Don't These Signals Flares Flash?

Read at a Slam Poetry event. This was my first "public" reading of anything. It went well, and while the arrogant part of me believes that the content of my reading was in many ways better than anything else presented, I understand that I don't have a flair for the dramatics. It took enough whiskey and will simply to get up on stage; to then emote the existential grief, postmodern agony, or optimistic fatalism that I felt when writing the pieces . . .well, suffice to say that I'm not there yet. It was a learning experience. Give me another couple months to work out the kinks and attain some level of comfort and I will be winning these. I'm all about staying out of my comfort zone, but its difficult to succeed there; all flailing limbs and desperate shouts.

My brother, who begged to go and ostensibly conceded to my wishes that he not (jesus the nerves), snuck in and hid in the back where I couldn't see. I appreciated it, and we went out for beers afterwards and talked about life and art. Talked shit like the micks we are. Strategized for victory like the modern men we have both become.

My girlfriend of the past several months broke it off the other day. Something I should have probably done a while ago, but refrained from for all sorts of reasons. Namely, that I was afraid to be alone. I don't know if I'm ashamed to admit it or not, but when it happened I felt almost nothing. A twinge of excitement. Impetus to expose myself to new strangers. Excess time to put into writing and studying.