“Bare feet and the smell of old books” and a certain local poet brought us together, kind of. I’m so glad I had the chutzpah to go past creeping you on twitter so we could be actual friends. I respect and admire you so much, you’re one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. I like the way we can have a conversation just by making noises, and that we find the same stupid stuff inexplicably hilarious. I need you to know that not a day goes by that I don’t think about you and wonder how you’re doing. I want so badly to be there for you if you ever need me, you know how to reach me. Cudz soon. —Out Here Caring About You
This article appears in Feb 7-13, 2013.
Don’t tell me what the poets are doing
Don’t tell me that they’re talkin’ tough
Don’t tell me that they’re anti-social
Somehow not anti-social enough, all right
(It hurt to resort to that… horrible, antiquated and repeatedly played song back in the day)