I would feed on the laid back perceived intensity of the thing
sitting in the living room of a bunch of smart people
scribe amongst scribes. once again, I seem too intense for this place,
a whiskey fire breather in a tiny enclosed universe of easy to find mid
-grade weed. but then that is welcome. and, that is welcome
and maybe we welcome each other tersely yet intensely,
suspiciously yet ultimately trusting with the truest arms open
into these universes all of which seem all ultimately alien no matter
what perspective you view it from, it is as such. I wait on the couch
with the couch waiters, curious yet self-absorbed, and this speaks to me,
intense and alien as I may be, we bring each other out. this is the story
of my living field research trip of how’s folks live in Columbia and st. lucipher MO,
particular to the story of that interaction and those involved particularly
in the interchange. what happened, is, a lot of nothing and much of anything.
I sit here writing idly on, by the couch with, in , the couch dwellers,
enclosed universes, diamonds shining of pain or love, sharp enough to
catch the diamonds in night sky. this just a writing exorcise. I mean, exercise.
do not, don’t confuse it with any degree of genuineness except when it is,
quite genuine. old lore that comes back to haunt, catch us both, all, amid mid haunted all stride. exorciseized.