last semester i’m sure i mentioned my least favorite group of poets: the aging beats. tonight i would like to add their entourage to my list of people to avoid whenever possible including: the partner of one reader who blatantly stole my newspaper, the old man who kept leaving the reading to sit next to me at the book table and say things like, “have you ever worn a burka?” “do you do lsd?” “the concrete in this building reminds me of mexican immigrants,” “where are your parents?” “it’s dangerous” [regarding nothing], “the government is covering up the suicides of young people like car crashes,” all loudly enough for the entire reading to hear, and the mean tibetan monk who tried to make me feel guilty for charging him full price for a book.
this isn’t even involving the readers themselves, one of whom kept calling the untitarian center “ghetto” and saying she hated poetry readings.
who are these people? they’ve turned the revolution into a fight against petty annoyances. it’s like they are out to prove that alcohol poisoning and drug overdoses before the age of 40 aren’t such a bad way to go after all.