Thursday, July 10, 2008

Chimes #7



                                                        #7

Our house on Mill Road was a two-story wooden twin painted sky blue, placed on a curving block on the bottom of a steep hill, and was itself on an incline. The wide backyard, where was a large wooden shed also painted sky blue, and which fed onto a gravel path and then down another incline into Tookany Creek, was set sharply lower than the front door and then Mill Road beyond it, while across the street shone the side face of another hill, on which began the houses on Harrison Avenue. The effect of this portion of Mill Road was seclusion, intimacy, and rusticity— it looked very much like a nineteenth, rather than a twentieth century innovation. The moon above Mill Road was secluded along with us, coaxed into a space privatized by immersion in a world apart from the rest of Elkins Park, Cheltenham Township, Philadelphia, and the wider world. That emotion, of being apart from things, was blended into harmony or moodiness, exultation or melancholy, by the song of the creek and its currents. Though my block eventually intersected with Church Road, where there was more worldliness, traffic, and a general sense of movement, what echoed in me on Mill Road was a way of being alone, of being private. I had no siblings. No surprise that the house was haunted by strange ghosts, strange ghosts and echoes. I awoke once covered in spiders and they were dancing and I couldn’t get them off. Also a big round white light came into my second floor window, it shone there and dazzled me and screamed and my Father told me it was a police searchlight and I believed him but he was wrong. I can see the light today and what it was doing was charging me and I was being prepared to serve in a kind of army and I am serving in a kind of army now: the light knew. I screamed out of pained recognition when I saw it and that was a spirit that haunted the house. Other echoes shone off the surface of Tookany Creek, which soothed but was itself of another world that was faraway and deep and that I couldn’t reach even when I waded in it.

Thursday, July 03, 2008

Poetry Incarnation '05: The Facts



Three years ago, a poetry event was held at The Khyber (Pass), a big pub/indie-rock venue in Philly. The event had a name: Poetry Incarnation '05, was previewed in the Philadelphia City Paper, and was presented by a multi-media artists co-op that I was running at the time, Philly Free School. We charged $5 that night at the door. There were precisely 70 paying customers. Thus, our net profit was $350. The Khyber, as is customary with big music venues, took more than half the money: $200, straight off the top. That left us with $150. There were thirty readers, which means that if everyone were paid equally, everyone would receive a righteous $5. Me and my fellow promoter thought that this was a little ridiculous and, considering that we each put a great amount of time and effort into the event, we split the $150 and each took home $75.

Though I have never been directly confronted (not once in three years), it has come to my attention that several people believe I have "stolen" money from them. I have, indeed: a righteous $5. If any of you would like to have this $5 returned to you, I would be happy to write you a check. You can send your mailing info to afieled@yahoo.com. That is, of course, unless you have already forced me to use the "block" function on Yahoo, in which case, get your less frank friends to send me the address.
 

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