poems in front of about thirty people, most of them musicians.
It was open mike night at the Longbeach coffee house. There were
three categories: music, poetry and spoken word. I got up and
introduced myself as James, from every $20 motel you've ever heard of.
The MC asked my category. I said, "Mumbled Word."
I did a cold reading of three randomly chosen pieces of mine: Bear
In The Woods Singing Dirty Ditties, Running The Red Light of
Immortality and Sloth. I almost hit my stride with Sloth, almost felt I
had them, knew I had at least one guy in the back when he yelled,
"YEAAAAAAAAAH!."
I had been a nervous wreck before I got on. I had brought Gordon
The Hollywood Anarchist with me because he's got a weapons permit and
could've gotten me out if the audience got violently pissed at how bad
I sucked.
I sat out in the audience feeling like I was going to spew.
Louise, who had conspired with Steve to get me to come out tonight,
said that all my life had been leading up to this. Now I REALLY had to
spew. But as soon as I got through "Bear In The Woods" and heard the
applause, I was hooked. I wanted that mike. I asked the audience if
they wanted another one and they said "YEAAAAH!" That was cool.
I finished my set and sat back out in the audience. As soon as my
heart stopped pounding, I wanted that mike back. In three weeks I will
be 50. Kind of late to be starting new things. Kind of not. I LOVE
being around creative people. I LOVE being almost one of them.
Fifty. Kind of late. Kind of not. I may be on the path to
reinventing myself again. Maybe not, but I've caught a microphone jones
now . . . a microphone jones.
