It is the season of dorks. Dork mecca. Dorkalicious city my city becomes for four days each year.
Today the Comic Con begins. Yay dorks invading my city! Yay people on storm trooper costumes dancing!! The Comic Con is sold out but. . .a little bird sent me a late night message that a pass has been secured for me. I really shouldn't go. I shouldn't be spending that kind of money. I really should stay home and work on some writing. But, I'm weak. And I heart dorks.
Yesterday I drove up to Orange to see Jeffrey McDaniel and Jack McCarthy read at The Ugly Mug. Excellent poets, both of them. Well worth the drive and the sleepy, singing loudly to myself drive home. They were features at the weekly open mic up there. I usually don't like open mics, I don't have the attention span to sit through them. But I was truly impressed with the quality of the readers last night.
I read my poem "Little Song for Dissatisfaction." Hadn't read it in months, or really even looked at it. I suppose it is a type of love poem, a little perverse. I started shaking when I read it. I don't know if I was nervous or if the poem pissed me off. I wrote most of the poem in a cafe in Paris. Cliche, I know. It was raining hard, a late summer storm and I sat under the awning with my journal and a cup of coffee. Cliche, I know. I wrote the meat of the poem in about an hour then spent months reshaping it. There are poems that are more honest. But it was born in a lovely place, at a lovely time. Even if it bothers me now, I have to honor it.
Siempre Me Quedera