Paparazzi Love
Again, sorry Firstar. I’m trying to learn how to use the garage band thingy.
And I tell you what folks, every new thing I learn lately is just about the hardest thing I feel I have ever learned. This must be a part of growing up, getting slower at learning new things. Do you feel the same? What is wrong with me?
Anyway, enough bitching. Doubting Thomas and I are preparing for some sort of hip hop Sylvia Plath Ted Hughes Madness for the Queensland Poetry Festival and I’m now remembering anew why I live in the lands of reports and emails, where attention spans are short and creative thinking is not required. Because it is so goddamn tiring. But exciting.
In the same way that volunteering at 4ZZZ has made me appreciative anew of radio, of storytelling, and the generous excellence of people who do things for free, preparations for MC Lady Lazarus vs DJ Thought Fox have made me freshly excited about beautiful poets, about the spirit of collaboration and how other people are really good at technology and I hope that they will assist me with it.
Anyway. That’s Saturday night softly washed away.
I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted
To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
I’m reading poetry like I haven’t done in a long while. Busy with producing it, I sometimes forget to appreciate it. And to read it again and again until a single line expands in meaning.
