This is a bit of a creep, but here it goes....there is a little restaurant here in Portland that hosts open mike poetry sessions on Tuesday evenings.....The Cafe Lena it is called.....Well, I was going there every once in a while for a bit there.....that is until the last time I went.....I show up and of course everybody has their poet costumes on....you know the ones...the black turtlenecks, horned rimmed glasses, and whatnot....so much so I could almost hear the snapping fingers.....then there was me wearing a Bloody Thursday Memorial Picnic T-shirt...... Well, I get up there and can just feel the conflicting egos emanating from every memeber of the audience....each one there thinking that their poetry was the best ever written....and granted some of it was ok.....but not the best by a long shot.....everyone getting up there using big words that no one knows the meaning of, in the lines of their verse.....then there was me.....using words that most everyone knew.....Well, like I said I get up there and feel the condescension attempting to stare me down.....attempting to cow me off the mike....not exactly hostile.....but not all that friendly either....well, I left shortly after I was finished reciting my thing....and have never back....I just hated to be made to feel uncomfortable like that....luckily, it did not kill the joy of performing.....but it did make me never to want to return to that place.....