The Red Shirt Diaries

doctor-scale I’ve sampled a taste of success. Now I’m ready for the full buffet!

A loss of twenty-two pounds doesn’t mean shit until you actually see results. This morning, I actually saw significant results for the first time. In April 2010 I wore a maroon button up shirt and slacks for my first paid poetry gig. That was one of the first and last times I wore that shirt.

I opened the show with a few pieces, most prominently Breakup Letter; the joint that got banned on a few web sites for hateful content. I mean, it was mostly fiction but the emotion behind the words I guess can be a bit unnerving. What did they expect though? I’m an artist, I had to show and prove. HUGE DIGRESSION, I know.

Back to the shirt though; it was a nice shirt. It was so nice that I gumbo pounded, gourmet burger and salsa consumed my way out of it.

To make a long story short, I fit that shirt today. I posted a picture of it on Instagram. @Showtorious

Hail to the king, baby.


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