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(©2013 entire contents copyright seanbrijbasi.com. all rights reserved.)
what i was reading at café hopeless on 9/28:
A
ableberry
and lo there goes my father [she’s singing] stop staring. irretrievable the floor vanished. and for only me {she} carried my body to the strafe.
Underneath the glass she looks the same but her hair is different. I remember the smell of her room and the window barely opened looking down onto the small yard and how the breeze lifted her drawings from the wall. When she returned I would hear her bicycle rattle against the tree, the front door open and close, and her hurried footsteps getting nearer to our room. I always thought to myself and sometimes whispered: ‘be careful on the stairs’. That’s how much I loved her.
amputake
let’s not talk of skeletons while we [together] we [alone] are here. Upstairs at Be^lla’s I outlined the future and jotted you down with fine penmanship while staring at pictures of hair and honey or what I thought of then as insertion.
We are lonely moving near the place of our surrender. Coming and then replacing real life jumping. The girl and the girl in the kilt stove. Breathing a mop of wood, flake, and sordid collapse.
She bells the intense coma of slinging. A pastor of disruption and friendly marbles living. Her upright girdle splendor splinters the ram’s nest. Blink darling (blink). The pied-à-terre amalgam of rooster.
Her name is Jeffam|a|r and she purports to be unsung. Screeds of two laps curtailing the axiom of vanishment.
andventures of the cornbread maker
divide the reich and press our interests in the north.
Renumber the planets and bring them lovely. Hi//rosito Kamasas!hi is a comic book fighter. Oolong Hi//rosito. Lumps of plum and dilly.
B
bend human willing
i lay awake during their nights, thinking of their deaths, regretting how i made so many of their kind suffer and how i should die of pity and regret if it were not for this jawbone and iron belly.
The existence of the phantom is subtlety. He is posh and exerts his fisticuffs without clumsy. He is whimsy. He courts ladies of leisure for the touch of velveteen on their bottoms. It is a copious matter. He adorns them with lather.
burble
picture me in time when I reigned in this loci. It is the east, and she is the sun. But how now dear she? A rat. Dead for a ducat. And you, masturbating to the vicar’s memory.
There were three decided. Finally and unearthed. The Spenserian Model and the luhkow. Bath to bath she balanced tea on her mandible tongue. When the prawns and mercenary scabbards came to shave her of her purpose she protested to fracture go when. This was an introduction to her brow and down beneath. The poke stick hint of her shanty, her eye blood swelling in a puddle of rain, and the pork stench of her hollow. I followed her through the recoil [a french disaster] and consoled her of a time not too long ago when the presence of mercury suggested fossil degeneration and of men later revealed as Hermione fainting on the beach.
At night she lay on a cold bed with me and through a roofless hut watched mandarin leaves travel through the jet stream. So different from the time of Hammerstein of the Volstein, Royal Chrysanthemum of the Haubsfelt.
But as if on a living she modified her thinking with a reckon and showed me the door. And though it was not to my liking I set off for out there but feared I would return one day to gather mud from this place and find pieces of her in my hand. She ate well (sir) but what good was such good when it only prolonged her bad? Die I whispered from the horizon. Die for your own quiet deathness. But she lived on. Were she an animal, they would call her human.
Not sure if anyone showed up to watch me read at Café Hopeless on Saturday evening but here are some pictures from the event. I sat in a comfortable chair in the corner of the first floor parlor. I ordered a coffee (black) and waited until it arrived to start reading. I read all of A and B. In this picture I'm reading "ableberry". I took a break afterwards to drink my coffee and think about what I was thinking about when I wrote "ableberry". I have no idea.
I looked out the window for a few minutes and I thought I saw someone I knew looking back at me. Maybe she was there to watch me read and decided to watch me from outside the café.
I got more comfortable and really started reading. By the time I put my leg over the chair I had whoever might be there to watch me read riveted. I looked over the book a few times and noticed that only 5 or 6 people left the café while I was reading. I know what you're thinking...putting my leg over the chair was bad form but it was for the sake of art. I was overcome by the text and just let myself go. Poetry has that kind of effect on me and I don't think I should apologize for that. I chuckled a few times while I was reading B because I remembered what a reviewer wrote about B: "utter nonsense". I bet you he wishes he was there at Café Hopeless on September 28, 2013. Too bad for him.
Here I'm finishing my coffee. I probably shouldn't have had any because later that night I had a difficult time falling asleep. When I finished reading I noticed people staring at me. Maybe they wanted me to read some more. I don't know. It's possible someone recorded this and the video went viral but I hope not. I read for myself and the people who watch me read. I wore my favorite shoes for this reading. I don't wear them that much but they're still my favorite.
