on one of my last full nights in the US, after a long day involving 6 1/2 hrs at a free clinic (i now have something of a sister of a vericose vein and a brother of a hemoroid on my anus) and finding a new potential buyer, then selling my car, i strolled to a roger's park neighborhood establishment where i'd heard rumor of an open mic night. i'd been to this place before, like its eclecticism. trendy in a "we do it our way" way. i was early. i knew not prior what time the open mic started, and being often on coffee shop time, 9 pm made sense to stroll in after it had got rolling. un huh. nothing started going til about 10 pm.
i had myself a glass of absinthe - it was 1/2 off night, and i was 1/2 on an empty stage in my mind. nastiest moonshine wannabe liquor i've ever imbibed, and i have done shooters of everclear. i'd do it again, but only if it's of the type that isn't legal in the US.
i walked away after that, had some quiet time on the beach lakefront. watched fireworks being shot off over the darkened chicago horizon. walked slowly barefoot through the welcoming sand for what would be the last time, likely, in this calendar year. and then i made my way back to the Heartland Cafe.
the sign up list was long. i decided against performing, as i had a 100 other things i could do. then i said fuck it - that voice could be a stage fright fear of performing, especially an original work of art. i've held a mic in my hand plenty as of late and feel downright comfy as an unpaid MC, but mostly i've been speaking and singing other people's words and songs - that would not be the case this evening. so i stayed. got a table nice and close to the stage, pulled out my journal, ordered a variation of a black n tan with a hoppy ale, and started writing while i waited and listened.
the performers were pretty cool. 1 monthly featured artist goes first - in this case, it was a very talented guitarist who'd served me up lots of coffee and conversation at a local starbucks. then the openness of the night began. poetry came early and pretty often. there was 1 magician whom performed and 1 that wouldn't do more than see the stage this night. a couple comedians, or so they wanna believe. a freestyle rap artist rocked it. one guy had music cued up and flipped a bunch of papers where he'd wrote various words, ala bob dylan and INXS. and there was the sign language guy. he started off by signing other people's acts in the crowd. then he was welcomed to perform other people's acts from in the crowd. 1 young female comedian pulled him near the stage and very much incorporated him into her act, allowing me to haven seen what passes for the sign for "abortion" possibly more than any other word, ever, until the next act, when the signer and his mate did a choreographed routine to "total eclipse of the heart," without the old school added swearing.
early on, i'd planned the few words i'd say before i got into my reading - that i'd recently bought a one-way ticket for Latin America, and i was off shortly. that i hadn't written in this particular journal for quite some time, but today i had brought it out because i wanted to write on some slightly nice paper, and a 15 page letter resulted. that i sold my car mere hours ago and found myself more landlocked and thus more apt to make an informed decision of what i wanted to do with my evening, rather than just pop in a car and end up somewhere. that just after swigging a celebratory car selling/buying glass of Arrogant Bastard, i had opened up this journal, knowing that if i was to perform in this evening's open mic, the words i wanted were in here. after a short bit, i found them - 2 pages of words, a poem if you will, written almost exactly a year prior, as i sat on the sand adjoining Yellowstone Lake and took in the great expanse of water and nature and the near-sighted view of some driftwood, 1 piece in particular. this is what came out of me then, and this is what made sense to read tonight as i prepared to bon voyage into a world very much of my creating:
Black and Tan sand
As titillating to the soul as
The blimey drink is to the tongue
Driftwood resting on the shore welcomes me home
If I'm here, I'm home
I don't need to hear the
One foot waves crashing in on
5 second or so intervals
To know I'm home
In time this still, fallen tree
may find home as a $10,000 coffee table
Maybe I'll rest my scarred legs on this
weathered hump's rump
Perchance it fetches a
hefty asking price at
auction and learns to
share confined space
with a stiff upper lip
'Course, this wood now rests
on protected land - sanctuary;
even supposed sanctuary from
morphing into the microscopic minerals post flames
of a regenerating pit fire
Barring an inland tidal backslide
This driftwood has every chance
to wither and wear from a wind and
water double whammy
until a human, unborn now,
walks this same shoreline and
instead of high-stepping or side-stepping
this natural relic, they walk
through its rotted frame, returning
its aged body to the 4 elements.
When i entered into a pact with my gypsy soul
to fulfill my dreams
old 'n new
they became sanctified;
protected from practiced and perfected fear,
protected from bullshit,
from being forgotten or buried or chained,
lost, stolen, neglected or
dried up from deferment.
Taking a load off in this
transcendental homestead -
at peace with the broken promises
of the world and those in it
because i freed myself to follow my bliss.
In a moment i will arise, walk barefoot
through the warm comforting sand
up a hill, and through the infinite places i will
label as home
i did not speak these words that evening, but not for giving up - i was there until the last performer who took the stage somewhere around 1 am. cheers - the internet is a larger audience, anyhow. still, it was exciting to see people perform, to see some creativity at work, and mostly, to see the anticipation and joy of people's that were mainly sitting around for hr upon hr so that they may be heard in a light of their making, for about 5 minutes. i was 1 of them that night, in every way except the actual performance. and i probably will be again. in panama, perhaps, where i hear living is dirt cheap and life is what you make it...
i had myself a glass of absinthe - it was 1/2 off night, and i was 1/2 on an empty stage in my mind. nastiest moonshine wannabe liquor i've ever imbibed, and i have done shooters of everclear. i'd do it again, but only if it's of the type that isn't legal in the US.
i walked away after that, had some quiet time on the beach lakefront. watched fireworks being shot off over the darkened chicago horizon. walked slowly barefoot through the welcoming sand for what would be the last time, likely, in this calendar year. and then i made my way back to the Heartland Cafe.
the sign up list was long. i decided against performing, as i had a 100 other things i could do. then i said fuck it - that voice could be a stage fright fear of performing, especially an original work of art. i've held a mic in my hand plenty as of late and feel downright comfy as an unpaid MC, but mostly i've been speaking and singing other people's words and songs - that would not be the case this evening. so i stayed. got a table nice and close to the stage, pulled out my journal, ordered a variation of a black n tan with a hoppy ale, and started writing while i waited and listened.
the performers were pretty cool. 1 monthly featured artist goes first - in this case, it was a very talented guitarist who'd served me up lots of coffee and conversation at a local starbucks. then the openness of the night began. poetry came early and pretty often. there was 1 magician whom performed and 1 that wouldn't do more than see the stage this night. a couple comedians, or so they wanna believe. a freestyle rap artist rocked it. one guy had music cued up and flipped a bunch of papers where he'd wrote various words, ala bob dylan and INXS. and there was the sign language guy. he started off by signing other people's acts in the crowd. then he was welcomed to perform other people's acts from in the crowd. 1 young female comedian pulled him near the stage and very much incorporated him into her act, allowing me to haven seen what passes for the sign for "abortion" possibly more than any other word, ever, until the next act, when the signer and his mate did a choreographed routine to "total eclipse of the heart," without the old school added swearing.
early on, i'd planned the few words i'd say before i got into my reading - that i'd recently bought a one-way ticket for Latin America, and i was off shortly. that i hadn't written in this particular journal for quite some time, but today i had brought it out because i wanted to write on some slightly nice paper, and a 15 page letter resulted. that i sold my car mere hours ago and found myself more landlocked and thus more apt to make an informed decision of what i wanted to do with my evening, rather than just pop in a car and end up somewhere. that just after swigging a celebratory car selling/buying glass of Arrogant Bastard, i had opened up this journal, knowing that if i was to perform in this evening's open mic, the words i wanted were in here. after a short bit, i found them - 2 pages of words, a poem if you will, written almost exactly a year prior, as i sat on the sand adjoining Yellowstone Lake and took in the great expanse of water and nature and the near-sighted view of some driftwood, 1 piece in particular. this is what came out of me then, and this is what made sense to read tonight as i prepared to bon voyage into a world very much of my creating:
Black and Tan sand
As titillating to the soul as
The blimey drink is to the tongue
Driftwood resting on the shore welcomes me home
If I'm here, I'm home
I don't need to hear the
One foot waves crashing in on
5 second or so intervals
To know I'm home
In time this still, fallen tree
may find home as a $10,000 coffee table
Maybe I'll rest my scarred legs on this
weathered hump's rump
Perchance it fetches a
hefty asking price at
auction and learns to
share confined space
with a stiff upper lip
'Course, this wood now rests
on protected land - sanctuary;
even supposed sanctuary from
morphing into the microscopic minerals post flames
of a regenerating pit fire
Barring an inland tidal backslide
This driftwood has every chance
to wither and wear from a wind and
water double whammy
until a human, unborn now,
walks this same shoreline and
instead of high-stepping or side-stepping
this natural relic, they walk
through its rotted frame, returning
its aged body to the 4 elements.
When i entered into a pact with my gypsy soul
to fulfill my dreams
old 'n new
they became sanctified;
protected from practiced and perfected fear,
protected from bullshit,
from being forgotten or buried or chained,
lost, stolen, neglected or
dried up from deferment.
Taking a load off in this
transcendental homestead -
at peace with the broken promises
of the world and those in it
because i freed myself to follow my bliss.
In a moment i will arise, walk barefoot
through the warm comforting sand
up a hill, and through the infinite places i will
label as home
i did not speak these words that evening, but not for giving up - i was there until the last performer who took the stage somewhere around 1 am. cheers - the internet is a larger audience, anyhow. still, it was exciting to see people perform, to see some creativity at work, and mostly, to see the anticipation and joy of people's that were mainly sitting around for hr upon hr so that they may be heard in a light of their making, for about 5 minutes. i was 1 of them that night, in every way except the actual performance. and i probably will be again. in panama, perhaps, where i hear living is dirt cheap and life is what you make it...
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