'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

was just reading this Donald Hall piece in the New Yorker, & still thinking about Ignite last night

, & just trying to take general note, a little stunned-lazily, of where I am, here as darkness falls on a fall Friday.

The Donald Hall's a recollecty round-up of stuff about poetry readings, oddly moving in places.

Here's one of his poems:

Safe Sex

If he and she do not know each other, and feel confident
they will not meet again; if he avoids affectionate words;

if she has grown insensible skin under skin; if they desire
only the tribute of another’s cry; if they employ each other

as revenge on old lovers or families of entitlement and steel---
then there will be no betrayals, no letters returned unread,

no frenzy, no hurled words of permanent humiliation,
no trembling days, no vomit at midnight, no repeated

apparition of a body floating face-down at the pond’s edge

Read a piece earlier today about sober sex that you could say is not entirely unrelated.

Ignite had a few talks I really dug.  It's been a helluva week.  I feel so lost at times, trying to reconcile what must be irreconcilable emotions, as if reconciliation is what one is supposed to do with feeling; trying to accept how shit is, without a fight, for there is no fighting, or fighting is not what is called for, fighting is also just-plain-wrong, shit is how shit is, Christ Lisa this is what happens when you care isn't it.  You know, that kind of thing.  So it's good to have some solidly grounded stuff to come back to in spirit, like the closing talk last night, by Evelyn Hollenshead, a.k.a. Ruby Lawless of Tickled Fancy Burlesque.  Maybe I should get ahold of that fascinating treasure-trove "book" by Chris Ware that the comix guy was talking about.  Maybe I should get ahold of it soon, locally, if I can, and spend Sunday with it.

If they already had the videos up from last night, I'd be plunking Evelyn in here for you & me right now.

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