2004-04-04 - 1:22 p.m.

Status: Currently keeping a chair warm and answering the occasional phone call.

Additional Information: Also wasting time by doing nothing at all important (like reading websites and updating a journal)

I got the promotion. I will be the new off-site supervisor for my company. Woo-wee.

I had a blast on Friday night. I took Dave and met with Li'l Bro, his girlfriend and her friends at Clark to see 12th Night, which was sold out. We then went to Vincent's, but it was too crowded for one of us so we left. Then, we scooted out the Tortilla Sam's and had a ball BYOBing. Cool.

Today, I am at work, then I go to my parents' house and chill out with them a little. Dad's out, but my mother's friend will be there so I will have plenty of time to see the pictures of their recent trip to Costa Rica. Li'l Bro and his girlfriend will show up eventually too, I suppose.

I'd like to make it out to the Hut, but no promises.

You know, I keep thinking up all these cool things to say here, but then I never remember them when I am writing.

I always think that I will be able to write and read while I am working on these Sunday shifts, but that never seems to happen; I end up just surfing the web, chatting and relaxing.

(Then again, the risk of being interrupted every five minutes by the phone doesn't help when reading Nabokov or writing poetry)

I have SO MANY half finished pieces that I would love to complete and perform, but it is hard to finish them and go to school and go to work and be able to relax. It is painful. It is so fucking painful. Just pain. Pain like a nic-fit. Pain like a itch on your back you can't reach. Pain like a little brother.

Like knowing what you want, know what you should do and not doing it.

There's a poem there somewhere. I see a poem in everything. I think that is part of my problem, I see unformed poems dwelling within the page, a block of white marble with uniform blue veins. The pen speaks to me, telling me which words to chip out.

Unfortunately, my Davids always end up as half-formed, hunched and crocked cripples.

The worst part of it is that it is not that I am not writing. (err, double negative there, did that make sense? I mean that the worst thing about not being able to finish the poems is that I am writing, but I am not finishing my artistic/recreational work.) I am writing, but it is not the fulfilling composition of poetry that I desire. I craft school papers, weave company emails, and toil away at this and other journals, but that isn't what I want.

I'm starting to think if I need to write poetry at all, or, rather, I have evaluated why I write and determined that I should keep writing for that purpose. I probably have a different purpose for writing poetry than most of my readers. I write so that I can go to poetry readings and get attention; so I can socialize with poets. I know that is crazy-ass backwards, but it is true. I don't write poetry because I have an (artistic/political/message to get across) urge (that gets satisfied by writing in general). I do it for the attention, or, more correctly, the friends that poetry brings to me. The (slam) poetry community is one that is immediately transferable between regions. It is wonderful that I can go to any slam in the nation, read a poem, mention I am from Worcester (and have people know where Worcester is) and find a couch to crash on. Plus, it is great to have the support (and to support) so many other intense introverts.

I don't think that my reasons for writing and performing poetry make me any less of a poet. They may make me less of an artist, but I think the end result, my poems, are really fucking good. Not great, but good enough to be enjoyable. At least, this is the feedback I get from other poets. I feel like a poet's poet. The crowd, the unwashed masses, seem to disagree. Do you disagree? Do you think I overrate myself? Let me know and let me know how I can improve my work and myself.

(I don't know why I bother to ask for feedback. No one ever responds anyway. Of course, I rarely respond to other people's request for responses. Hmmm... I will change that. From now on, I will always respond to other people's requests in their journals for feedback.)

Here's a secret: I'm scared of crowds. Or maybe not impersonal crowds. Really, I'm scared of groups of people I sort of know. If I can manage to get to a party or a show or a reading early enough to get settled in before a lot of people get there (or if there is alcohol to boost my confidence), I'm all good, but I hate, I Hate, I HATE getting in late to a poetry reading and not having a seat. That's why you may see me walk in on a Sunday and look around and then leave. It's also why I don't go out of my way to get out to the Cantab or AS220 and why I prefer smaller readings like SPEAK, the Monday Night Mini Reading (may it rest in peace) and the Poet's Parlor (as if I go there enough).

But, when I get up on stage, I am no longer a part of a group. When I am up on stage I transcend the group. There's something very powerful in having the attention of 3 dozen people focused on yourself. I love it. I love the attention, the feedback, and everything.

Poetry gives me a chance to overcome my fear of groups. Alex has a line in "Walking Down the Street in my New Car:" "there's a fine line between poetry and therapy." Personally, I don't need psychological help, but the little bit of confidence I received every time I step up never hurts.

Even though I just said I don't write poetry for artistic purposes, I do still want every poem I read to be the best possible one it can be for my audience. Anything else is a disservice. Tony says "read your poem like it will be the last thing you do," and there is no point in reading half-assed poetry.

Wow. That was way longer than I expected. I love writing this journal

-Jesse