87 lines
5.2 KiB
Plaintext
87 lines
5.2 KiB
Plaintext
,...
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$$$"""""" " """" $$$$$$ "T&$bxxd$&P" "T&$bxx$$$$$' " """"""$$$
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""" """""" """
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ggg "Alan Ginsberg and The Shawshank Redemption" ggg
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$$$ by -> Six $$$
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$$$ $$$
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$$$ [ HOE E-Zine #946 -- 12/08/99 -- http://www.hoe.nu ] .,$$$
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`"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
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Once upon a time, in 1995 I was in school. I spent the majority
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of 1995 in school, because at this time I was a student. Which is
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ironic, because I was completely disinterested in all things learning.
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So, one afternoon in 1995, in English class my very cool teacher
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suggested I join her poetry club trip to the Northern NJ Poetry Festival.
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I suppose this was her humble attempt at making me feel included in a
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class where I was a total outsider. I agreed, figuring it was a day off
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school, and hey I like poetry.
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The morning of the trip I found out my buddy would be this chick
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Erin that I knew from art class. Picture if Bif Naked and Dennis Rodman
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had a baby. The bus ride was two hours, all she talked about were gold
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cigarette cases, feather boas and Betti Paige. Eventually I kicked her
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in the face and she shut up. Anyway after two hours with my buddy Erin
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we finally arrive at Waterloo Village. Waterloo is one of those rebuilt
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settlements where people walk around in period costumes and churn butter.
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We all got maps and schedules and were sent out on our own. My buddy
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Erin and I wandered around for a while, churned some butter and then we
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came upon a large group of people taking turns reading their poetry up on
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a boulder. Lil' Miss Drag Queen jumped up on the boulder and read an
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epic poem about being brutally raped, people cried. I was in shock.
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When she was don't I said "Erin that happened to you?" She replied, "No,
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I just made that up last night." Then I punched her in the jaw and made
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her cry.
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While Erin was reeling from the right hook, I took off. I
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wandered around for a few hours scoffing at all the angsty teens. Angsty
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flannel wearing, Nirvana loving, Grungites everywhere. Just as I was
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about to expose my m16 and waste some patchouli smelling hippie chick, I
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felt a tug on my coat. I turned around to see my teacher Ms. Pecora.
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She grabbed my hand and said come on, someone in my class is going to see
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this if it kills me. I thought to myself "If she pulls my coat one more
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time, that just might happen. She pulled me into a speaking tent where
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some older gentleman was just taking the stage. He read some wonderful
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poetry, and some weird poetry. He read every poem twice, and said he did
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so because that way people listen. I remember one about a mouse, that he
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read 3 times. I don't know the name or how it goes, I just remember. I
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knew after leaving I would never forget what that man looked like or how
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his voice sounded. I suppose it was because it was the only time a
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teacher took interest in my learning. Or maybe because my urge to kill
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was gone. There was a question and answer period. Ms. Pecora made a
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point and he said "Excellent, I'm glad someone understands." Which she
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giggled in glee over. When it was over he shook our hands and we went on
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our way.
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About 2 weeks later my teacher told us Alan Ginsberg died. I knew
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he was some poet, I didn't really care. I suppose I forgot about it
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right after she told us.
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After high school, my sister got me this giant book of poetry and
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I started to read it and like it. I read about all the poets in it. It
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was probably the best gift she ever gave me. Of course, until she took
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it back a couple years ago insisting that it was never a gift. I read
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all about the beat poets. I think I liked their stuff the most.
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A few years have gone by since I've read anything from that book.
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On Thanksgiving, the subject of Ms. Pecora the English teacher came up.
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She's getting married, to a guy she met at the poetry festival. I said
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hey was that the guy she met when I went, and my sister confirmed. Then
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she said "Hey Al, is that the same day you saw Alan Ginsberg speak?" I
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was like "WHAT? When did I see Alan Ginsberg speak, he's sort of dead you
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know?" My family started to laugh and Jessica then relayed the whole
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story according to Ms. Pecora. At the poetry festival, he did a last
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minute appearance, Ms. Pecora and I were the only ones from our school
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that saw it.
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So apparently in 1995, I heard Alan Ginsberg read and he was
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awesome. Then he died. I had no idea who Alan Ginsberg was until 1997.
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In 1999 I put two and two together, and got 16.
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #946, BY SIX - 12/08/99 ]
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