Written by Wilbo on the Bluff in St. Joseph, Michigan
F,
GET YOUR SUNDANCE ON!
This is not your practice life. It is your only life. So, go to Sundance as a volunteer because your life depends upon it. Go to all those other festivals because your life depends upon it. Sleep in your CAR if you must (a little fresh air whilst you sleep helps creativity) anyways. Or learn how to hitchhike again, if you must.
Love your stuff, F. I've been reading it. It's bloody fucking good; F, and I only know the smidgen of your written stuff. Why aren't you sharing it, F? Putting it on your entertaining web site is cool, but you're not shilling yourself enough, bud. Why aren't you writing down what I know you know? I know you know it and you're not sharing it.
Sheee -- at, to slip into a little southside Chicago-ese that I know you'll comprehend, when are you going to stop being a closet aficionado of Chicago history? I'm on to you. You've probably forgotten more about Michigan Avenue than most guys from Hinsdale will ever learn. The best of what you know you do not tell to boys (FREUD wrote this). But it's OK if you sell it. C'mon, Mr. Nemecek. Shesh !
You want your potential audience to read Stuff and Maxim instead? There's lots of energy pouring into your life that you have not hooked up for your purposes. How do I know? Well, your writing to me is so full of the conditional. If I get accepted, I go to Sundance? Didn't you promise to live for Sundance? You vowed. We were wowed. But are you endowed by your vow? (Channeling a little Jesse Jackson right now).
I like J. Ickytrip a lot because he's such a young King Lear, howling on the English heath as the wind blows and the rain beats. My buddy JC bolted for L.A., and he did it like a man. Goddamn, if I see him sleeping amongst the palms at Venice Beach, I'm going to take him to my favorite Santa Monica tamale shop and congratulate him for his chutzpah. And you're going to Park City Utah if you have to convert to Mormonism in order to have a place to stay.
How do I know that Living for Sundance is LAME! OK, I'm letting you have it, but only because I love you all. Proof positive. I brought a fucking case of 12 primo bottles of Michigan wine to one of our events, Edgewise, and I left with SIX BOTTLES. I saw Edgemaster begging a woman to help him finish a bottle. BUSTED!
Shee-at, and I still had to give two bottles to a hot thing living in that condo complex who lent her pad to two impassioned lovers who needed five minutes of privacy. More was happening on the elevators that night, brothers and sisters. That could never happen with the BEAT POETS. Picasso did not permit the neglect of wine after a good day of work. Hemingway would have left the party with 12 empty bottles for refilling at a bodega that stayed open all night and 6 mas finas fillies to help him imbibe them.
Nuff said. I'm breaking all of your voodoos. (Channeling M. L. Liebler, whose career is dead in Detroit, but he aint as a poet).
Wilbo on the bluff of St. Joe's.
No comments:
Post a Comment