WELL, the Two Sensitive Guys tour is officially underway (I'll be linking that once we start our video blog). We had our basement show at Kevin's and it was a really good time. He had a bunch of stuffed cardboard boxes from his work set up as chairs, and blue Christmas lights all around, and Sam's friend Nicole (who drew the cover for our just-about-done chapbook) hung up some paintings that were very graphic and disturbing in a good way (I'd link to her, but I couldn't find her on Google). We filled the room, which is to say that there were twenty-odd people down there, including some of my favorite Hampshirites.
Sam and I traded off poems for an hour, with Kevin doing a two-poem spotlight in the middle. I opened with "Meat Joke," we broke in the middle for Kevin, and then Sam opened back up with a poem called "Psalm" about street preachers, and I closed with my "serious poem," which concerns a friend of mine who wanted to kill herself, but the end of the poem is uplifting I think.
This is going to be a really good tour. Sam and I feel that we balance each other out very well. He does very intense confessional work, and I'm usually ironic and/or goofy (except when I'm begging my friend to keep on living).
Most of the time, I feel like humor and irony are the most effective tools for expressing my thoughts on depression and media and other socio-political topics. But other times I feel like I'm locked in a room with a polar bear with earmuffs and a deer with two eyepatches and two talking muffins and a sunburned zebra, and we all just want out.
But then I write another poem about dinosaurs. It's just what happens, and I'm becoming more and more okay with it.
Anyway, I ended up staying at Hampshire for about three days. On one hand, going to bars and shooting billiards with Sam, Charley, and Kevin (can't find him either for some reason) was an extremely good time. On the other hand, this is my idea of a self-destructive day: waking up hungover, drinking a cup of black coffee, going on a long car ride to comic book shop (even if Adam Stone is there watching The Muppet Show), eating greasy Chinese food and drinking a Dr. Pepper, showering and rushing off (into the cold cold night) to perform poetry with your slam team at Emerson to open up the room for Jared Paul.
My body felt like one of those Mech Warriors, and my brain was this stupid kid who just barely knew how to work the controls, and my friend who owns the game was like, "You're doing it wrong! Give me the controller!" But I just wanted to finish the game and go home. Which is what I finally did, and now I'm all well-rested, which I'm enjoying a lot. The road is going to be interesting...