amusements

i am bored out of my mind at this residency. partly because i'm just reading and talking craft all day. that gets old. for everyone.

secondly because what really matters, soul, duende, has hardly been touched. i know i'm too touchy feely (and the sun just decided to white out my computer screen), but it's not just about how a poem looks on a page. the craft as it is called. bullshit, i call it.

one poet i've just met summed it up for me this way,

you really care about craft, you craft your poems. you don't care about nitpicking

.

right, and nitpicking is usually desgised (i don't even know how to spell anymore), as craft.

i'm changing the tone of this residency from today on. i will risk more. i already wrote a poem for someone who moved me. i don't know how it is received, i just did it. it was an homage. something i had to do.

but i'm not living life in a way that resembles anything like the way i want to live my life, it's just not possible. i'm turning up for classes with a bad attitude, and just suffering through it. i don't know how to find my inner pollyanna. i think she died. she just gave up and left a sign hanging on the back of her chair, went to look for happier lands or something.

i want to see people i love, though i know i will come to love these people. i just hate the awkwardness of not loving yet. does this make sense, that meaningless middle ground of getting to know people. blegh.

here, it's in my face every day and i'm pretty lost in it.

but i've found one guy who disappears every day, this is his last residency, who is like a giant ball of yarn which i bat back and forth between my claws. this amuses me. only, i don't get to do it too often. and that wicked girl makes me smile.

last night i asked the guy who has sat in front of me the past three nights' readings to sit there again so i can look at him. his body is finely sculpted, shall we say. he's a jock, admittedly, we covered that ground at the bar. and i have to spend the next four residencies with him. so that is not something to play with, but my poet friend laughed and said,

suzanne!

what? men are objects of women's interest.

they are objects of my interest, let's put it that way. and i need muse. besides the one i've got. the many muses, sadly, this is what my work is about, the people who turn me on.

so i wrote a poem for a hot lesbian. what can i say, she's hot.

gotsta run. again, i'm bored.