in terms of actually writing every morning. But I slid into this morning sideways for some reason. Maybe the obscene ambush of last night’s poetry reading bothered me more than I’d like to admit.
Maybe it was just too much on top of the memory work I’ve been doing. Too much on top of the ranting of the Beat poets, and a day’s worth of everyone needing to have a say on something so few can speak authentically to?
I finished the exquisite corpse poem rubric last night. A grid with 1024 possible poems: permutations of 4 dramatic elements and 5 stories.
Snap, crackle, pop: the sounds of the wasps. And now on to the poem of erasure.
No essay today. At least… not now.
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I need to know more about this poetry reading! Take care. R
It could have been so much fun. Just a few international writers of various ages and various schools. Via G.A.S. but a bit into the second round of readings the zoom was ambushed by a bunch of (I am assuming) incels. I left as soon as I figured out what was going on. Ironically, I had picked poems to read that were all about women’s bodies. (Not that anyone could have known that). I think only two of us left – the rest stayed around and I think Belinda cleared the intruders quickly – but I – eh – didn’t need the ick factor. I went and watched some stupid TV as a palate cleanser. The edited recording is on youtube though. I will watch it later.