When I started doing this I thought, wow, what a great opportunity to pull out and post some of my poetry. . . . crickets. I know, I know, didn’t happen. Most of it is stored on the hard drive of my old computer which lives in the guest room. My husband wants to give it to Besta and Far Far. I’m all for that but I have to get a couple of things off of there first – my poetry, some naughty photos, dancing hamsters and elf bowling (though Besta might enjoy that one). I’m still not sure when this mass transfer is going to occur. I don’t really write any poetry anymore. I’m not able to concentrate on it somehow. I used to feel like it flowed the easiest when I was really unhappy. I don’t know what that says about the result but . . . I have often felt that my attempt at poetry graduate school – one semester at Brooklyn College with Allen Ginsburg as my teacher – was what ruined it for me. It was definitely cool to be there with him and listen to what he said but it seemed like he liked the quirky cool boys the best and if you were a female you had default strikes against you.
I’d like to say that I was going to put down the snowman tonight and get up there and pull some stuff off that computer for you for tomorrow’s post but I’m not promising anything . . .