I'm off to a poetry reading. Covering it for the paper. No expectations - good at least. The gay is a Christian and school teacher. He will also blow the flute - recorder. I hate that instrument. It's the Norwegian school instrument. You have to play it from 3th grade. The sound of 24 children blowing like madmen in this torture instrument are unbearable.
My kind of poetry are more like voluptuous, inductile, nerve itching, dirty words filled with angst and anguish. Found in poets as Charles Bukowski, Jens Bjørneboe, Jakob Sande or the the old Norse Edda-poems. Not to mention Jon Fosse. Which is not a poet, but theater dramatist. I read his novels as lyrics descriptions of life itself. Lou Reed and the Velvet Undergrounds, which I listen to right now, do also touch this nerve - as in Venus in Furs.
Well. They were done when I came. Then I have the weekend off :)
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