i am now tending bar at the 8th night of apature festival; it’s the second half of the second program of the night, and we’re characteristically running way over.

i fear the artists in the second half will kill me, but i could also use the thrill of a death threat in my life.

not really, but it sounded like an appropriate thing to say, even if it wasn’t.

a few moments ago, anita daswani was reading; a few moments before that, anamude was playing. just doing some shout-outs, to the anonymous, possibly nonexistent, readers of this rambles/blog section of the site.

on sunday i learned what a permalink is (thanks, mj at a bloggery workshop, also part of apature).

christ, i myself am getting sick of saying that word. not because i don’t feel the love, but there is such a thing as over-saturation. no offense, my api brethren. but i WORK here, so give me a break.

so i am now sitting in the back, feeling oddly comforted behind a string of three fuzzy pink hanging baby blankets (part of the visual exhibition, a piece about korean adoptees), tending the bar. i am listening to christine zilka read, because while i may not do it well, i can, indeed, multitask.

after this festival is over, i can probably start processing other things in the world. for now, every little thing feels precious.

for instance: i managed to do my laundry yesterday, which was really fucking exciting; my clothes never felt so perfectly clean. accomplishing the doing-of-laundry is one small yet profound way in which i exert control over my life. stop dismissing it, bitches; you know what i mean.

i was listening to tony blair today on the way from trader joe’s to ksw, and was struck by his eloquence; he may be a dick in some respects and enact questionable laws and/or policies, but at least the guy can speak convincingly. (or am i just a biased fuck who privileges sharp british accents? you be the judge. goddamnit.)
i myself don’t know the connection between laundry and tony blair, but i swear it wasn’t a pathetic attempt to inject some politics into my rambles.

and that’s all for now i think; oh, except that jim espinas and glenda bautista are co-emceeing tonight’s program; they’re so cute up there. damn.

i’m now sitting in the middle of a very intimate prose erotica clinic, facilitated by the inimitable Joel Barraquiel Tan, who recently edited the new anthology that i have not yet read but of which i now possess a copy (i think that grammar’s totally wrong but i don’t care to deal with it right now because i’m multi-tasking damnit and suspend your judgment for just a moment, for chrissake), inside him: new gay erotica, (carroll & graf, 2006). also in attendance is louis anthes, one of the writers featured in the anthology, and bushra rehman, another writer not in this anthology but who co-edited a different anthology of women of color writers, colonize this motherfuckers! –okay, it’s just colonize this! (Seal Press, 2002), the rest of that title’s just a suggestion. what an accomplished and intimate prose erotica clinic; i feel out of my league. but yet, i must be here because the workshop is part of ksw’s 8th annual !apature! festival (exclamation points added by me, for the sake of whimsy).
although i’ve been only partially-engaged (and kind of obnoxious, as i’ve been tap-tap-tapping throughout, but all three insist they don’t mind and/or notice, perhaps they are Liars), i’ve still picked up many exciting sex writing points from Teacher Tan, like “bad sex is good sex” (and seeking out bad sex for the sake of a story), and “complicate cliches” (these are both parts of joel’s “sex writing 10 point platform, if you are interested in more you’ll have to ask), and now i am considering writing a sex story somehow, but not in my standup probably, because there’s enough bad sex in standup.

but who knows.

and now i must go tend to the !apature! festival. please come by.

alas, i did not even have time to mention guerrilla filmmaking; my rambles title is a blatant example of shameful misadvertising. what a dick i am.

more later.