Tiffany was waiting patiently in the line that formed sometime before the sun went down. Her thick long hair and striking facial features stood out in my mind as I typed poems for others. When it was her turn, we smiled and immediately let down our guard.
This man criticized my new friend for not paying me with money for a poem. I asked, “who are you to judge another person’s investment?” He repeated that line over and over again, as if singing a song. “Who are you?” he demanded in a deep melodic voice, emphasis changing each time. “Who are you?” He scared my friend away, then unkindly demanded I create a poem about my question.
Last week, I got a chance to meet up with Ashley (creator of The Little Black Coffee Cup). We only knew each other through Twitter, thanks to our mutual philosophy–“substance over stuff,” as she aptly says. We connected over delicious gourmet coffee, then explored the artsy streets of Culver City.
I did Typewriter Poetry during the pre-show. Set out a few tarot cards (major arcana, if you were curious), rearranged candles, plopped down my typewriter and wrote free poems for the guests. “Some guests interacted with tarot cards next to a planter box garden of orchids and fledgling pineapples while poet Billimarie called upon the Muses and typed out impromptu verse on her baby pink typewriter.” –Henri Maddocks