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Last night, a few friends were celebrating the birthday of their ensemble by getting together and improvising over drinks. I was asked to come and read a few poems but I was feeling so moved by the improvisation that I decided to read 6 poems at once. I sat on the ground, spread the papers around me, and just allowed myself to move from one to the other randomly. The results were amazing. I’ll never read that poem again but it worked! And it maybe opened my mind to a new style of revision.

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conceptualized with friends after the secrets reading with rayne fisher-quann, pe moscowitz, terry nguyen, eliza mclamb, and others.. basically everyone brings a poem but no one knows whose is whose and then you shuffle them up so people read a poem with an unknown author. wildly successful. pairs well with wine and conversation.
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poetry you wrote or someone else's, doesn't matter. plunge into the intimacy baby. silly, dark, whatever
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Lines that I feel would be good in a poem or good as one entirely plus me trying to figure out what exactly I did as the DJ for my friends birthday
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Top Recs from @florinegrassenhopper

No screen Sundays. If I want to listen to music its CDs or radio. If I want to watch a movie, no I don’t. If I want to see a friend, I will make plans with them on Friday or Saturday to meet up. As a result, I read more, write more, and sit with questions like “did Citizen Kane‘s 50 year winning streak in the Sight and Sound critics choice survey end in 2012 or 2022? When did Stephen Merritt come out? Whats the etymology of Whitsun?“ This is something that I have practiced off and on for many years but I’ve been doing it every week since December and I love the way that it just allows me one day of true freedom and rest.
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My calendar this year has 52 of these week at a glance pages but I don’t think that way. So, I've been inspired by Ross Gay’s Book of Delighs to start recording the little moments and sensations that bring me joy throughout the day. An analog pi.fyi, if you will. heres some of what I have so far: - Waking up to the sound of my upstairs neighbor‘s footstep. It sounded nostalgic. Felt like company. - Strawberry jam - feeling tender for strangers: their lips, nail colors, their small wrists. Thinking of all the lives we hold gently. - A young girl bought an LP at the bookstore just before I left. She stroked its cover with love - Green tiles —the mint shade always makes me think of Jancie - Charlie’s little bop and punch dancing to some German language punk - lunch with Katherine, curry Brussels sprouts - small talk at the photo studio. The photographer's brother was named after their dad, stole his identity, bought jet skis.