ForbiddenFruitSeeds

Feast of the Epiphany

Not bad Magoo. Aside from leaving my bag filled with camera, journal of poems and other crap on metro earlier in the day, it was still a great open mic last evening. I was truly surprised at the welcome of kind applause. As if I were someone talented and hot enough to rouse that kind of reactionary welcome.

And until last evening that had always been my issue. Not feeling that any type of my work creative or whatever was any good or that it was just hanging on to the coattails of someone else who made the work appear good or important or worthy of ... something.

I mentally dumped off a lot of baggage last nite and today… at this moment actually after this first paragraph. I’m not under that subconscious shackle of being the useless and talentless waste that some persons needed to have me believe in order to make their own shortcomings and insecurities seem non-existent.

And of course my true friends and current husband were always telling me how “great” or “talented” or “hot” or “wonderful” I am, but my thing was well they’re my friends and lover, of course they think I’m the shit. It don’t count.

But it does.

And last evening during my open mic set I felt how much it counts. I felt how much it counts in the meet and greet before the show where some fine ladies and gentlemen, who were not my close friends but regular audience patrons of the front porch, came to me, some with wide eyes “are you going to read tonite?’
Or “you look great, I’m glad you’re here tonite I love your work”. This sunk in my skin as if honey was spilled from their lips onto my arms and face and ears.
And I had comments like this offered to me before. But they slid right off from me. But that was then.

And as I took my turn and headed up to the mic a bit later in the evening, the applause and Minnie-hoots solidified the benevolence of the crowd who knew my work. I looked out to the crowd, such handsome men and women, such talented artists. Kuku there, with his way of singing and his love song that always makes me cry happy tears. Tim’m with his words and milestones and his poem with the Sade “kiss of life” reference that always makes me cry happy tears.

But for once I didn’t cry up at the mic… hmm.

And the other open mic’rs with such profound words and interesting verse. The Front Porch is such a nice venue where everything and anything can come together.

Being Italian, me and my family always celebrate Epiphay on jan 6. Not a whole big deal, it’s supposed to be when the 3 wise guys got to the baby jesus or some nonsense like that (supposedly the actual day when baby J was borne and baptized). I think... But I remember we always had a feast and the xmas tree HAD to stay up until then and the best gifts were saved until this day. I kind of miss the food and being with the folks.
But this year, the Epiphany actually was my own literal epiphany of who I forgot I used to be. And this epiphany due to the folks of the Front Porch no doubt.

I’m nervous, ‘cos now I know I’m going to be creating a shitload of stuff. It’s like going up on mic or before a room of Feds or a training class. I’m always nervous. Even when I dj’d at clubs here and abroad for the past 14 years. I was always nervous, hands shaking as I grabbed the first record.

Kuku mentioned he didn’t know why he was so nervous last nite. I can only offer this: Good old George Burns stated once that “only truly talented people get nervous before they go on. I still get nervous at 90 years old, that’s why I have this cigar.”

Happy New Year.

Xx
Oo

me

posted by Saint Vincent @ 10:45 AM