This Has To Be

I couldn't get up again.

But when I did, I was a whirlwind. I got online, got coffee, got dressed, got it done. Today was a big day. A tight day. We had to open up the SHOUT OUT on time and get IT done quick since we had to abbreviate our show. I had to be there early, so I gave myself an hour to get to the spot.

The trains were flawless. The first time that I've ever experi- enced that shit. The trains were prompt and fast, getting me to OTTO's SHRUNKEN HEAD, TEN minutes to Four. Several poets were hanging around the front door, which was locked. Fucking interesting. I waited. OBSIDIAN arrived shortly and he too tried the door. We all waited as the crowd at door grew from four to six people. Plowing through this crowd at Four O'clock was Cyndi Lauper who opened the front door and let us in.

I and the poets poured into the atrium bar area. Walking towards the back of the establish- ment where the stage area is, I found the folding doors before it closed and behind it a band was hard at work playing. Cyndi Lauper runs ahead of me and through the folding doors for a moment only to return, hooking a thumb behind her, over her shoulder. "They'll be out in ten minutes." Ten Minutes!! We're supposed to be starting in ten minutes. I didn't say this though, I walked to the front of the establishment where OBSIDIAN was. People were pouring in though the front door. "What'd she say?" OBSIDIAN ASKS. Ten minutes dude. "WHAT? We're supposed to be going on at Four." I hunch my shoulders.

Three people, a short woman and two tall men introduced themselves to us. We shook hands. They were new to the area and this was their first time in Otto's. Here's an interesting aside: when the handshakes went around, OBSIDIAN introduced himself first. When I introduced my self and shook the woman's hand, she suddenly perked up, as if my hand transmitted a shock to her body. "OH, You're Hobobob! I've heard about you!!" I was stunned. I hope it was good news. I'm notorious since that radio show.

Well, going on with this story: OBSIDIAN wigs out. We are already late. It was moving to eight after Four and we had to set up the stage area and the poets were milling about in the bar area asking when was the poetry reading supposed to start. My brother stomps through the growing crowd and through the folding doors. I follow in behind him as moral support, and a damn near army of poets were behind me.

What we entered into were a group of young people, playing Guitar Hero on their Playstation 3. They even had the plastic guitars and drumset that goes with the game. What the fuck?? They weren't a band. They were kids playing around. We walked through them, setting up the stage and giving the poets room to come in and take their seats. The newer, visiting poets were asking if the kids were part of the show. I went out to the bar area to get the microphones and cables to wire up the stage, while OBSIDIAN stood there, fuming. "I don't mind taking it up the ass, but at least give me some lube," he grumbles. "What the fuck is this? We're supposed to be starting now!" I scratch my head. "I know when I'm being fucked!" he says, and then plows through the folding doors, waving his hands in the air. "ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT collect your gear. The show has to start. We're starting the poetry reading now."

Unbelievably, the kids pack up their shit, smoothly disappearing. "Nice having you, but we have to start the show." OBSIDIAN says to the kids from the stage. "I'm one of the owners," one of the kids turned into a short woman before our eyes. "You have a show here?" "Yes,"OBSIDIAN says. "I'm sorry but we have to start, I have people from out of town coming in wondering what's going on with our show." The rest of the kids evaporated from the back area leaving the woman and OBSIDIAN to talk amongst themselves. I mind my business and set up the stage, break out the 'sign-up' sheet, and all the rest of the checks and switches that must be pulled prior to liftoff.

In minutes, we are ready. OBSIDIAN hops up and announces the show. We are off. We have reduced the time from five minutes to three minutes, OR one poem because... well you know it already, we have to leave early. The poets, amazingly comply. I look at the sign-up sheet. The first page was completely full. I look at the audience. It was packed seat to seat. We had a capacity crowd again. Word was indeed getting out about the show. Holy Fuck!!

We breezed through the show and finished twenty minutes before the cut off. We rocked and rolled the fuck up, gathered out shit like the kids earlier, and rolled out of there. It was an amazing show. Amazing. Our efforts to build an audience and reputation in the poetry circuit was starting to pay off.

OBSIDIAN and I left many of the poets still chatting inside the bar and went two doors down for our weekly fried chicken run. This was always our reward after a show. It's funny, to tell the truth, after the show, our reward was to go to the liquor store around the corner for two pints of something cheap. Now it's fried chicken. We just didn't even have a desire to go. Funny what a little time and age can do to you.

Both changes a man.

Hobobob