Bizzy come een like a mascot at that boasie place!

Last night, Vicki and I went to Gelsinger's friend's art show cum poetry reading. It wasn't that bad, but Vicki and I were acting rude, kinda on purpose. (Sorry!)



Gels' friend Ian has his art shown at the Johnathan Shorr gallery; his art is really intricate, as if he was painstakingly recreating graph paper out of wood and gold foil. I liked it a lot.



Gels did some poetry about memories of the Carribbean. (I think?)



In a very sing-songy voice, he shared his Carribbean memories of salt folded into the sea like scent folded into a woman's body, NaCl, memories, the Carribean. I don't know, I just don't know.



I love Gels a lot, he's a great friend and he's super smart and talented, but last night, sitting there, I felt, well, ejaculated on; it was a self-centered, ostentatious, boasie kind of poetry jam, and I wasn' feeling it.

Vicki is crying, because to laugh would have been rude.






Then Damian (who's an amazing guy) read some of his "disposable" poetry from this awesome book he pressed himself. (Damian does his own pressings, and I really love his poetry-as-objects stuff. I'm a fan.)



His poems were quite good, and funny in his Damian-sort-of-way. However, I know that if I rose to Damian's challenge of mashing down his purported "disposable" poetry, his little object books, he would totally cry. So I didn't appreciate his pyaka. He was straight fronting. I didn't call his bluff, but I was tempted, and one more glass of wine and I might have really embarassed myself.

Robert Kochik, whom I've heard read before, and greatly admire, was there; it was good to see him, but after having sat through Gelsinger's song poetry with a (semi-) straight face, I couldn't pay attention to Kochik's reading. I guess this is an appology to Gels, if he's reading. I just couldn't sit through that stuff last night. I was like a total pinky; it was that bad.