Sunday, October 28, 2007

London day 3 (memories)

penzance, huh?never heard of it. so i strap my freshly showered body into the bed and try to catch 2 hours of sleep before we leave, when i realize -- damn, its up already. so i wrap my red peacoat around me and wait for the snoring to really start. don't know if i did or didnt disturb my car mates with the nasal symphony, but my back feels like someone threw brooklyn brown stones at me while i was sleep. my neck is stiff and my knee, the right one - the one that still swells after that good fall down the stairs of union square subway station, needs stretching so the cartilage can ease up and that shimmer, that feels like a really bad orgasm can go away. thankfully, the brits i roll wit have a schedule. every two to two 1/2 hours we pull over for stretching and cappuccinos. with a shot of hazelnut and a prawn mayo sandwhich, im cool. quick bathroom break, where i compromise my body parts for a touch-free toilet experience. and back in the car. my mates: peter, david and sound man jason are funny dudes. david and i are the smoke-free pair while peter and jason need to light up every free of the car moment. its hilarious. seriously. its almost like me with shoes, but less sexy heels and more penzance: i am astounded. its a beautifully lined town directly on the sea and i am in love. luckily we are staying two nights, so i promise myself a long walk with lots of pictures. checking into the B&B (bed and breakfast) we meet Pam. she's a cute older british (obviously) woman, with peppered hair and kind eyes. she leads me to my bedroom with personal bathroom and i almost forget that we're to meet downstairs for theatre check in and dinner. the bed is so soft, i'd give up a kidney to bring it back to the states. i laid down and an imprint of my backside sunk into the mattress. minutes later im downstairs and we're walking to the theatre which is just up the hill. the hill is unforgiven. my thighs are burning and my lungs are hurting and jason and peter puff their ciggies along as if this shyt is easy. i know i need to get in shape with the smokers are walking up the hill with such ease. the theatre's festival is in the process of poetry dating servicing... umm, yea. so im taking pictures - cause no way in hell could this go down in the states, when in my peripheral i notice a young man with a mohawk. it is indeed: logan, from mexico city. (american poet that just left nyc after featuring at the bowery poetry club and hanging at the nuyo) we are both excited to see a familiar face and catch up downstairs before his gig begins. i promise to listen a bit before dinner, as we havent eaten a meal all day. i find my roadbuddies and they are snacking happily on cranberry and brie sandwiches and some other thangs that look fancy including potato cake (mile high pieces of potato smashed together and sliced to look like a piece of cake). wow i offer. because if you know me, you know i dont stray too far from the food i know. so the cranberry and briepep sandwhich will be a NO. but thank you for thinking of us artists. and thats real. however, all the fellas fill up on the morsels and i rub my growling abdomen and make my way upstairs, daydreaming about the thai restaurant down the street. logan performs a couple of pieces. this is when my growling begans to effect my hearing. i can no longer hear the poems he's reading, but recipes for french toast, turkey burgers with cheese topped with turkey bacon and gumbo. after the 5th poem, i run to the exit and let jason and peter know thai food for me. immediately. its less than a 2 minute walk. and when we walk in, i dont even shudder at the loud ass kids with their pussywillow parents. im trynna talk myself into not getting 3 sides and an entree and settle on sweet n sour type dish of chicken and vegetables with egg fried rice. its a beautiful thing. the fellas get a bbq dish and crispy duck. i try the duck. its ok. kind of dry, but they say that's what its like. i also taste the bbq, thinking its also duck, and smile "its just like beef!" uh no. "sorry mahogany. that's the pork!" oooh. the glazed meat and bone lay on my plate stalking me for the rest of the night. laughing at my foolishness and taunting me with a possible date with morning, i check out logan's workshop on performance than head to the theatre for one of the best performances in england! ever. its energy matches the 300 plus theatre @ deptford back in 2004 and i sell out of everything before remembering 5 books i left in the room and running to get those at the break, just to sell outta those too. nice. this makes me feel good, especially since i bought some shoes after the workshop. later that nite. logan and i will become repeat offenders at the thai restaurant, talk about poetry slam and the ups anddowns before making our way to the mixer. this is where i will hold my first cuban cigar, take pics and celebrate the event with the champagne and crumpets crew before retiring around 10pm to my room for my first dose of dubplate drama (love it!!!) and a bowl of instant oatmeal (yes i brings my food from the states!!). tomorrow, we have a drive ahead of us back to bristol. but it is free of performance and i only have one meeting with a manchurian poet re: publishing. free days rock!

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