Greetings from the Windy City ...
She looks like she's an Ethiopian Princess, but I know she's just a white girl from the suburbs. Heh. Doesn't matter, she's beautiful ... A writer's mind is Truth.
Yeah, she said that, "You landed butter-side up in Chicago!" as we were riding the subway. Guess I DID! Cool bagel reference, you see. But this weekend was truly one of the best o' my life, and I've had a few!!!!!! So good. Visiting a beauty, a girlfriend of mine, a tasty one! Chicago: Wine, deep dish pizza, Coffee and Democrats! Got the coolest black "Traveller's Cafe" t-shirt. Hit the International Writer's Forum, but more on that later. First some dirty stuff.
We walk through Chicago, hand in hand. Very innocent! Later we have wine and she says that I'm like Henry Miller. Yep. We go naked. Innocence ends. She says that I'm tasty, that I am sex. My gawd, I'm in Heaven! I've left despair (Santa Barbara) behind, and I get dirty with one of the Chicago's hottest babes. And she's a poet! I lick her delicious beaver until she screams. (Sorry, mom!)
We go to the Writer's Forum at the Hilton. A guy says (to us all) that, "You should be careful, if you're writing erotic stuff, that you don't get labeled a smut poet." Noted. Smut Poet. I like that. Sounds like a cool band name. We wander from room to room in this huge, lavish hotel, listening to writers from around the globe get poetic. It's absolutely great. One line that sticks with me, is some guy who told the capacity crowd to use their, "Twin Powers." Great stuff. So many electric minds in one place. Yeah! Pushing the spoken word forward. We get lost on the fifth floor, that somehow has no elevator button. I'm wearing my "Lost In Translation" t-shirt, and they love it, tell me so, and it sparks many juicy conversations. We eat snacks provided and get inspired ... Thousands of great thinkers roam the hallways. Bliss.
Later, we take a cab to this poetry jam, an experimental one, in a church! And there are five outrageous poets taking the stage, in different stances and times and demeanors, mean they all, though, be ... I watch and sip water and take notes and tell jokes. One is the esteemed writer Cole Swensen, on the permanent faculty of the Iowa Writer's Workshop (the 2nd coolest thing ever, from Iowa!) and she gives me her new book. What a mind! These five poets rip the english language to shreds, re-gurgitate it out again into the world, and come up with a fresh expulsion of aroma, new words, if you will, that set the pace for hungry minds to come. Lyrics! Poetry! Music! Dance! Sex! Politics! (Burp ...)
Awesomeshitgoinoninthatoldchicagochurchitellya!
We get invited to a party, and next thing ya know, we're in some swanky penthouse overlooking the Chicago River. Holy shit, how did that happen?! And the room is filled with amazing writers from the forum, from the poetry jam, from Mars or Jupiter it seems like, but just another amazing night! Wow, wow, wow! The drinks are a-flowin', and we all do wine, tasty Mexican tequila (see related stories), eat collared greens, and we chat about everything under the sun, and then some. These are the minds of the future! Some are famous, some are up-and-coming, some are just mad ... but all have one thing in common:
Love of Language!
Count me in, dear sirs and madames. Whoever you all were, (every couple of minutes someone would whisper in my ear, "HE'S such a good poet. SHE'S a great poet," while I was talking to them) I really enjoyed the opportunity to talk to you, and listen and learn and contribute. You guys were amazing, unnerving! That party was incredible! At the end, I was hanging out with this gorgeous girl from (former) Yugoslavia and her husband, who, incidentally, love New Model Army and HIM and lotsa other cool euro-metal bands, we connected, and I invented the idea of taking this organic pear from the catering table, put it under my shirt and turned it into a boob, call it an homage to Janet's boob, perhaps, and he got the mad-cap idea to bite it through my "Lost In Translation" shirt, leaving teeth marks and juice on my stained shirt, it was very hot, and I said, "What will your WIFE think??" and we look over and she just grinned a vampire's smile behind black eyeliner which meant that she was turned on, she approved. Said I was a dirty boy. "But so smooth!" she said. "That's good ..."
Kids reading this, take heed: Poetry is sexy!
And at some point they motioned that some student guy was behind me on the couch, inching towards my girl, and I just laughed and said, "No chance. She's going home with me!" I felt kingly and guess what, I was right, and it all began again. All those lithe minds competing for the perfect rhyme. Sexy! Raw! It was such an amazing two nights, I just gotta go back soon. Thanks, Chicago!
And someone stole a wallet from those rich minds at the party. Wish it was me. I would comission myself to re-invent myself, and use the money to build a time machine, in which I would go back to the party and actually give that person MORE money than they ever had when it was stolen ...
Next thing ya know, it's the next day, and I'm back in the impervious, burly lobby of the Hilton, meeting Cole (having skimmed through her book) and we decide to drive together to Iowa City, talking four hours straight about Paris and Berlin and Anarchy and Love and Demons and Armies and Families and Schools and the elusive Genius Grant. But mostly about Anarchy. And we weather a storm that came outta nowhere (like they're known to do in the Midwest) and we come out the other side, unscaythed. We talk about how to get to "Pure Poetry" and "Pure Music." At some point I call my sister on Cole's cell phone and say,
"I'm in a car, somewhere between Chicago and Iowa City, Iowa."
Truth, exposed. Timeless. Effortless. Hear this! The Wind of the City has passed through my heart, and remains ...
-Todd
Posted by calico at March 29, 2004 11:50 PM