inside/outside: transitioning the personal lens.
December 18, 2010 § 1 Comment
Things have been really amazing on a production end. I’m taking photos and composing new worlds on the page.
went shopping with exboyfriend for his mother’s christmas gift. he took me to dinner and we had the standard chat.
“I want to be at your wedding and read a poem for you” I said.
“Sure Rebecca… but will anyone understand it?” He replied, glasses perched purposely in a fashion that gave me the gigglefits.
It was an inside joke concerning my somewhat cryptic placement of details upon the page. No temporal order: all backwards sequencing into a place of feeling. I keep thinking I’ve changed that- then I wake up and see what I’ve written at two a.m.
It’s a breached birth,
timespout of words almost fluid in
tailwhips of a tired hand.
Last night I drove Lucille (named after the Chuck Berry song) down Main Street. I took a few backroads too and from. Curves that pinned my shoulder to the seat frame. I could’ve been in Woodstock. I could’ve been where the light doesn’t leak, pollute, and hover in a drowned glow.
I’ll never leave,
I’ll never leave. And yet-
it’s when I become
I use myself to warm myself
I just read These Blocks, Not Square by Thomas Glave. The descriptions of the Northern Bronx, City Island, and Pelham Manor really tugged on this chord that I usually find inharmonious amongst the symphony of people who live here. Being his reader made me feel really blessed at moments.
I just pulled a Mitch Hedburg and put a sweet potato in the toaster oven- knowing that after a shower and some writing I’d be hungry. This apartment has too much static electricity. I may go write at Slave to the Grind tomorrow- then off to a writing date with Emz.