January 27th, 2011
I was up at 4:30 am. I feel like a drunk crazy person. I should go to bed now. I am wearing all black and an orange scarf. I don’t know why I am still awake. Last night Eric had so much to drink and still was so wide awake and wild on stage and like a crazy man read all his poems about the girls and whiskey and straws and was so crisp and I thought, no, if I were reading it would sound sad and strange like the moon milked itself out into ink and sweat onto the seats of cars in the parking lot and then Eric was worried that it wasn’t okay, but it was. Regie was glorious, he walks with kings, and he knows it. I wish I could have heard him again tonight but I was at a board meeting for ACF where we planned our music world and I was so tired, so was Jim, we wanted wine at the board meeting. All day teaching and feeling thrashed, the whole edge of the world mixed and mashed over. I kept making mistakes and getting angry at myself.
There used to be maps of the world that tipped and you knew that the edge slipped and over the edge were some special words. “Here there be monsters.” That’s where I go when I am tired. Everything someone says to me makes me think of monsters.
Monsters in the closet, in the cave, under the bed and definitely at the edge of the world and now I am going to bed and hopefully no monsters in my dreams.
Next week—AWP in DC—it will be one long literary party…sounds dangerous. Like a hair dryer in the bathtub or too many poets with too much Ketel One.
I will let you know the details and this time I am posting pictures on the blog. Inquiring minds want to know. Right now I am falling off the edge into the land of monsters, before I eviscerate myself.