accent_open_mic epitome of incomprehensibility Reading series, reading event, in a mirrory mural-y pub on St. Denis. I went there at the tail end of my tutoring-packed weekend. I didn't read anything from love_your_enemies__learn_their_language - even with my notes, it didn't make that much sense - but I did get up and read an excerpt from my novel-to-be. But I feel like the second-last should have ended it - a woman called Lina who memorized, yes memorized, a story she at once told and acted out. A surreal, funny, touching story of a girl who grows long hair to hide from trauma and the hair becomes mobile and she uses it as arms and legs. And then cutting it will mean coming out of a that shell. (In which I mix metaphors.) This was all in French, which is, to my ears, a nicer-sounding language than English. At least in her voice. Voices. I told a guy called Mischa whose chapbook I bought that he had a "great voice" and I meant a writing one; his stuff also had surreal and dramatic touches, plus more overt humour. I hope he didn't think that was a weird comment? Pah, he wouldn't have thought I was flirting. He said he was gay in the intro to the pieces. But you can be nosy or too personal without it being sexual; witness boss B. telling me the expression on my face was "unprofessional" (unprofessionally!)...and, to be fair, me telling him he was using an expression wrong (which wasn't fair because English isn't his first language). But yes. You can be weird in a lot of ways. This writer's weird was good, at least on paper and spoken out. Another surreal story involved monsters eating tourists. Only tourists, apparently. The now-blasé cab drivers discuss how many they lost after their drives, over cigarettes. As for other poetry, James, the Turret House Press publisher, brought a wide emotional range and plain-spoken but image-full scenes. I already have a book of his. It has the word "heron" in the title. Rose with a turquoise scarf had a narrative poem I was swept into. I let it carry me for a good minute. It's weird: at first when I got there, I was afraid that I'd lost my taste for poetry, somewhere in the midst of studying linguistics. But that turned out to be untrue. I heard other readers, other writers, but my eyes are closing, or they should be. 221107 ... e_o_i Still running, every 1st and 3rd Sunday of the month, and they've started having themes. But today I didn't leave early enough to get there. Didn't realize trying out a new recipe for supper would take so long. But I did discover an old poetry folder! And the fear that I used to have more imagination then than now! But also reassurance that I can be inspired by past writing and make it better! ...Okay, I'm all out of exclamation marks. But damn, I wish I'd gone. The theme was mixed metaphors. 240303 what's it to you? who go blather from