly! I am also struggling to land a couch to stay on. This could be interesting. I am excited at the prospect of survival, but it is quite the opposite experience that my first stop was.
Well.... game on. Head up. Heart open..... breath.
It is never that bad. And when all else fails during the waking hours of folks.... just bust out my typewriter "Jolene" and see what happens. It beats begging.
Poetry is my currency.
I make the transaction from my heart.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
I should of hit the switch.
expecting valleys, ending up with peaks.... the view is so much better, and I got there with little effort.
Chicago... I know in writing I asked you to be nice to me... but you are honestly a bit too giving.
Congress theater mystery tour.
All access rockstar set included.
Tea of green, meaning more sweat after runs ran into neighborhoods full of castles with an address that begs ends to understand how it could be so fabulous to hold property in neighborhoods with weeping trees that are truly miles from a sea.... not a lake.
Ghost and Riders.... Doctors who have to Pee. Stickers that say ALL..... perhaps a vacation indeed. Awaken are we... some low rider shit. Hitting levels with unspoken spells sell well to the honorable subjective hell that we well deserve..... And again I end up in the burbs....
loving how simple it is..... diving into dire straight verbs.
Magic is real. Situations I own as boss. Floss your social teeth, and be raw at all cost....
Chicago... what now?
I can only see of lighter things. No love for your meditation.... fade away.
Chicago... I know in writing I asked you to be nice to me... but you are honestly a bit too giving.
Congress theater mystery tour.
All access rockstar set included.
Tea of green, meaning more sweat after runs ran into neighborhoods full of castles with an address that begs ends to understand how it could be so fabulous to hold property in neighborhoods with weeping trees that are truly miles from a sea.... not a lake.
Ghost and Riders.... Doctors who have to Pee. Stickers that say ALL..... perhaps a vacation indeed. Awaken are we... some low rider shit. Hitting levels with unspoken spells sell well to the honorable subjective hell that we well deserve..... And again I end up in the burbs....
loving how simple it is..... diving into dire straight verbs.
Magic is real. Situations I own as boss. Floss your social teeth, and be raw at all cost....
Chicago... what now?
I can only see of lighter things. No love for your meditation.... fade away.
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