“Manifesto I” 11.28.2018
Bulletin for the initial happening known as “SUNDAYS” FOREVER LIVE hosted by me, “the host.”
I.
Poetry is nothing. And wholly the contrary.
It simply is. Complex. And completely up to it’s creator. Which, in every circumstance…is you. Yes, you. The consumer. And in it’s creation or oration; one could hope only to be similarly consumed. As the words, so are you. And there is a well, that well…needs to be filled. What started as a milky precipitous is now the downpour this city so invariably needs. To fill the well, to quell the drought and cease the fire. There is nothing to do for poetry to exist. And everything that will be done. Whether “nothing” or “something happens…which it inevitably will. Nobody knows what poetry is, but everybody does. Come watch people do nothing, but do nothing so very beautifully…every Sunday this December.
II.
“Poetry saved my life,” said the dying man. He died, albeit saved.
“Poetry is important, so very important,” he said.
“Poetry could save your life. I didn’t know I was dying until I was confronted with poetry. And then…I confronted death, realizing that I was living. Is any of this making sense?” he questioned
before his last beautiful exhale
Come see the dead man live!
III.
I was told by myself…that a manifesto were to be written
And realized I couldn’t write it alone
And that it will likely never be finished
IV.
Come.
Come if you’re convinced you’re human. Come aliens. Come the holy. Come the wicked. Come the damned. Come the hardened. Come the faint of heart. Come the lovers. Come those who hate. Come the dead inside. Come bursting with life. Come to see. Come the blind. Come the beautiful. Come the curated. The casual. Come the bored. Come the boring. Come if you still believe the Earth is flat. Come if you’ve found the end. Come if you’re self-loathing. Come the curious. Come the all-knowing. Come the academic. Come the burnouts. Come the jaded. Come the naïve. Come if you don’t like Church on Sundays. Come if you do. Come if you eat meat. Come if you don’t. Come if you don’t like love. Come if you don’t like ketchup. Come if you need quiet. Come if you want things to slow down. Come if you never want to grow old. Come if you want to die. Come if you think you’ll live forever. Come if you’re queer. Come if you know we all are. Come if you question. Come if you know the answer. Come if you don’t think there are any answers. Come if you believe there are infinite answers to infinite questions and everybody has different interpretations so “what’s the point?” Come if you’re convicted. Come if you’re criminally convicted. Come if you’re terminally ill. Come if you’re in great health. Come because it’s free. Come because you believe you are. Come if you want to come. Definitely come if you don’t. Come if you have something to say. Come if you have nothing to say. Come if you have nothing.
Come.
INITIAL DRAFT FOR THE OPENING PERFORMANCE OF “SUNDAYS” LIVE AT LA POUBELLE IN FRANKLIN VILLAGE, CA. USA.
INTENDED FOR PUBLIC ORATORY PERFORMANCE, SPECIFICALLY IN CONJUNCTION WITH THE COOL CACOPHONY THAT IS “THE SUNDAY FAMILY BAND.”
