TH SN HS RSN

but the El Sol adventure was a failure, never managing to lift its weight off the ground, not to mention the strong headwind that kept blowing us into the trees before we were high enough to pass over. At least the whole shebang didn’t go up in flames.

Benefit for Being Sorta Stood Up:
1.
Awareness that the staff at the Bull Pub are friendly to me of their own free will, and have accepted my near daily presence not as an annoyance, but a, well, thing-that’s-not-an-annoyance.

2. Situations that go wrong (i.e., unexpected) can make for interesting writing. I’d left all my writing and reading equipment at home since I’d planned on shortly being in club mode. There was soccer on the telly, so I watched that while waiting, working my way through half a game, and feeling hatred towards a guy named Mutu for an obvious dive in the box (the replay showed the obviousness, of course) that resulted in a penalty kick and the game-winning goal. [Stoppard’s Professional Foul takes its name from a similar move in soccer… the idea that, if necessary, for example, a person from the other team is about to take a shot on goal and possibly score, then you, as a player on the other team, would make a professional foul, deliberately fouling the player in order to interrupt the play, essentially cheating. This is one reason I somewhat despise the rules of basketball.] Then, realizing my club leader wasn’t coming, I ordered some zupa spinaczkowa and managed to write a poem on the back of an ATM slip. Some good came out of the whole, after all.

3. The poem is all form–well, not all form, but a formal experiment, like “Investigation” that ended up being three evenly spaced columns of tercets in a block on the page. In this poem (so far, sadly titled “Sans”) each stanza has a different length and style, but each line of each stanza is spaced out to be as long as the longest line of the stanza, creating a block shape, and also (I suppose) influencing the way a reader will pause, or put weight, on words. As for the poem’s subject, it’s okay at the moment, somewhat abstract, though I like the way the end comes together: what I’m proud of, I guess.

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