We hit up a local arts center and crashed poetry night. Grizzled old atheist Hemingway characters recited poems about death and sex in gravely voices. Younger ladies including some high schoolers read surprisingly enjoyable and angsty poems about characters, stories, and things they were dealing with.
pictured: Elaina, a talented local poet, who said, "I was worried my work would be too radical until the poem about old people fornicating." For that one, picture a your grandfather reciting, "I reached into her skirt, and felt for the leather wallet of her vagina," and "The back of her hand brushed against my trowsers and my shrivelled, scared penis."I played this old piano they had in the room. It was all very fun. What a great corner of America we tracked down. Seriously, let's all write poems and hit up some open poetry nights.
Also, here's Gene, our new basist. Don't ask me how we all fit in the van, I don't really get it myself, but I slept like a rock. He's on his way to Portland to try out for an honest to goodness successful band, and we're going to get him there at the rate of about negative ten miles an hour.
Rock and roll!
Particularly good group of ridiculous pictures you got there! Looks like so much fun.
ReplyDeleteGrizzly old poets man?
ReplyDeleteThey were pretty grizzled and, as Dave said, pretty graphic.
ReplyDeleteWell, since you made me do it, YOU picture your grandpa saying that. We have the same g-pa after all, so it's pretty equally disturbing.
ReplyDelete