writers are smart

okay, here's the deal. i'm a bit tipsy now... on (of all things) chocolate stout beer mostly from young's double chocolate stout (reaaaaly smooth and drinkable). i went out tonight to a reading in a certain Park Slope book store (unnameable books, if you're wondering) and i was instantly struck with the serious old skool scene that was unfolding before me. first of all, we were in the basement of the anarcho-socialist bookstore (don't shoot me for that very vague and unintelligent description)--and when i say basement, i mean basement... falling crooked wooden stairs and rope light lighting the place. well, it was housing the contemporary queer literary scene. i was impressed that i found myself there. not sure how yet, but who cares, right?

anyway... then it got me thinking about how with it the literary scene is and how blatantly blind and dumb the art scene is (now i'm really going to get shot)... and a bit of snobbery washed over me that i was there instead of an art opening... or art show... or my own art studio... or anything at all art related. these people look inside and then outside and their success is destinctly linked to the OUTSIDE world. in the art scene it is not linked to that at all. in fact, the less the outside world gets your art, the smarter you are assumed to be. you've 'one upped' them.

tell that to the beat poets.

anyway...

that got me thinking of my awkwardness... and how i don't empower my own eccentricities... when for fuck's sake, the whole world nearly trips over itself for anyone else's craziness... as long as they're famous.

yep.

okay. enough said.

tomorrow i'll talk about my angst over something else.

yah.

good night.

okay.