A Poetry/Prose Reading Night, A Front for Far Left Activism. I Didn’t Know What Else I Expected.

I've been attending reading night for several events for a few years now, ever since I moved to the area. They have the kinds of crowds anyone who travels in reading and writing circles, i.e., I'm in the minority as politics go, but not as small a one as I would have otherwise expected. Overall, everyone is supportive of each other, even if we don't see eye-to-eye. We also have a monthly happy hour, because that's what you do as writers.

I hadn't been able to attend this one single monthly event because it always falls on the same night as my game night, and that takes priority. It's one activity I enjoy as much as reading or writing. The schedule didn't conflict this month, so I grabbed a few poems I wanted to read and headed out the door and drove up the highway to this independent bookstore. Believing I was late, I rushed up the stairs and headed toward the counter, only for the clerk to tell me I was 30 minutes early for signups (I had simply forgotten the time). The clerk and his brother started moving the shelves (this is a very small space, books lined on the floor and windowsills, and randomly strewn about) to make room for the chair setup. We danced around each other until the task was complete.

The signups didn't start for fifteen minutes at that point, so I continued browsing. Every independent bookstore has at least a few new books on display, but this establishment did not. This should have raised an alarm. Even still, I wandered around to see what they had in stock. They had a decent children's section about the size of a bed. I didn't think to check for certain types of "children's" books by that point because I had seen Shel Silverstein in stock, which put me at false ease. I had already seen "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" and "The Life of Ivan Denisovich" on the shelf. How bad could it be?

I reached a section marked by a 5"x3" sticker with the classic "raised fist" filled in with red permanent marker with the word "resist" underneath. Next to that was the "LBGTQIA++..." (Forgive me, I'm trying to remember all the letters). In this age, I would expect every bookstore to have that, since it does sell. However, when I viewed what surrounded these sections, I knew I'd crossed the Rubicon. As in, I couldn't simply up and leave since I was the first person there for the event.

Every genre of philosophy on Marxist, Queer (their word), Indigenous, Nature, and all other theories that aren't Libertarian, Classical Liberal, or Conservative occupied two of the four small walls. I circled back to the other side of the room, which was only about five feet away, to rid my eyes of such nonsense. I should say, as a recent English major after having been in the military, those topics don't offend me so much as disgust me, and I have friends in all of those categories (not Nature, I think), but it was the sheer volume of everything they offered.

At the other side of the store were the normal non-fiction and fiction sections. In non-fiction, some decent science and nature books I'd heard of, and quite a lot of good fiction, but also bad, as one would expect. This is when I had hoped people would arrive and begin taking my mind away from this. That's not what happened. Instead, I overheard the clerk mentioning to his dad, whom I hadn't seen arrive, that's he's teaching some kind of leftist reading room somewhere (I didn't hear where) and one female student whom he suspected to be a Republican was turning, which made me cringe, and fearful for what's to come in the remainder of the night.

People finally began arriving, and I was elated to find that... It was no one I knew from other writers' groups I attend. Person after person arrived, and when all was done, of the roughly thirty people in attendance, I knew two. This was not going to be a good night. (I also heard the clerk say something about Oskar Schindler and how the Jews sabotaged his factory, he commanded, but to be fair to him, I'd not wish to put words in his mouth.)

Well, it didn't go nearly as badly as I expected. The first person read several poems that were thinly disguised revenge fantasies about ICE (more on this later, MUCH more), but also some amusing content about growing up. The second is only one of those, and some more lighthearted stuff. I went third with my work, which is non-political and how I watch too much YouTube. I suppose the only side I took was when I kicked myself for being consumerist for watching too much of it (It really is mostly a time waster, but I also don't watch slop, and getting better at cutting down on time).

It went like this for another 14 or so people. Frankly, I didn't count because it was insufferable already. Topics that ranged from how much they hate ICE, to how much they hate Trump, to something light and amusing, to hating ICE and Trump, and revenge fantasies, and whatever "second hand trauma" is.

One especially excruciating performer spoke for twenty minutes about the lucid dream he had when he was eleven or something that helped him realize he was gay. I'll spare the details, because no one likes hearing about someone else's dream, unless it's Freud or someone you really cherish.

I checked out for most of it, because, frankly, I wished I could sink through the floor. I didn't, though, because one other person I knew did a very funny performance in drag, which by that I mean he had a wig and a housecoat, which hung over his Army shirt and cargo pants, about his defeats over addiction and trauma, real trauma.

With that, the night was over. The lights turned too high, and so did Bruce Springsteen's new song. So loud that it drowned conversation, and I skedaddled down the stairs and outside to my car and onto the highway, and back down home where I watched YouTube and went to bed.

Another few fun highlights were that I glimpsed one reader had a Luigi, from the Nintendo Corp., bookmark, and I overheard the main clerk mention he was on "our" local ICE Watch team.

In short, I attended a Marxist reading room session that lied about being just a simple poetry and reading session. This is the one event in our area that I won't be attending again.