Spring Poetry Tour, update #1

 

Last night, I read in Richmond as the rain poured outside with the essence of love-making, flooding the streets with cool natural air and cherry blossoms floating in these newborn streams.


One woman wrote my words on her legs and arms in permanent ink as I read aloud and the calligraphy smeared and splattered across the canvas of her skin as she tried to keep pace with my voice. I had to rouse my audience out of the dream space I had crafted for them when I finished. I sold dream catchers and mixtapes and people talked about how my writing style reminded them of their own painting process.


In DC I led an entire living room of strangers in howling at the mother moon. It happened spontaneously out of a reading of a short story titled, “howling at the moon in SF”. The second time that happened this tour. There was a collaboration between myself and a dancer and a bassist. Together we made the sun rise. A living room with a magical unicorn and an interpretive play, with 70 or 80 concert goers all squeezed in so tight some people stood outside and looked through the windows, even I felt like I was dreaming.


I find I’ve been very collaborative lately, more so perhaps than ever before. A woman told me of this film she’s been working on, a play that takes place inside her vagina and she asked me to be a part of it. She’ll use green screens and other effects to make a stage out of her sex for the performances to take place within. Imagine that…a unicorn playing trumpet in the entryway to the womb. I can’t make this stuff up. A friend gave two pieces of orgonite he made, one for my cellphone and one for my heart and I also got a piece of Egyptian Quartz. And now I’m driving to North Carolina listening to mountain music and feeling more awake, the greener it gets.

 

Spring Poetry Tour, update #1

Poetry Tour, end of September 2014

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So, I’ve started planning the first leg of my road trip out to California with Willow Zef and Andrew Galati. This is the Northern Exposure where we go from city to city until we finally reach the plains to roam and graze until our bellies are so full of poetry the zen lunacy reaches a new plateau of humbleness. Give me a shout if you live in one of these areas along the below map and would like to set up a poetry reading for us, host us, or just point out to us something that we have to see! Also if we’re coming through your town, definitely come out to one of the performances.

This is my first time driving cross-country going west (I’ve spent most of my life driving around the east and midwest) and it hopefully won’t be the last. Excited to see you all and to find that American Dream going Further! Here are the dates and places we will be passing through:

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9/21 Depart Philadelphia heading for Pittsburgh, PA
9/21-9/23 Hang in Pittsburgh and perform at the Autumnal Equinox Festival at the Bandi Shaum Community Garden
9/24 Columbus, Ohio
9/25 Oxford, Ohio or Cincinnati, Ohio
9/26-9/28 Indianapolis, IN to Chicago, IL
9/29 Milwaukee, WI
9/30 Minneapolis, MN or St. Paul, MN
10/1-10/3 camping in North Dakota
10-4-? ranching in Montana.

I’ll update the list as the tour solidifies.

 

Poetry Tour, end of September 2014

Poetry without Words

This girl asked me to write a poem, “without using words”.

I paused to look at my surroundings, recognizing that I was being put up to some Yoko Ono-like antics, a pretty high bar set in a field a bit outside of my normal practice.

My eventual poem involved a blank sheet of lined paper, and a lit smudge stick of sage. I made sure to hold the sheet of paper over the smoke catching all of its essence and I imagined the lines on the paper melting off as this page was erased of all its vibe. I handed the page to the girl and she put it to her nose telling me it smelled grand.

That was not enough though.

I told her sage is usually used in ritual to cleanse a space or object, blanking out its previous state of being leaving room for a new vibe to be added. In this case a blank page of paper was blanked out even further into nothingness and beyond.

Looking at the piece of paper I didn’t really know what that meant but holding it there in my hand it felt pretty deep.

Poetry without Words