[4/2] Remote Greetings w/ Sparrow, Silvina Lopez Medin & Sarah Sala

Dear Selfless Quarantines: 

First things first, thank you everyone for staying inside if possible - you & I & everyone else who stays put will help make this pandemic that much shorter (take a breath) - keep on breathing inside & know aside from being loved, that this is the address to click or copy into your hard-wired brains for the accessing the Remotely Personal Greetings held on ZOOM. Which means if ya want to be privy to this reading ya gots to download ZOOM if you all ready haven't, it's relatively free & easy to use - supposedly this link requires no password so here it is: https://columbiauniversity.zoom.us/j/748505506
Whew - now that the vital linking info has been dispersed into the ether - so to speak - let me begin for reals:

Dear Selfless Quaranties:

How we've looked forward to seeing ya'll again; its as if the muse has been moved indoors to a private echo chamber, and so here we are, isolated within our own realms, each to each, well, let's try to bridge the pandemic ice bridge for an hour or so again this Thursday, April 2nd, 2020 at 10 Pm Eastern Time (that's 7 Pmish for all you Left Coasters).

We'll start off with a brief meet n' greet at 10 Pm as people click in from around their living room consciousness, maybe we'll even have some music to ease us into the reading with Other Arc Ensemble playing through the invisible nets to one another. This brief check-in will be followed at 10:15ish by  3 swimmingly buoyant poets:

Sarah Sala - has fished long enough in the Devil's Lake to know a thing or two about the silty bottom of dark lake and how, through a rapidly moving Ghost Assembly Line the survivors of our memory are hooked on the Hydrogen of our desire cells. Her Office Hours are ubiquitous: be here with here & everywhere.

Silvina Lopez Medin - Has taken the Argentinian highway not by way of Ocampo but Medin where the Oxen grow restless come the evening and deer, wild as fauns are, lick the salt of the disappeared tears till their tongues grow dry like mangroves removed from their swamps so that only an energetic lashing can get them moving, get the sound of propellers churning like a lone swimmer counting their strokes beneath the Brooklyn bridge where you too, in her pomes, can hear it rain.

Sparrow - from humble beginning of sharing bricks with Lou Al Cinder to running for President of these very narrow United States, Sparrow now would like to take each & everyone of you out on a Dream Date. C'mon don't be shy - he knows a great place for Broccoli ala Fantastique; afterwards you will dance as he plays the flutophone and composes songs he will later use to shake the trees awake: & so his pomes do: awake, awakening, woke!  

Yes, listen for the beat of the drum as these 3 poets prepare to fill your senses with sounds beyond your personal remote hide-away.

So tune in, if you can, tonight at 10 pm EST, 9Pm Central, 8pm Mountain 7pm PST & 9 Am in Yogyakarta &  we'll hopefully connect to the muse & then some...

X's to your O's
from at least 6 feet afar,
Jeffrey Joe 

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