I found myself at a reading for some grad students non-fiction/poetry finals. Im not a student myself.
I dropped out of undergrad for the third time last august and moved to pittsburgh. I’m not sure why.. I tell people it was to get away, to get a fresh start, to spend some time with my brother out here… whatever who cares.. stop asking me about my boring life. Dont! ask me what i do. “I do nothing..”
“Whaaa? that cant be true!” I usually respond that i work at a shitty lower class job making sandwiches for people or if more info is needed… “I want to be a visual artist” but thats such a empty statement.. and the soon to be neuro-biologist or violinist or social-science major see this and look at me with pity.. Whatever.. thankfully most social situations these days are a bi-product of my attempts to get fucked up..
It was early December. We were late to the reading and did the awkward ‘oh shit only the front seats are left’ dance. I had those damned winter sniffles all through the first half of students accounts of mushroom hunting, deer hunting, or how to shit outdoors. I guess one of the classes must have been on how to romanticize your childhood outdoor memories of the time spent with your father. The poetry was good from what i comprehended. I found myself easily losing track of the imagery and story the writers were going for and just letting myself go to the sounds of someone reading to a crowded quite room with that one asshole and wouldn’t just blow his nose already.. thankfully there was a quick a intermission for us smokers and urinaters.
i made sure to blow my nose after my smig and sat myself down for the second half.
He read five short poems. The first couple were good, but soon i was lost again in sounds of speech. She spoke of a sweat-lodge. It helped warm my skin and bones body which had lost most of its heat reservoir from the trip outside. Soon the professor crossed the last students name off her list and the reading was over.
And before anyone, including myself, could react and shift to getting-the-hell-out-of-there mode, I did something…
—–
Being in the front row it was two quick strides to the podium “I would like to read something if you don’t mind”. I proceeded to unfold imaginary sheets of paper like id seen the actual writers do and prepped for my reading
“I wish i knew words..
but more than anything in the world i wish i knew how to sing..
I think i would be a much happier person..
If i did know words and how to write them i would say this…
—–
“Days away and worlds apart
we the sheeple
brush shoulders
to stir sleepwalking hearts”
—–
…only better
..Thankyou”
You’ll get there. I know that much.