Friday, July 30, 2010

the public self

Last night I went to the Whistlestop alone for V.A.M.P. I realized I know a hell of a lot of people. And a lot of people know me. People I don't know know me. The cool part is that a couple of strangers came up and asked if I was reading or to tell me they like my work. I also fielded a few questions about my private life, which was really weird. But interesting. I though about it for a long time when I got home. Much of what I write about is private, but I choose what I put out there. My poems are often very personal but I know how to blur enough of what I'm saying so that I don't feel like I'm airing my laundry or exposing anything I don't want to expose. And poetry allows a certain amount of creative license, I lie in my poems and no one will ever know, or care. I take liberties. And I love it. But in real life, not so much. As I left the bar a friend rode by on his bicycle and was appalled I was walking home alone so he walked me home. It was very sweet. I know a lot of great people.

I'm leaving for Squaw Valley in a week. I hope the sun in shining there. Today I am going through the hell that is bathing suit shopping. I have a high school reunion pool party this weekend, the Thespian Society kids. If 17 years ago you would have told us, all dressed in black and velvet, that we'd be reuniting at a pool party in the suburbs, we would have scoffed, tossed our capes and skulked off to write poems about stupid adults. Interestingly enough, a lot of us are still very involved in creative pursuits. We consecrated ourselves early to the art. I see it paying off.

I'm trying to write a poem to hold this line: hair never touched that was grown to be touched.

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