Thursday, January 2, 2014

The Becky Robison Writers Residency

I am pleased to announce that I have been accepted into the prestigious Becky Robison Writers Residency. It takes place in the balmy climes of Las Vegas, in the comfort of my bedroom. Here I shall writewritewritewritewrite for the next week, certainly, since (as far as I know) no other MFA-ers have returned as of yet. Once they do return, however, I still plan on being as productive as humanly possible.

My trip home to Chicago was a whirlwind of crazy fun. After Kaiser's AND DWChitown AND Improvised Shakespeare AND Murphy's AND Intelligentsia AND Moody's AND Windy City Soul Club AND Dance Central AND Christmas AND Anchorman 2 AND Another 90's Party AND FutureChristmas AND Delilah's AND James Bond New Year's Eve Party, I feel like I want to stay in my bed for the next week--in the best way possible, of course. Thanks to Meg, Gena, Mishk, Felipe, Ben, Ashley, Jane, Valy, Leets, Alex, Marc, Raphael, Dan, Tanise, parents, second parents, extended family, and anyone else I forgot for making the past two weeks so damn epic.

Now for a new January feature that will be appearing on Viva Las Becky: shitty poetry! Next semester I'm getting all my poetry credits out of the way, and I'm quite nervous about it. I'm intimidated by the idea of writing poetry, but I know that the only way to get over a fear such as this is to write poetry, and to write it often. To this end, I will be writing a poem every day in January, and I'm going to drag you along for the ride! Of course, they're all going to be off a day, since today I'll be posting the poem I wrote yesterday, and so on.

I wrote this poem on the airplane back to Vegas. It's a sestina. I tried to use my PTKY tactic of picking a person and making up a narrative of his/her/zir life, but then putting that narrative into verse. However, I don't think it ended up specific enough. Right now it reads like a horoscope--"I" and "you" could be just about anybody if you stretched it. Maybe that's a good thing, but I doubt it. It was supposed to be this businesswoman that I saw. Oh well. I'll stop making excuses now. Feedback is always useful, by the way. Here it is, in all its horrific glory:

Chronotope of an Airplane

Little red light blinking across time
zones, wings slicing the hours
that separate me from where I'm going,
where I was, and you.
When I'm up here I wonder
about the meaning of day.

Was it a good day?
Was it a good time?
Was it a wonder
to make it through the hours
at all? And do you
know where you're going?

If you're going
at all. Did I really spend all day
hoping that you
would take the time
to call? We used to talk for hours,
so I never had to wonder

if I was in your thoughts. I wonder
now, about it all. Are we going
anywhere? Those hours
we spend together--do they make a good day?
Am I just a good time?
Who are you?

Where are you?
Do you ever wonder
about all the time
we spend going
over the same day
in opposite directions, for hours?

Are your hours
different from mine? Do you
measure your day
by units of me? I wonder
if we're ever going
to sync up? Time

you watched my little red heart blinking across time
zones. The day has come for going.
Together? Away? Our hour is now. I wonder

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