So, dig this.
En route to the poesie extravaganza I saw a spectacular car fire (NB: this image is via Google Images, not moi) not too far from the bridge that bridges the Middling City and The Land of Mackintosh Toffee.
The car fire was in its beginning stages as I was approaching, that stage when it seems perhaps there's just an overly-hot cuppa Starbucks in the cup holder, or something akimbo with some trash alongside the vehicle. Then that sight of the upholstery catching, that fearful thought that something is really going to ExPlOdE. But it does not. Somehow Yours Truly has managed to see a lot of car fires and subsequently I consider myself a bit of an authority on them, having also, You see, discussed them with emergency car fire anti-abettors - i.e. firemen/killjoys.
So I am stopped in traffic but all the world around the roaring car fire had stopped. Then the firemen arrived and the show was like so over. My camera was not on hand. I have soul-searched and I am allright with this.
Memory bank offers up another car fire on an overpass of a biway of the MC and, as I approached the blaze up ahead and above, I reached for my camera and shot away madly through the windshield. Very dramatic - both the shooting and the fire.
That's far down south and down and over in the southwest.
Urban Epiphany, like the fire/far, was a raging success, although running behind. I read and read and read some more. Actually cutting down to about one-third of what I had penned & planned as the hour was laterific. I felt solid reading, really digging the words. And enjoying most of the words of the others. I needed to leave and upon leaving was followed by one of the readers who asked me to be a featured writer/reader at a series that he produces.
Now another memory.
The Writers' Cramp Series that YT ran for years with partner Paul T. Hogan. This series freakin' rocked: two free reading per month, and always featuring one newbie, one established, one superstar of sorts. I moved the WCS from the somewhat obscure Bethune Gallery (sigh) to Central Park Grill. Thursdays. MCd alternatingly with Paul and I gave readers souvenir WCS tshirts I hand silkscreened. Ahh, the 80s.
So somewhere sometime YT will be a featured person.
Arose at the asscrack of dawn to wend my way to a golf course to make poetry in the form of digital images for a book to be published internationally about the History of the U.S. Open. Part of such took place aeons ago on the green greens of Grover Cleveland GC.
Had a sherpa, Paul, who took me out on the cart and who guided me about so all's I had to do was focus, look, think, compose, think, focus, chat, laugh, focus, repeat.
Let Us just put it this succinct way. With my imPerfect sense of direction and maply impatience, I might still be out there looking for freakin' 18.

Hole 19 Love.