It was so many things and I fell in love as I have a wont to do and it was as these things go grand and funny to be part of the conversation, to lose and find my stride awe struck and awe striking, remembering we are who we are willing to take the risk to be, well I mean given the wherewithal no doubt about that,
and there were throngs of people in love with books and all things books and books of every shape and size ridiculous and sublime important and ephemeral seriously funny and funnily serious and those with passion and those with polish, having to choose I definitely hark toward passion, and can forego polish, it (polish) is in its own right just another shtick with nowhere to go, and there were the popular and righteous among us and there were the frivolous and anarchistic and the young and old women and men, all mostly able bodied, ah it is hard work
and there were the freelance with their wares in bags over their shoulders hijacking interested and not so interested purveyors and books were bought and sold for dollars and hundreds of thousands of dollars and others simply looked at so carefully, and joyfully appreciated and there were white gloves and there was laughter and tomfoolery.
And I know and don’t know at all what any of it means.
Which is to say, I have a good sense of myself and where and how I fit in the world of poets and what my aspirations are, I have no idea of where and how I fit into this world of books and what my aspirations are,
the thing is I’m not sure it makes a whit of a difference until you start thinking about it or talking about it, and then one, I get, embroiled in that gooey self-consiousness that is not quite self awareness, and doesnot spawn anything particularly creative, or helpful for that matter
so I’m fighting off a cold and playing my banjo! and drawing, and in the background working on a new project about self (ha!) and happily have a recently completed book which is part of this new cycle, accepted in an upcoming art (all media) exhibit called ‘peoples’