So I gave up the night, and in truth, most of the day
because only now at 11.21 I’m out of bed and ready for breakfast.
yesterday was one of these tired days where you know sleeping won’t
help. you might as well wander the city, or in my case, cycle another 24 km
(there and back again) to the Mezrab. It was open night again,
like the first time I went.
So the way that works is that there are 2 times 3 storytellers,
that already applied beforehand, and then there is a ‘free’ slot,
with one know storyteller, and 2 names are drawn from the hat.
You know how it goes, one of the storytellers says :
live your life running looking death in the eye, and put your name in the hat.
And so I did.
All the awkward hanging at the bar waiting for the guy in charge of the hat
to come by, the whole jittery feeling in your blood, the heaviness in your bones
the copying your poem to actually makes sure it’s readable.
and then the break ends. And some woman draws a name from the hat.
and it’s mine. And so I tell the story of Jonah, and what would have happened if I was Jonah.
It was nice being able to tell a wonderful old story the way I wanted to and to share one of my poems. It felt strange but right.
But mostly it is interesting how it feels that nothing has changed and at the same time that I moved on to the next part. Whatever that is.