Last night I went to the Spacement, ‘s reading in the heart of Worcester, MA. It’s on Harding Street, and it’s kinda crazy to find, because if you get on Harding Street too early, you’re almost doomed not to find it. But I did find it eventually, and it’s a pretty damn cool venue — down in the basement, it’s the performance space of an artist-and-activist collective that runs the local Food Not Bombs program, and runs a series of lectures and performances. They’ve got a little library down there with theater works, political manifestoes, art theory and other stuff, and the space they have is dim without being dark. The people are pretty cool too.
was the feature. He was worried about his set before, during, and after (what poet isn’t?) but he delived a terrific set. Radioactive Artist, which I’d never heard before, left me with goosebumps. He did four by request, and one knowing it would be requested: Radioactive Artist, D.I.Y, Punk, and As Slow as Possible, four of my favorites from the repetoire. He also did the ‘political/truth’ piece about needing to own your shit in order to change it. I think that’s my new favorite TB piece, but I still didn’t catch the title. I want that one, Tony. I wants it, my precious.
Reminded that she’d wanted me to do a feature at the Spacement; so I’ll be there on June 22. I almost have The Heron memorized, and maybe I’ll have a few more done by then. I’m really working on it this next week. We’ll see how it goes.
I’m trying to write three new pieces — one on Helios and Phaethon, and one on sir Percival from Arthurian mythology. The Arthurian bit is a stretch for me, I haven’t written from that cycle at all. The Helios piece is falling flat, too, and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s only that I’ve written so many Greek myths at this point that they bore me. The third piece is stil under wraps, because I’m not sure where it’s going yet.
Went to put wash in the dryer yesterday, and discovered a very large amount of ruined, ink-stained paper. I’ve been writing a haiku daily since January, and putting it in one of these little Moleskine notebooks that are so very useful and handy. Gone. The thing went through the wash in one of the pockets of my jeans. I jingled the pants for change, but didn’t think to really check the pockets. Five months of work, ruined. I’m trying to be philosophical about it, but frankly it’s hard. I really would like to perform Book of Days again sometime with Ted and Bob. I should have talked to them about doing it again somewhere, last night.