Sincerely Yours, at 38, 039

Today was a mix of inspired and uninspired writing. We are getting nearer and nearer to the denouement and I'm nervous about that... somehow it'll all have to fit into the 50,000 without coming up short or getting too long. I don't have a sense of how that will work... But anyway, I decided today not to let myself worry about a coherent plot, following along with my serious thread, or doing anything that I didn't want to do. So I wrote a fun letter from Kiefer that I've excerpted below, and Kiefer, with your help, wrote what he considers to be a political poem about Jackie's Place. He would really appreciate your critiques and constructive criticisms.

By the way, I did a Google Image search for 'Jackie's Place' and the following two images (among others) came up:

They go strangely well with the last lines of Kiefer's poem! See the article on Jackie's Place here:
http://www.mlive.com/news/grand-rapids/index.ssf/2009/02/08-week/


Letter 86. September 8, 198x The Road

Dear Nicky,

If you are feeling too fragile to carry out the work, trust your friends to carry it on for you. That is the true spirit and meaning of collective struggle, is it not? The strongest take on the heaviest burdens; to each his own. Although I have always considered you one of the strongest people I know, I understand all too well that we each have our individualized Achilles heel. And that yours should be assault from a supposedly friendly officer of the law speaks volumes about your inherent strength. Remember that buildings and bridges are made to bend in the wind. To withstand the world that’s what it takes. All that steel and stone, are no match for the air my friend. What doesn’t bend, breaks.

We are made to bleed, and scab and heal and bleed again. We turn every scar into a joke. We are made to fight, and fuck, and talk, and fight again, and sit around and laugh until we choke. I wish I were sitting around laughing with you tonight, Nicola, instead of sitting in this air-conditioned sedan on the road to somewhere. I’m embarking on my tour – you can (please) write me care of the return address on the envelope, my agent will make sure I get it – and I anticipate days and nights of loneliness.

There will be people around me, constantly. But you and I both know that it is possible to be alone in a room full of people. John Donne once famously said that no man is an island. With all due respect, I must disagree. The poet is an island. Life streams around us, deposits wondrous and frightening items on our shores, and passes on. My only hope is to join with you and the others in the struggle into an archipelago of sorts… we will put up bridges between us, strong enough to withstand the ebb and flow of the tides, the immense distances, the hurricanes of grief and the tsunamis of conflict that we humans constantly generate. I once believed that we humans had an equal capacity to generate joy.

I return to these optimistic thoughts tonight, as I write you from the darkened interior of my lonely chariot. You have shown me that I was wrong to withdraw into the isolation of my poet’s life. The only true poets belong to the people: Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Buffy Saint-Marie, Edwin Starr. I admit I have not been a true poet until now.

I must repeat myself – although I am sure you are tired of hearing this, I have promised you only honesty. And at this moment you truly are my muse. Because of you, I have recognized that my youthful work, so focused on literary form and experimentation, was mere navel-gazing. From now on I will focus on poetry for the people. I will change my ways so that I, a humble poet, can contribute to the struggle. My first piece in this new vein, entitled Jackie’s Place ain’t the Hilton, is enclosed. I don’t expect you to read it or to give it much thought. But if you do, if you care, please send your critiques and constructive criticisms to me. Your every word is precious to me.

Sincerely yours,

Kiefer

Enclosed poem: Jackie’s Place Ain’t the Hilton

He travels through life like a crowd surfer at an LFO concert; helped by others, and set to amazing music (at Jackie’s Place)

Some people may think that it’s really funny when you get drunk and take off your pants, but it’s really starting to make me uncomfortable.

I know that I say this all of the time, but Jackie’s Place sure has the best music.

a strange man named Kiefer (who was even more strangely sans pants) warned them that a deadly gas had been released during an Aerosmith cover band performance (it appears as though someone did want to miss a thing)

What made Jackie’s Place the best was not its location (though strategic), its proprietor (though possessed of a salty charm), or its patrons (mainly strangely overdressed young men with crew cuts and bulges at the shoulders of their suit jackets, with names like Heintzman and Torres). It was the music. Jackie’s Place always had the best music.

Maggie was impressed to see that an Aerosmith cover band was setting up on the small stage at the back of the bar. She also noted that Jackie’s Place was indeed, not the Hilton.

Jackie’s Place was quiet for a Friday night.

She seemed to think that Jackie’s Place was a step down, and she was trying to make up for it by wearing too many sequins. I had my doubts about her capacity to win over the Jackie’s Place audience.

Every Wednesday, Jackie’s Place hosted a poker tournament. It was a pathetic affair, for the most part. This week’s tournament prize consisted of a pack of Chiclets, a red whistle and a coupon for a six-pack of Tang.

The night that the band played the song twice in a row, we were all surprised and dismayed to learn that Jackie’s Place in fact had a functioning fire detection system.