.
I want to take a long trip.
Somewhere distant. With a lot of sand. Most likely a desert. Somewhere where I can be with my racing thoughts. This is why I spend so much time alone in my room. But every once in awhile my brother drags me out of this solitary comfort and into the light of day. Good thing he chooses that we leave a night. Night covers my vision of everything around me, makes them less distinct, more vague.
He took me to the concert and party for a CD release for a friend at the Bowery Poetry Club. Our friend put on a great show but I couldn't sit around so many people for long. I got up from my seat and headed to the edge of the distant bar near the front door. Then after the show I headed outside for some fresh air and some distance between myself and another human being. Sitting in groups like that only winds me up and makes it impossible to do again for some time.
We then went to a nearby bar and started the JUDGMENT DAY POETRY AND PUB CRAWL. This was good, because the reading was done on the sidewalk in front of the bar or pub, and then after all of the poets read we went into the bar for a few drinks. This too was good because with each bar stop I could have another drink to cut the 'edge' off of being around so many people. This has been a coping device that I try to avoid but life tends to thrust you into situations that warrant it.
I need coping mechanisms to survive as a normal person in New York. I can either self medicate myself, using alcohol, or let my psychiatrist medicate me using ADIVAN. Take your choice hobo. I chose jumping between the both of them as needed. Tonight I needed the booze, so I bought a portable just to carry, and had a beer at each of the bars until I ran out of cash. From there I read my poetry to the New York public and I got requests for my book that I was reading from and commendation for my work. It was a satisfying feeling, especially when the alcohol kicked in full throttle.
My stomach started to hurt before I even left my room, feeling like someone stabbed me in the belly with a knife. I wanted it to be simply gas, but no matter what I did I could not pass any. I went through the entire night miserable. Even the hooch couldn't dull the pain. I came home shortly and crashed in my bed. The walking, standing, reading, and the enduring of pain, really knocking the wind out of my sails.
Further, on the pub crawl, we picked up stragglers, poetry writers who wanted an audience to perform to. They would join the pub crawl for a block or two and then vanish after reading a few poems, except for Calvin and Fred. Two guys who joined the group. Calvin read, while Fred seemed to like to play the audience. Over the course of the evening I gave Calvin my email address so that he could stay in touch and read my blog. I'm always sending people to it. I don't know, maybe I'm my own PR agency.
With the poetry pub crawl behind me, I climbed into bed and sleep quickly gathered me up in her loving arms and settled me down to another bizzarro dream that I find almost real at the time. I don't remember it now, but it had something to do with tearing down airplanes and walking animals that looked like bulls, but instead of bull faces there was just this single hole in its face. A huge, wide one lined with row upon row of teeth like that of a shark.
I have vivid dreams. I've always told you that.
Hobobob
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