Walked around with a cane for the last half of my day. After of being on the go for 10 hours or so, the knee started to get really stiff. I went to the reading, gimping it up with a cane. I hated it. . .the slow methodical march, the thump-drag-thump, you could hear me before I got to you: not fun.
Keith read really well tonight. I am blown away by the fact that he's only 19. Lots of presence. Impressive.
They actually applauded the fact that I "made it there." F*&king sad. . . like I've said before, at least I don't embaress easily. . .
I kind of watched tonight's gathering disapate, people formed their little groups, commenting on the night. I got all awkward and just left everyone. Sometimes I do shit like that--I think tonight I just felt stupid standing around with a cane. I think I'm just bummed out a little. . . overtired from a long day at work, disappointed in my performance tonight (two brand new untested poems to a very quiet room=golf clap politeness--ARGH!!), and just. . . somedays you wake up with ghost pains. . .
My apartment felt more empty than normal tonight, actually everywhere I walked, it like I was dragging a black hole behind me. When I stopped, the void would wave and motion through me, push past and coat the corner of the room I happened to be standing in--gross detatchment. I guess you have days like that--probably being all gimpy doesn't help the mindset either. And it's not a helpless feeling, it's just an empty one. . . tonight I felt as hollow as the cane that announced my arrival over hardwood floors. . .
Maybe this is the mindset I need to finally set the running order of manuscript. Talk about state dependent memory. . .
more later
night soundtrack: roxy music avalon; jesse malin the heat; bill evens waltz for derby; ryan adams love is hell; wilco summer teeth; nico the marble index
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