inter*A*P*P*L*A*U*S*Erupted

my reading went well last night. that goes without saying, but i realized this morning, they all go well and i understand this. it is what i do. who i am. how i sound in this life.

i decided to go with an homage to my dark angel. i read the three poems i probably should never read in public, but i knew if there was a place and a time, this was the place and this the time. we are here to take creative risks. these are new poems, relatively untested, but they dogged me all day and i couldn't get around them. how much i genuinely like them.

i opened with my serial killer poem because my muse mentioned it in a sense in the second poem. this poem was well recieved and met with much laughter. i know, my dark humor.

which reminds me, my girl has my same sense of the funny. she made a social faux pas and it occurred to me later that night after i was stumped by her behavior, i would have thought that was funny if it wasn't my kid, but me. it is something i would have done. but she did it. and it was not well recieved. i guess that is the liability of youth. the untested waters. i called her late that night and said,

you have my sense of humor.

yes.

it is funny what you said, but the person didn't receive it that way.

i know.

i'm sorry.

because i understand she is my child. the product of my tutelage. be horrified. she is also her own person, so her own dark humor has developed, and while i wish she liked to be funny in more familiar ways, or perhaps--never quote me on this--more acceptable ways, i remember having that same sense of humor as a young person. the macabre just struck me as hilarious. what can you do.

i was alone a lot. let's put it that way. particularly after i got into high school. i had three or four friends, that was it. i didn't want any more, didn't care about anyone, i guess because i'm sitting in a school setting and thinking about my own child, these things are coming up. damn.

poor girl, just like me.

so, i'm reading the second poem, i own the room. they are with me and i'm in the moment. these are the moments i live for. and when i finish that second poem, applause breaks out and i am standing there. unable to read because the room is roaring with applause.

we had only three minutes to read, and it was going by very fast, so i ran my finger across my throat, looked at the moderater and asked if i could read another and said to the crowd,

my three minutes is passing.

they settled down and i broke into my poem prehensile toes.

the poem is gripping in that it is very sexual. erotic. when i got to the end, the crowd still with me all the way, applause again broke out.

i waved in the air and walked to my seat at the back of the room and mowhawk who was sitting next to me mouthed something, but i couldn't hear because the room was lit up with applause.

so i wrote him a note,

what did you say?

that was amazing!

and i laughed, smiled, and closed my eyes to concentrate on the next reader.

i slipped out of the room without talking to anyone after the reading, didn't see any writers until my roommate appeared in our room.

i called my dark muse while i was still tingling with excitement.

there is nothing like being recieved. finding your audience. making your sound. i hope you get to exprience this. and not just once.