My friend at the sad ambient guitar show did not share my feelings about the sad ambient guitarist. “Too professional to be sexy.” But I thought, what’s sexier than a competent professional? More awkward when it’s such a small show there’s no ceremony of separation and you’re watching them set up their own gear. It would have been a social gathering if not for the six inches of stage elevation, a symbolic barrier, like the screen I used to imagine was cutting me off from the world.
Last night a poetry reading which really was a social gathering. I liked everything the poets read and told them so; then the afterparty music came on, a feeling of adjacency took over and I slipped away. It would be nice to be able to write a poem about Minneapolis. I can’t do it.
