Howdy again Agents (and Spies),
I done just went to that dang poetry reading I done told ya'll about. To refresh your memory, it was at Nature's Kitchen and featured Jackie McNamara, David Bell and...Jonah Bornstein. It was allright. Actually, I done quite enjoyed it. Anyway, it got me to thinking....See, I was the youngest person there. And I was the youngest person there by at least a few years me thinks. That's fine. I haven't bought in to the youth-obssessed American mall culture mindfuck yet. Aaaaaand, I know that the dang Siskiyou Golden County Golden Fair (or whatever) was/is happening. STILL, has poetry (at least in rural America, etc.) become the pastime of, er, "older" folks only? Me wonder. I know Siskiyou County is about as anti-intellectual a place as you're likely to find...ANYWHERE (and the protests from its inhabitants every time one says that is a sure-fire indication of such as statements accuracy), maybe I shouldn't judge the state of literary arts based on Yreka. Yeah, never mind, that's like trying to compare apples and....something that's nothing like an apple.
What else? Oh, to the C.O.T. Agents who have completed the reading assignment (The Man Who Was Thursday)...you good agents. You be rewarded in heaven or hell or lala land or wherever. You are also, now, on Felix's secret "top agent list (which practically guarantees you rights and privilidges lesser beings would likely prostitute their pets for in about....4 years).
OH, now I remember why I was talking about the dang poetry reading last night. My last poetry teacher, Daniel Anderson, told me once that writing is "something you do by yourself". I know he's right, but BULL-SHIT! Even though there were other people at the reading, I still felt alone. Especially when people filed out like lemmings as soon as the reading ended to go home and feed their cats or go to sleep or whatever lonely, intelligent people do. It was only, like, 9:00 for fuck's sake. Shouldn't we all drink whiskey and stagger down the streets drunk at twighlight quoting Byron poems and singing songs all arm in arm and gloriously tragicomically magnificent? No? Oh, that sucks.
One more thing my beloved revolutionary sweethearts...don't drive whilst listening to Mission of Burma's "Vs.". Especially if you listen to it over and over and over and over and over again. I have told as much to Loryn. Until later, your Cotton Eyed Joe, FElix.

¶ 9:53 AM   

Loryn said...
Now, I have yet to listen to Mission to Burma. Although, my dad and I used to have an inside joke about Burma. But over the years it sort of de-evolved into us justrandomly saying, "Burma" and twittering like two retarded birds. So whenever I hear the word "Burma" it is instantly funny. But I forgot why.

And as for your idea of being drunk and staggering through the streets reciting Byron- personally, I think it is a grand idea. I'll bring the gin.

;)  

Corinna AKA Corinna said...
There are creative, intelligent people in Siskiyou County, but sadly, they are indeed mostly older. There's actually a whole pocket of them (basically the Nature's Kitchen crowd) and I know a lot of them. Or rather, my parents do, because they're part of the crowd too (or at least my mom is). There's actually a lot of them, but, being older, they're more mellow and not all revolutionary and whatnot.

Meanwhile, how old is you?  

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