I guess I was a little bottled up … randoms

Tuesday, I went to see Andrea Gibson at a small gallery in downtown Phoenix. The building was brick painted over white and old i.e. NO AIR CONDITIONING and for the love it’s still over 100 degrees here. Fall FAll FALL fall fall fallllll falllll falfllfalfallfalafallllll if I say the mantra enough will it come? I’m used to it, I suppose. This morning I walked to get coffee and I’m wearing thicker linen pants rolled up a bit, my brown poet boots and a jean button up … rolled up a bit too and would you believe it, after 5 blocks, I wasn’t even pitting my shirt out. Hey! That’s progress! So. Yes. Andrea Gibson. The gallery was hot, swarmy, hot hot with 1960s ac units blowing in 2 directions that were not at me. But damn, she was worth it. Any poet who can make a living touring their poems is pretty damn amazing. I’ve posted some of her videos here before, but here’s a new one

“Ashes” by Andrea Gibson featuring Chris Pureka from Look Sessions on Vimeo.

She explained that she wrote this poem after hearing a story about a soldier who was set on fire and burned alive because he was gay and after hearing one story, she kept hearing more stories, this wasn’t just an isolated incident. What would those people say now if they could speak? And that’s where this poem came from.

If she’s in a city close to you, check her out. Long Beach tonight, Vegas and then LA again and then east and south and all over.
I’m glad I’m in a place where Poets come (not sure why I capitalized that … because they are important. Because they matter). I want my new poems to be something more, something beautiful. If I can keep going and keep pushing through the day job and syphon creativity to both because they both need so much, I’ll be OK. The good thing is my heart is rarely empty – open my eyes, there’s always something to pluck from the world. Always. It’s why I don’t believe in writer’s block. I think writer’s block is blindness, not engaging, being stuck in a room with white walls, no sounds and a closed chest.

Last night, Pat wanted comfort food, so we went South. Fried chicken and waffles OMG, yes. And bottles of beer stuck in paper bags so we wouldn’t offend the innocents. We started talking about work and a few months ago I got promoted to Designer III (I don’t know if I ever said that here?) But it’s the highest designer before management. I got one of the best reviews in the whole studio and I’m damn proud of it, but I told Pat I think my boss likes my work because it’s unexpected. My boss once said I see things no one else can see: colors, shapes and it’s always a surprise. You make my life a surprise, Pat said. In a good way. You’re unexpected. The apartment, that’s all you, you’ve colored our lives.

I realized I haven’t been on a river trip this year. Did I say that already here? I’m all over lately, which makes me think those river trips, the one week of disconnect is so important for me. My mom and step-dad have just set off on a 21 day trip down the Grand Canyon. AGAIN. and I wish to God, I could be on that boat, on that water, but I’m going to Texas this weekend to see my best friend in the whole world and I get to come home to love. It doesn’t get much better.

This entry was posted in seasons, Uncategorized, wandering mind, Writing Life. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to I guess I was a little bottled up … randoms

  1. Ms. Moon says:

    We call those brown bags you put beers in “redneck coozies.” As if coozies weren’t redneck enough.
    Poet should be capitalized. Like Doctor. Etc.
    I am feeling lately as if my love is not noticing anything about me but perhaps my fat and my wrinkles. I don’t know, I don’t know. I miss my old self which was beautiful, I miss being something to look at. I miss being told that I am the color in someone’s life. I don’t know why I just told you that, but Rachel, it is true.
    I am (for no reason because I did nothing to cause it) PROUD that you made Designer II. Yes!
    Now go, girl. Go to Texas, to the rivers, down the street, up the stairs, into the heat, to the desk, the bed, the table, the dance floor. Go everywhere and take notes with your beautiful eyes.

    • rachvb says:

      haha! Yes. Yes. I don’t know why they put them in paper bags at this place?! Maybe it’s an ambiance sort of thing……????
      I just gave you a giant giant hug. I hope you felt it. You certainly add color to all of our lives. We don’t say it enough to the people we love. Even after 11 years with me and Pat, there are so many times you start to look at the person next to you as furniture. God, he and I have done it all the time. And certainly there are days when I’m sick and farting and a horrible mess and I’m the bad smell in his life; the complication; the pain.
      I think you’re damn beautiful. I feel lucky to have you here. I’d share a beer in a redneck coozie with you any day. And I’m off to Texas, the rivers, down the street, up stairs, to heat, to the desk, table, dance floor. Now, you do the same. xoxo

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


Valid XHTML Strict and CSS