So Monday … which seems like a lifetime ago, but in reality only three days ago, I was just beginning the HOD (House of Doom) saga. I was shell-shocked, and not feeling my usual sparky self, it was as if all the energy was drained from me. I really wanted nothing more than to crawl in a hole somewhere and seek oblivion – yet I had a commitment to keep.
My writing instructor had arranged for Richard Bausch to meet with us over pizza, before he came to talk to our class on Tuesday afternoon, followed by a reading Tuesday evening, of his soon to be released novel, Peace. I sent an e-mail excusing myself, then sent another saying I would attend. I am so glad I did.
One to the anthologies we’ve been reading this semester is , The Short Stories of Richard Bausch. Now you all know me. I read. Voraciously. I know what I like, but I’m not good at saying WHY I like it. There are many times when people go on, and on, about some structural component of writing or a story … and I just sit there, feeling as if people are speaking Mook, and I am hearing Ook.
So off I went to hear Mook,
and try and translate it to Ook …
but not one word of spook was spoke.
Instead, a glass of red,
Abated my dread.
Near him I stood,
feeling like he was a neighbor from the hood.
Along came Gina, practitioner of Lent,
All forms of pleasure she promised to forget.
She sang on a dare
“Kitty that Old Cow”,
And “Touch me There”
A vibrator song,
The onset of a duet.
Just met, it was kismet,
Blackbird and Landslide
They sang by the hearth-side
And should I have declined,
My God could not have shined,
Instead he chose to remind,
He is mine.