Hello. I am currently sitting on a kitchen floor in Vancouver, BC. We are staying at Laura Boo's house. There is a slab of wood across the back door and a sewing machine on the table. We, the minor poets, ate artisan pastry bits leftover from a major poetry release party at the gallery where Boo works.
Tonight, our first Roadshow featured a very polite host with a very large beard. David and his homemade sampler opened for us. One song featured modulation of the words "no adam" over and over. David explained thusly: one time he was in this room with a guy named Adam, but Adam was leaving, to which David reacted defiantly.
Our audience arranged itself in a semi-circle. One guest acted concerned about geography. He kept asking if any other states were close to Oregon.
A biker dude showed up with his wife, who told us about sitting on a toilet and having her husband burst in to share a poem. She insisted he would do it for us if pressured. It was called Achin' for the Bacon. He performed it like a cross between slam style and tweedy Shakespearean actor. It dealt with his love of bacon.
Last night we stayed in Tacoma, WA with Ocho's friend. We looked at photo albums, and T-Poe put out a grease fire. In the bathroom, I noticed that the shower curtain had a skull motif.
North of Eugene
Pacific Northwest through the Pacific North-Window
Ocho plays so fast. And I can't hold a camera, I guess.
People fucking love this cat.
Evolution allows me to have hands.
The many beards and eyebrows of the PMR.
Laura BOO! She just fixed the toilet too. Rocktacular.