I open my eyes.
A new day. A glorious day. I am alive, and I had a great dream. I am feeling pretty good. I rise and take a shower. I sit on the Internet, writing emails and IMing,and then I Skype OBSIDIAN. Is he going to PERCH tonight for the poetry reading? He doesn't answer his phone. So I wait and call again an hour later. I watch my favorite program, 24. Yeah, Twenty Four, a great series, with Jack Bauer fighting terrorists bringing nuclear weapons into New York for sale to some Middle Eastern country extremists. Good show.
I call my brother back and leave another message. I'm back online, and he pops up on IM. He's going to Perch and he's going to pay for me to go and enjoy myself. I hop up and get dressed and head to the Way, which is running pathetically downtown and into Brooklyn. Park Slope section. It was cold, but the so called snow storm had not yet arrived. Brooklyn was beautiful, as I remembered it to be. I walk to Perch and find D2theL there, with Puma, JT, Brant, Evie, and the belle of the ball, Jane.
Jane. Small, dark haired, sexy, curvy, mature, Brittish accent. Dressed in denim and a skull pullover shirt and jacket. She reads, and there is a collective sigh. She is a siren, a sexy star, men are swooning....funny, I'm not. I find her an average women, which is pretty sexy to me. She does not float my boat, does not give me a hard on. I am not moved to fuck her, which is the first thing I find in a woman, before anything else. But she is a good poet.
I watch her intently, then I listen to the rest, and finally read one. It is a good one. One from my Whisper Poems collection. Very close to the vest, very heartfelt. They cut deep. I share only one. I am finished. I sit my ass down. OBSIDIAN buys me beers and I drink up, feeling good in no time. I am happy. I am out of the room, and doing something, anything. I am looking around at faces, and people, and I an reconnecting with my life.
When the reading is over we mill and talk and I find it hard to be sociable. I talk and we surround Jane and put her on the hot seat. She knows she's the center of attention. How is that for a woman? To know that there are a number of throbbing cocks surrounding you that want to find any orifice they can find to penetrate. What does a woman do? Think? Act? Is she planning to fuck? What's on her mind?
Later I find Jane to be married. Sorry for the guys that were interested. It wasn't me. I just found her interesting in a poet-like way. Everyone says goodnight and heads home. Tomorrow is a new work day. Everyone soon leaves OBSIDIAN and myself alone in Perch. Their bar is nice, but OBSIDIAN finds it expensive. He wants to go find a local bar for drinks if I'm game. Sure, why not?
Outside, the snow is falling hard and heavy. We walk up the street. The snow is not sticking, and we find a bar two blocks away. A typical Irish pub that is warm and inviting. The bartender is an old, unappealing woman, who is very sweet. My brother and I play the jukebox and drink boilermakers, and just talk. We talk and talk, until the wee hours. Around three o'clock in the morning, the bar starts to close so we call it night and head out into the snow. It still is not sticking, which is good. We head to the Way and hop the trains all the way to 96th street and OBSIDIAN walks me to the building. The snow is still falling heavy and yet, can only dust the concrete. This is great. We split up. I head upstairs, OBSIDIAN heads back to Brooklyn. I make it home, still somewhat inebriated. I sit on my bed, the walls no longer closing in, and fall asleep.
There are no trees in this dream.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2010/02/ruggedly-unfriendly.html
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