patrick's eve

Today I sat in a large room and waited for my number to be called. There were several hundred people there from all walks of life. The television was only used to give us instructions and to assure us that we were fulfilling a sacred duty, otherwise it was off. Periodically, we were told we could leave the room for minutes at a time. Of course we were allowed to leave to use the bathroom or get a snack. Some of the people had their numbers called and they were taken to another room.

It began to snow and it was very pretty. Most people didn't look outside at all. Nobody spoke. After some time a man in uniform told us that we wouldn't be needed and could go home. he advised us to look out for a letter in the mail that would absolve us from having to spend another day in that room for the next three years.

Luckily I had been warned in advance to bring a book with me. Saul Williams' Dead Emcee Scrolls made for good company. As poetry that has grown out of old school hip hop, it displayed the same word play, dense allusions, rhythm and internal rhyme that has gone
missing from pop rap. It was the first I've read of him, though I have heard some of his performed pieces and I think they do succeed on the page. His manifesto really struck me:

I think I should aim at nothing more that ridding myself of lying, negative attitudes, trying to control how people see me, overconcern about what others think of me, dishonest expression of emotion, trying to possess that which isn't mine, false humility, lack of discipline: physically, mentally, spiritually and of all that leaves me incapable of giving and receiving love.
Simply, I don't have to try to be a poet or how I imagine a poet should or would be. I don't even have to write, as long as I am honest to each moment rather than to my ideas of myself.