A Rewind Button Stunt

September 21, 2012

(in progress)

Thank you’s. Uncontested thank you’s.

One month.

August 9th to September 8th.

Texas to Netherlands to Ireland to Wales to Scotland to England to Denmark and back to Seattle.

First stop: 20-year high school reunion, Baytown, TX.

Here’s Stephanie Jennische and me:



We reunited a few years ago by accident after she ordered a CD.

She had known me by a different last name when we were kids

and didn’t realize the Buddy she’d found.

After the reunion we went for pancakes and funny stories with old friends.

Funniest thing…

This is Cyndi Chapa and me:



When we were in 8th grade together

we both won “Class Clown.”

In high school, we would stay on the phone some nights around bedtime

and make each other laugh to no end.

After the reunion we did that again.

It was sure a pleasure to see Mom and David too.

They let me use the truck to go to my high school event

just like old times.

Thank you.

After the reunion

I flew directly to Amsterdam,

took a train to Rotterdam

and reunited with three lifelong friends.



Thank goodness.

I caught this picture early.

I see it as an order, not an explanation:

On August 16th

the tour went into effect.

There was a show 23 of the 24 nights.

It started with a literary picnic in Utrecht:



Apparently I was nervous and ate like a squirrel:

The next day I left for a festival in Groningen

where over a dozen of the dancers from Derrick Brown‘s “Strange Light”

came to watch my show just because Derrick and Timmy Straw recommended they do so.

That was a great surprise. What a friendly crew.

It was also nice that one of the women who played Jane in the original Tarzan

swung by to enjoy the night:

I rode in a taxi with the lovely and generous host of 3 of the Holland shows, Gina.

She ran with me through the train station in Groningen that night

so we could free my bags… It is a springing free and childlike run she gets to carry,

and it made me smile.

Thank you.

Lowlands Festival in Biddinghuizen was next.

Our performance space was called the Titty Twister.

It was the place to be come nightfall.

There was a 2-story middle finger rising from either side of the entrance,

with flames shooting from the tip on both sides,

and this sign was posted up as a reminder:



The hospitality was incredible.

Saskia Lous: thank you.

And Denvis Deadly: thank you.

I got to see Alt-J, Foo Fighters, The Xx, Kasabian,

sat by myself backstage to watch Wilco

then partied in the Titty Twister with about 1000 people for raucous live-band-

karaoke, complete with female bodybuilders, zombies, and leather clad pole dancers.

“Eye of the Tiger” stole the show.

The next morning I high-tailed it back to Amsterdam,

hopped a plane to Dublin, then did fun set after

Antony Fury and The Young Folks. They were a real treat

and I was able to get the only EP they brought with them.

Folks – front to back – were just grand.

Thank you.

*Also, a quick shout out to Blazing Salads just for existing with all that delicious food.

I was frickin’ starvin’, man.

I stayed the next night for one more show in Dublin.

It was in a private room on the backside of the bar.

This is what the locals were up to after the show was over:

IMG_1186

Thank you.

Ready for Wales?

I was.

Took a ferry across the Irish Sea

and was picked up by Martin Daws.

Every poet in the U.K. and Ireland seems to know Martin

and speak well of him. Me too.

I hadn’t exercised in a few days,

so Martin let his dog go for a run with me off-leash

through some breathtaking Wales countryside,

pathways and roads.

There were train tracks, sheep, a mountain of slate from the quarry,

rolling green hills and a waterfall included.

Thank you.

Here’s Martin (less hair) with Leigh out back of Martin’s house:



Leigh is a trusted friend from when Andrea Gibson, Katie Wirsing and I

did the I Am A Lagan tour. I wrote about him in Gentleman Practice.

He showed up to drive the rest of the tour except Denmark.

He is all the marbles I thought I lost,

much of the patience I wish I had,

many of the smart choices I can still make,

and of the fairest comrades and clearest communicators

any working artist, curious wanderer, or traveling human guest

could ever hope to have on their side.

He met up with Martin and I at the show in Bangor, Wales.

The show started as Leigh arrived, so we shared a drink as part of the audience

and I chuckled with anticipation and excitement

to get to ride most of the rest of the way with Leigh.

Leigh’s experience driving on the flip side of the road,

touring with me, and being an incredibly

fun, insightful, patient friend and gentleman is all pretty handy too.

Thank you, sir.

After Bangor, Wales we headed to Edinburgh, Scotland

for one show during the fringe festival.

The hosts and organizers throughout the tour

went above and beyond the call

to make both Leigh and I comfortable at every stop.

Matt in Scotland set it off right, treating us to a delicious meal

and dessert

before our show at Fruitmarket Gallery.

Someone requested “Pretend” that night, so I did it, with the help of a singer/beat boxer

named Pete the Temp.

Near the end I pointed up to reference The Big Bang

at the exact moment a power boom of fireworks set off in the sky.

The crowd, me and Pete the Temp were all sent into a spontaneous

and uncontrolled celebration.

I felt Pete the Temp’s heart beat faster than his mouth can.

Wow, Edingburgh sky.

Great timing.

Thank you to the energetic, committed and fully encouraging teacher

named Vicky Morris in Rotherham, England.

Thanks to Vicky, I met Joe Kriss, who locked down five of the dates for this tour.

Rotherham was the first of the shows with Joe.

Despite the number of dudes who love steroids in that town,

we sure loved the Rotherham show,

which took place on the top floor of a bar called The Bridge Inn

where we were kindly greeted by the warm and accommodating new owners, and

a gang of five awesome puppies who the owners were looking after for a friend.

This show lent serious good momentum to the tour,

not because the beer tasted like pot, or because of the drunk Mr. Burns-lookin’ man

who – just before being asked to leave – stood up and yelled, “Give me young colonial boy!”

twice, but because Leigh and I really enjoyed the crowd through and through.

Thank you.

We got to see Joe the next night in Sheffield as well

where we were spoiled by Leigh’s friend, Joye,

who let us use her big clean cozy home for two nights while she was away.

It goes without saying that I’ll forget to specifically thank loads of folks and hosts

and instances that helped make this tour one of the smoothest of my career

(e.g. the musicians, bar staff, randomly encountered fan, and long-distance drivers of Sheffield!),

but that don’t mean I don’t whole-heartedly include you in the this quite long journal entry,

which could be summed up with, “THANK YOU.”

Things only got better.

Dear Shambala Festival,

Front to back, top to bottom, in, out, over, around,

every band and poet and host and organizer and musician and dancer and surprise (Martin!)

at the Wandering Word Stage, from Leigh and I both,

Thank you.



We stayed up late.

We woke up early.

We drove in a haze to Bristol for the next show where we stayed with HAZEL!



Thank you for your warm home and hospitality, delicious food and keen sense of humor.

And thank you, Andi, you humble, delightful woman for making it happen again.

And to Anthony Green, who you probably didn’t meet that night in Bristol.

The poets and host and sound man were kind as they come.

It wasn’t the first time or last that I’ll be in Bristol.

And then, like that, off to Southampton.

There is much to be said (from stellar workshop participants to Anna Freeman

to breakfast upstairs at The Art House Gallery Cafe),

but the focus should be kept on the organizational guru and thorough gentleman,

Pete Hunter. Thank you. You’re good people, Pete.

Same goes for the next night in London.

So much to say about the fantastic show/space,

and twice as many dudes on steroids than Rotherham,

and seeing E. Amato from L.A., and Leigh’s friends visiting,

and an accidental high intake of caffeine,

but the focus of my thanks goes to Ross Sutherland,

who continues to make me feel right at home and in good company

every time we cross paths.

Our new buddy, Piers, was at the show in London.

He hopped in the car that same night and directed us to Old Hall,

where he lives with his folks and a community set on sustainable living.

I was startin’ to miss home a bit by that point

so I could hardly wait to meet the geese and chickens where Piers lived.



During our informal tour of the grounds

Leigh noticed a cow chowing down on a placenta

and realized a brand new calf had just been right in front of us.

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That day the weather was real moody.

I didn’t at all feel like performing for the fifteenth night in a row.

Leigh and I leaned against his car eating biscuits and drinking beet root juice,

trying to get cell phone service and watching it rain.

Folks seemed a bit distant and uninterested,

probably because of the sheer number of visitors they get passing through such a great place.

While we ate dinner before the show that evening

my heart was kinda sunk in the realization that I would be performing

for the same twenty or so fairly quiet folks eating at the tables around us.

Not so.

After dinner, I walked back to the performance space

and opened the door to a full ballroom of cheerful town folk

filling the place with upbeat exchanges.

19-year-old Piers really pulled through in every way for us.

Eyes wide and renewed, following two refreshing openers (including Piers)

it was the most present and effective I’d felt on stage the whole tour.

Thank you.

Things only got better.

Leigh and I decided to drive straight to his home/gallery in Hinckley, England that night.

We were both lookin’ forward to seeing Sarah (Leigh’s girlfriend of 19 years).

They live in and own The Factoryroad Gallery.

Sarah‘s pretty crafty, to say the least,

and makes a fine living from her art

doing odds and ends here and there,

like illustrating the October 2012 cover of Playboy.

Her and Leigh had even asked the man who designed The White Stripes “Icky Thump” CD,

Stanley Chow, to do a poster for tour:



I very much like that he used the last line from “Horsehead.”

Too bad it turned out so frickin’ good

because I haven’t been able to stop accidentally showing it off.

Only 30 embossed posters were made. Who cares, right?

I don’t give a care about the awesome, or the last two prints,

which I own,

hidden in the bomb shelter we don’t even have.

Thank you.

It was about 1:30am when we arrived at Leigh’s.

I knew their home/gallery would be clean and sharp, thoughtful and lively, warm and green

and filled with he and Sarah’s touch everywhere.

I did not expect what happened next…

This is the first thing I saw when we walked in:

Leigh’s pretty ornery about some things,

so I was certain that I was clearly looking at

the anti-coffee table.

Leigh clearly didn’t want people just setting their drinks on trendy coasters

and propping up their boob tube feet,

not when they could be planting rooftop gardens,

making homemade bread, and taking photos of obscure phallic symbols.

The sculpture was perfect and made me smile, but I didn’t say anything.

We were drained. He showed me to my cozy room that rises above

the garden on their side roof.

Leigh asked if I wanted tea.

Typically, tea time was my cue to poke fun of him

for absolutely living up to the English stereotype

every morning and evening, but that night

I thought it sounded like the perfect idea.

So I went downstairs to the kitchen and joined him.

That’s when I saw this on the wall:



Thank you.

The card hadn’t been mounted next to it yet,



and I couldn’t get passed the harmonica to read the text on the illustration,

so I didn’t realize I was the author of the text on the image.

My eyes darted left to the next image on the wall, still clueless:



I was surprised to see words I had written, tattooed onto the neck of the image.

Thank you.

Here’s the accompanying card, which had also not been mounted yet:

BUDDY: Hey, wait a minute. Leigh? Those are words I wrote.

LEIGH: Yeah.

This next:



Thank you.

Leigh and Sarah had waited till the next day,

the day of the opening/show,

to hang the artists’ explanations next to their works, so I was just seeing images,

but I’ll post the cards here so you can see what I eventually got to see:



Then this by the same artist:



Thank you.

I started waking up.

All of the sudden there was a house full of art

based on my…

BUDDY: That one was from “The Information Man.” This is so cool, Leigh, which of the works here are from my writing?

LEIGH: All of it.

I made my way in this order from one work to the next, in awe.



Thank you.

I wish I had a more clear photo of this one. I love everything about it,

right down to the frame made of piano:



Thank you.

It wasn’t the anti-coffee table.



It was entirely more thoughtful than that:



Thank you.

When I first walked in and saw these works,

before I realized I was at an opening inspired by stuff I’d written

I wondered how Leigh and Sarah managed to sweep and vacuum around this piece they kept in their home

(notice the bits on the floor underneath):



It stung a little to read this.



Thank you.

That’s enough, right? No more.

But then:



On the night of the opening,

I was pleased to tell the artist how much I liked it

before I knew she was the artist.



Thank you.

And just above the fireplace:



Thank you

I was so pleased to get to hang out with the artist,

and hug her.



They were hanging from a solid metal belly crafted by Peter

(the sculptor who did the Jean Heath work),

hanging from a beam supporting the house.



Thank you.

Still moving with Leigh in wonderment

from each piece to the next

I knew immediately what this was:



A [vinyl] pitch black woman dressed in a slow tornado.

And I got to hang out with the artist of this piece as well,

where I was, again, and from my thanks, fairly speechless.



Thank you.

The photographer who took all these photos is an architect.

He’s an architect who developed an entirely exploratory file of “My Town.”

He chose these four panels to represent his work.



I realized it was based on the poem quite quickly,

but it took a minute of observing it with Leigh before I realized

with much excitement, it was the bridge in Baytown where I grew up.

It was actually my town!

I couldn’t stop the smilin’.



It indeed caused the desired reaction.

Thank you, Nigel

At the show in Bristol I got to meet Leigh’s super sharp and funny friend, Ed.

All of Leigh’s folks were such a pleasure to be around.

Having not written much in the last year-and-a-half,

Ed’s piece sure sparked something new in me. I told him so:



It was Ed, Leigh, Sarah and I who stayed up and hung out latest after the show

and laughed about stuff and ate cake, and laughed about more stuff.



Thank you, Ed.

I thought this was bone inside rock:



I was surprised when I read the card.



It was little intimidating to respond to folks

who had so clearly taken the time to create work with my words in mind.

What a kind gentleman this artist was.



Thank you.

Somewhere in the excited dream state of it all

Leigh and I opened this package handed of to us in London

by Leigh’s friend, Boyd:



I’d met Boyd before,

and got to cross paths with him twice on this trip too.

What a pleasure.



After the last show in the U.K. (back in London),

I had a chance to thank Boyd for it and comment on some details I noticed.

Boyd, a calm man, looked at me real blunt and – regarding the process – said,

“It was intense.” While I am to dissolve the intensity with age,

thank you, Boyd

You gotta know this one hit home:



Yes, of course, there were some things I considered stealing right off the wall.



Thank you.

Most times I look at my shins,

the lines off of which this piece is based cross my mind:



This morning, while stretching at CrossFit, dents highlighted by a scabby “axe-ident,”

I know doubt though of this photo with the lines.



Thank you, Leigh Addams.

And this was the last piece, saved for the night of the show.



It’s Sarah’s piece… I know.

If only you could see all the details.

It’s the details that turn up quality.



Thank you, Sarah Coleman.

I had to go to the bathroom.

I joined me:



I was pretty chuckled up and somewhat shy about my face

taking up the whole bathroom wall,

and I gave myself a good talking to about ego and to not react to it,

just feel thankful for the gesture.

Way cooler than my face on a wall was Leigh and Sarah’s toilet:



(Caution: proper technique required for flushing.)

We’re not done yet.

You still have to see this close-up.

Can you tell what it is?



How ’bout now?

Thank you, Brook

Not only did I get to perform in front of layers of Brook’s rad image,

but we got to have coconut popcorn out of it:



Not kidding.



All-out on the goodness.



Thank you.

The Artist Roster:



Thank y’all.

After having the opportunity at the opening to observe all the work in more detail,

and get to talk with some of the artists, and – to my post-event surprise – have

way too many photos captured of me double-fisting popcorn and beer,

it was time to do some poems and speak with the folks in the room.

I had originally thought this was the only reason I was going to Hinckley.

This is what I look like when I’m trying to say thank you with more than two words,

and not having much luck other than to well up with overwhelmed-ness.



Once when I was on the road, and worn out, and insecure about things,

Snook said, “Would you stop forgetting that I love you.”

Snook doesn’t often waste words.

At the opening that night I recognized that the degree to which I felt thanks could only be expressed in exact terms:

Thank you. Once. Without babbling overboard.

This is what I look like when I still can’t get the words out:

The whole show felt like a family effort.

Thank you, Leigh and Sarah not just for the pieces you contributed,

but for every detail that I spotted, the ones I never noticed, the ones I was allowed to keep for myself.

The show is still going on for another week at The Factory Road Gallery in Hinckley, England if you’re around.

All photos by Nigel (the My Town architect).

I wanted to go home now and be done with it,

exactly on that note in Hinckley,

but there was a tour to finish. Thank goodness.

Next stop: Birmingham, England where I got to see a generous

and talented old friend, Bohdan Piasecki.

The day was a wave in the right direction as I got to cross paths with a fellow Vipassana meditator, and hosted a workshop that felt

familial.

Thank you.

Sarah got to go with us to Birmingham and I was sure glad she did

because – just when I thought I was out of steam – I gave my favorite show of the tour…

…Until the next night in Cardiff, Wales!

Well, when the room is empty just before the show is about to start,

that can be a real bummer.



When it get packed to standing-room-only in about 7 minutes,

not a bummer.

Owen Bowley, the host, surprised Leigh and I both when he and his band mate

sang a song they had written acapella, with style, and

new-

ness

and brought the house down.

I think a DVD project may be in the works soon,

and I sure want to have that song in there, Owen.

Thank you.

No offense to people who hate pretty things,

but the drive to Cornwall was so beautiful I just kept saying beauty and pointing,

not because anybody needed it pointed out,

but because kids do stuff like that. I don’t give a care.

The actual show in Cornwall, thanks to Clare Howdle, was in a comfy room with loads of pillows

and chairs designed for extra chillin’.

This was the one night Leigh pushed the party passed curfew.

Here’s random video taken of the last 5 of us at the bar,

which supports my theory that tea is either being suggested or talked about

at nearly all times in the U.K.

tea

These guys were s lot of fun.

Then it was onward to the last show in the U.K. (London),

and the last night hanging out with Leigh.



Neither of us spoke much about it much, but there was some sadness in the air.

The last London show, hosted by Dan Simpson,

and sponsored by Apples and Snakes,

could not have gone any better. A riled up and energetic full house it was,

and what a treat to get to find out that Shaka Campbell (formerly of Slam teams L.A., San Francisco and Nuyorican)

was in the house.

If anyone has a photo of Leigh and I together from this tour, please send it along.

Until then, we’d like to leave you with our casual surprise drive passed Stonehenge

before we part ways and I head off to Denmark…

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Peter Dyreborg may be the most detail-oriented host I’ve had the pleasure of working with. He applied and was awarded grants for both of the final shows in Aarhus and Copenhagen, Denmark,

where he packed the houses and helped me end the tour on such a fine note.

In Aarhus he even put us up in a little cottage on this street:

In Copenhagen, my dear friend Steven Arrowood,

who I first traveled Europe with in 1998,

was there on business a few hours away,

so he and some great acquaintances rushed all the way over for the last show,

where after my first poem, this lovely woman shoved her thumb hi up in the air

before anyone had a chance to clap:



I asked that no one clap because I’d never seen such an enthusiastic thumbs up

and I just wanted to remember it.

Turns out that my buddy, Steve, was catching a train near my hotel the next day

so he stayed on the extra bed at my hotel.

He left very early before I woke up and chose to not wake me.

When I departed I realized Steve had covered the Do Not Disturb sign outside my door

with the following announcement. Danish housekeeping masked their concern.

I was surprised to learn of my condition:

It was the perfect send-off next to seeing Sweden’s Oskar Hanska off at the train station

where I first began to wear glasses instead of my contacts

so the “epidemic karato conjunctivitis” in my eye could heal faster:

An unexpected treat at the end for me was the gentle layover in Iceland where I got to reflect a little,

then I learned all about Iceland from the myriad Iceland tourist videos to select from on the 8 hour plane ride home.

I’ll sign off with this moment in the shuttle back toward the beginning,

at Lowlands Festival, the catalyst for my adventure over in the first place.

I wish I could remember his name:

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Buddy