During my last leg of New York City I filled a book with a somewhat experimental super long prose-y like poem. After I completed the cover to cover task. I tossed it aside and said, “One day I must read that…”
This is what I’ve been spending my day doing. Reading the piece, typing it out. Shaking my head a bit. And occasionally murmuring, “I remember how that felt…”
Some of my favorite lines I’ve come across so far include:
The spark of my green eyes igniting a forest.
A place where space spun time in triangles.
Gracious for your kick my heart began to tick.
The first three spoken word clips that I did are segments of the one piece being read. I still haven’t finished typing it out. It’s got to be around 5,000 words, at least…
Sometimes when I write things it takes a few months before I’m ready to read them. Playing back pieces of life can be quite daunting.
That’s one of those things that comes with the territory of being a Writer I suppose, it becomes tricky to forget things. Considering that to process those “things” you paint them in words.
Still, reading every line brought me right back to New York City. I sat in the west village wine bar where a lot of the work was composed. I made eye contact with different pieces of the prose’s inspiration. I was back in Queens – sitting on rocks in the river. Thinking about what leads me around. And in a mere two weeks… I’m off to do it all again.
Blank pages in tow…