Party for the death of an era
We used to not be we at all, The group that meets at the North Star Cafe at the top of Congress street used to just be a lot of people reading and Nate. Nate would put out the list and I would sign up and wave sheepishly at him. Wil would walk in with a bag that contained a gatorade and he would sign up then drink the gatorade and sit waiting for Kelly. That was normal, Nate booked the features, maintained the website, organized events, acted in plays and the other people that helped only did so in such marginal fashion that I am not even going to give them detail. Great people, but not detail worthy.
This week we celebrated the death of the spirit of that normality. We can no longer afford a comfortable stability, we must move molecules until confusion gets us noticed. I thought that the great confusion would resolve itself after our team came back from the National Poetry Slam and placed....anywhere. It turns out that was only the beginning, now we have a group of people with the taste of more and better. Once a poet or a writer can see better or more from where he or she is a good one won't stop. A good one will hit an all out sprint to get there and that is what I underestimated.
Now we are all each other's keeper and that's serious, we're a beach that feels every grain of sand washed in and washed away keeping count. Every voice that comes through that microphone is ours for an instant and maybe more, if we do everything we can to embrace it. It's for me no longer about love, I love Nate or I love Wil or I love Sean. I am Port Veritas and will do whatever I can to help it, I know they are too and so we will pour buckets of "expendable" income into this to grow it.
It's a funeral for accepting just enough to keep it going, its a pact to send lightning into Frankenstein and wake up the neighbors. Not only will I help organize but i'll pound keys until I've got something fit for you, more and better then I ever was. Things will be changing in the next few weeks and we need whoever cares to care more and better.
This week we celebrated the death of the spirit of that normality. We can no longer afford a comfortable stability, we must move molecules until confusion gets us noticed. I thought that the great confusion would resolve itself after our team came back from the National Poetry Slam and placed....anywhere. It turns out that was only the beginning, now we have a group of people with the taste of more and better. Once a poet or a writer can see better or more from where he or she is a good one won't stop. A good one will hit an all out sprint to get there and that is what I underestimated.
Now we are all each other's keeper and that's serious, we're a beach that feels every grain of sand washed in and washed away keeping count. Every voice that comes through that microphone is ours for an instant and maybe more, if we do everything we can to embrace it. It's for me no longer about love, I love Nate or I love Wil or I love Sean. I am Port Veritas and will do whatever I can to help it, I know they are too and so we will pour buckets of "expendable" income into this to grow it.
It's a funeral for accepting just enough to keep it going, its a pact to send lightning into Frankenstein and wake up the neighbors. Not only will I help organize but i'll pound keys until I've got something fit for you, more and better then I ever was. Things will be changing in the next few weeks and we need whoever cares to care more and better.

1 Comments:
Hey Dan-o, drop me an email at mltrum@yahoo.com, thanks Mike
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