Luna's | Everything means nothing to me

Thursday at Luna's | Indigo Moor reads Martin Espada's The Foreman's Wallet | Robert Roden (PFAs #216, 218, 220) reads his dirge to Elliot Smith, Everything means nothing to me to which Frank Andrick (PFA #207) answers with a dirge to Kurt Cobain: The Bitter Trigger | "What kind of man wrote this book?!" Isherwood on Baudelaire | Bloom's cemetery read, Saturday, Noon, bring a box lunch and reflections of loss and hope | Anatole Lubovich (PFAs #211, 212, 213, 214) features | Plutonic ravishment | My brain works better when the semenal reserve is emptied | Amanda's South African lilt | Brian (Deluvios) I need 100 minds to generate critical mass / an artists habitat / my imagined nation | Greg: It's not the first time I've read at Luna's. But it is the first time I've read at Luna's high. Spot on Luke Breit (PFAs #246, 247) impression, a tinny little monologue about how bad the poetry is at Luna's (as surmised from a barstool at Simon's.)