poetry reading. In no particular order

AR has done a reading. I see her and want to speak to her. I do not know how to respond. every word takes me such a long time to formulate. We are standing in a doorway, I am extremely moved and conflicted about how to speak. She says something. I can’t remember the exact words (the exact words are important). something about how she doesn’t want my feedback to feel like a gift I am giving her, --I cup my left breast. It seems a way in which I am trying to get out of explaining my difficulty.

There is a space for writers where they have a half an hour to write. They are all men. They are dominating the space. It is a lovely area with big horizontal wooden tables. three in a row with two rows. The men sit there with all kinds of technology and virtually grunt at people. I sign up for some time to write and they give it to me. I have to go away and come back later. I mumble something about how I prefered it when AR was there, as a woman, as an energy.

There is another area, also long wooden tables, vertical and communal. A bar in the front. people are taking a break and having a special lunch. there are energetic discussions. I feel as if I have missed the discussion. I find a space. I have a glass but the man at the bar pours me a special draft in a special glass.

S says he has gone to see my brother perform. Part of the performance is also a talk or something. S says that my brother is losing interest in the talk because everything he did he did for his family to speak to us and if we are not there he does not want to talk.