Monday, November 2, 2009

*you say. say.* says it in New York City. Also, happy November.

November is begging for a blog. The tidiness of blogging on the first of the month asserts itself. The authority of being a purposeful November 1 is kindly requested by November 1. Clearly I have fallen short, this and other months; I resolve to be better. Blog on the first and the last of the month, men, and hoist the sails. Please accept this late effort.

The time change is knocking me out as it always does; also I haven't quite recovered from having fun on Halloween - an awful lot of shouting in a Soho bar, after an Uphook Press** reading.

On Halloween the you say. say. group rose up for our first reading in this grimy, loud, expensive and infectiously lovable city. (An attentive reader of My 3,000 Loving Arms may recall you say. say. read in Philadelphia after visiting Ben Franklin, later seen strolling with a pitcher of Kool Aid [you have to see the posting to understand*].)

The Philadelphia try-out being succesful, the illustrious editorial triumverate of you say. say. brought the act to New York, to premiere at the Dactyl Foundation. Hard not to love an art gallery named after a poetic foot. Query: If there are poetic feet, are there also poetic shoes? Hmmm. The Dactyl Gallery is pictured.

you say. say. is, in addition to being an extremely interesting, clean, tidy, challenging, diverse, rhythmic, complicated, simple and fanciful collection of poesy, or pomes, as my friend Steve Tills would say, an organic entity, ever changing and growing. Not the book itself, which obeys all sorts of laws of physics as most of us do, no, but the group of readers is changeable. In Philly there were four of us. At the Dactyl there were seven or so of us. Future readings at the Cornelia Street Cafe (November 12) and KGB Bar (December 9) include more and different readers, and who knows - maybe in a postmodern triumph the mic itself may read itself.

Did I mention the time change is knocking me out as it does twice a year. I realize I'm lame ass and pantywaist, that I need to man up my powers of transition. I shall attempt to do so. In the meantime, dear child held in those of My 3,000 Loving Arms that aren't scratching my backside, I'm signing off. Later.

*October 14:

**Uphook Press' you say. say. anthology:

1 comment:

  1. Sarah--
    I would NOT refer to yourself as any kind of lame ass or pantywaist, but I AM wondering if you aren't some kind of dogknapper. Whose pooch in the pram? Are you freelancing as a schnauzer nanny? or just dressed [to] the [ca]nines? Arfff--lame joke. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow for more "you say. say." fun at the Cornelia St. Cafe, and then for your houseparty on lucky Friday the 13th!