Whupped

I am a less seasoned communicator (aka schmoozer) than I would like to be. It's one reason I write so much, publish so little. On the other hand, I haven't yet built my Watts Towers, or written my Ark.

I think in my hypothetical "li'l list o'fixations," the lead item is that I am predisposed to think I am being misunderstood by everyone. I leave many a conversation thinking I didn't really get my point across, when it seemed so simple to begin with.

Then again, this 'tude may simply be my pretext for wheedling. To wheedle is, pace Woody, to do unto others as you'd loathe they do unto you. Wheedle is power, backassward.

Item: I am not going to Boston this weekend to read for eight minutes in a 90-person poetry lineup called a "Tea Party". I do want to go to Boston, because I love Boston. The Charles River is great. I love the crowds, I love the fact that I once bought a cassette tape in Boston called "Dilka Doctor" and forced Mike Basinski, Eileen and Theresa to listen to it on the car ride all the way from Boston to Buffalo. I kept singing "Dildo Doctor" during the title track, and Mike kept playing rare & hallucinogenic Jimi Hendrix spoken-word pieces. (We went to Boston for William Howe III's SoundVision/VisionSound III art show, where, at one point, we all stole John Bennett's too big pants, and Chris Fritton made a huge mess of things he shot at us with rubber bands).

Okay, if anyone who reads this has a car, and wants to pick me up in Brooklyn, then drive to Boston tonight (Thurs.) or tomorrow (friday) and find a Co-op house or Hostel or otherwise free crash pad, then hang out at some place called "Outpost 186" on Saturday, then call me ASAP. That's the sitch. Otherwise, my Boston trip is too much for me to do in a very full midsummer weekend, which includes writing the most difficult essay I've ever attempted.

Nonetheless, the Boston Poets Tea Party readings will be amazing. I'm certain of it. The lineup is stellar. And I am sad I won't be able to go (unless miracles take place). I envisioned my 8 minutes to be a reading from To Becoming Normal. So, if you'd like, go look at my February postings and read that poem for 8 minutes. Start at any point.

lots.

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