Coffee: Dark Roast, Joe Van Gogh’s. At Duke, I got latte’s from Joe’s every day between class. The barista was a thirty-something polyglot who flirted with the Spanish girls. He had tattoos. Everything about him seemed fake, but in an earnest way. Today’s cup reminded me of him.
Last night, I hit another open mic. Revised ‘Always Tomorrow’ and read it to a crowd of 70+ Chapel Hill poets. I was nervous. They laughed. That felt good. The poems they read were about two things, mostly: dead friends or sex. Sometimes both. An old man read to his wife, who was there: she was the sea at night, taking him in. An old woman read to her husband: he wants to lay inside the dirt between her legs, but soon he’ll be laying dirt on a brown casket. Life don’t stop for nothing. Inspired, I’m trying to age that well.
Interpreter of Maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri (I know, I know, I know…I’m getting close to the end, promise!)
“Why do I look up and see my feet? Am I rising? But why do my peak look like it’s out of my reach? Why can’t I trust what I see?” – Lil Wayne, Vizine