transition and outkast

Sitting at Denver Airport (Pearson, take note – they don’t charge for wireless here). Usually, when I travel, I don’t have time to just chill and write. Usually, I’m skipping lines, running through customs, and making it on to a plane by the skin of my teeth. But not today. There’s an hour before I have to board, and I’m five minutes away from the gate. I thought I’d seize the opportunity and wrap-up this past week, tie everything up neatly with a bow before I have to rejoin my real life.

I came to Boulder to take part in the Summer Writing Program ran by the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics (I just love saying that, it sounds so retro).

First off, I knew it would go well when on Monday morning, when I went to get my first coffee of the day. I still hadn’t spoken to anyone, was trying to find my way around and had been traveling the entire day before after rolling on no sleep in two nights. But I walked into the coffeeshop, and they were playing Outkast. And that’s all right by me.

With regard to the program, I had been romanticising the beat generation, but what I got was a simulacrum of it, retro politics repackaged for a new generation of radical chic. Or maybe I’m just a cynic. I did get to meet Amiri Baraka, a small man with a gigantic presence. I also got a chance to see Anne Waldman performing, who’s on another level completely in terms of sheer performance skill. And Tracie Morris? Damn!

The workshop that I attended was called “Taking a Solo: Prose & Interdependent Consciousness”. Originally designed by Thulani Davis, the lovely Akilah Oliver took her place at the last moment. A lot of what I practiced in terms of my writing this week was outside of my comfort zone – but hey, boundaries are there to be crossed. What I did place a lot of value on were the conversations I had with some of the faculty.

Another reason I had elected to attend the workshop at Naropa was to expose myself to more black writers from an older generation, to learn more about what had come before me in the diasporic cultural scene, and to find out what else was going on. The community and connection aspect was good for me. Sometimes, I feel so isolated and insulated from the world-at-large, too wrapped up in the Screwface Capital to pay attention to what’s going on.

Aside from the educational aspect of it, Boulder was fascinating. It’s an interesting little town, filled with beauty, magic, and weird racial dynamics. I’ve also never seen so much Buddhist/Tibetan/Hindu paraphernalia in one place at the same time.

Fourth of July fireworks were beautiful watched lying on my back on the grass on the university campus, surrounded by families and good people. We’d planted ourselves in front of a tree, and although we easily could have shifted a few feet to the right for an unobstructed view, everything was just fine. I saw the Big Dipper for the first time ever, bright, clear stars in the mountain air. I also had an interesting encounter with a snake on my way to the creek. People told me there weren’t any snakes in the city any more, that noone had seen any in years. I think it was a baby king snake. We had a brief exchange and then we both went on our way. Actually, I went right back the way I had come. I can take a hint.

I had a lot of time to just pause, think and write. I’m sure that a lot of the writing that has come out of this week will surface in future posts, and hopefully in more published work. I’ve promised to make more of a commitment to publishing my writing. To keep on pushing it and stop hoarding like it doesn’t belong out there.

And henceforth, every new week shall now begin with Outkast.