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Our love to admire.

What a great last weekend. Saying goodbye for a year is oddly uneventful -- how do you conceive of a year apart? I don't think it's possible. And, by now, goodbyes are so routine. We always worry that we will change, and change away from each other somehow, but in five years it has never happened yet.

Loads of poetry talk. It's easier to be motivated when we're together. The letter poems are the new Paris: '09, which is now just Paris: Eventually. Hopefully the poems don't go the same route. But I'm starting to think about the world in different terms now, and the biggest upside of Paris is Stephanie anyway.

I think if we can get the poems in some sort of presentable form, I may cash in all those hours spent lugging books and standing behind merch tables, making photocopies and tracking down obscure bird calls. Maybe one of the poets will have mercy and give us a little advice about what to do with them. Of everything I've done, I think I have the most faith in these poems. Having faith is dangerous though -- you can always get shot down.

Still, I know when I show them what we've done I'm going to get in trouble. For not taking myself and my work seriously. Which, as we discussed this weekend, seems to be the main problem in my life thus far. I don't want to take anything at all seriously -- least of all myself -- but everyone else seems to expect me to. The professors used to tell me, if you don't take your work seriously and present it as such, no one else will either. I don't really want people to take my poems seriously, though. Just enjoying them would be more than enough for me.

I don't want to think about making copies of things and holding onto drafts and writing serious bios and talking about myself as though I matter.

I have loads more to say, but we're up to the hospital for my grams's birthday tonight. Then hopefully my visa will arrive, booking a flight....

My correspondence may be a little lapsed the next few days. Forgive and forget, please, my dear ones. I'll get it together eventually. Sorry for the rushed, haphazard posting.

P.S. -- I finally bought Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential on Friday and my life automatically got better. Just as the G Man found a spare copy to shoot my way, as well. Sometimes you're just twice blessed. Posted by I'm no Picasso at 06:35 Labels: Home, Poetry cherry garcia said...

a big fucking 'guh'

and you know..life failures.

why the hell can't i find your old mail. i'm very pissed off about this one.

paris. baguettes. bad sex. coffee and wine.

eventually, indeed.

love. x I'm no Picasso said...

I am too. Letter poems lost forever.

I'd be happy with just the baguettes, coffee and wine. But bad sex usually makes for good conversation. 
yes, of course. duh.

also, pastries. MikejGrey said...

How awesome is kitchen confidential? 
I'm trying really hard not to read it, thinking of that nasty 20+ hour flight we've got ahead. But. I am peeking a little. It's gonna be good -- I can tell.

Do you have it yet? You should get The Nasty Bits and then we can trade after the first ten hours.... 
I don't have it, but I need it.

What are the chances you think that we can hang out with Anthony Bourdain for an afternoon? 
I dunno. It makes me sad that he's not our friend. He loves Southeast Asia so maybe if we go there next.... Other places INP is: