Red Emma's, which turned 5 last month, is giving you the oppurtunity to act like the French! The coffeehouse is presenting  "The Great Anger" - French Ultra-Revolutionary Writing, presented by Mitchell Abidor tmorw night. Check out all the info after the jump and be ready to sip coffee and stand up and shout random things at the speaker! 

Perfect verse for a cloudy Spring day:

"The Art Museum Steps"
by Andy Harris
Smoke stacks, power lines, shopping malls, styrofoam cups, cigarette butts,
Condoms and ash at the bottom of a beast can, where the sum of my love
rests with the sum of our being.

Orange skies, the glow, a planes vapor trails in the distance,
horizons, landscapes, heartaches.

And to think it all, to start again, the same road, another
disappointment, another something else, something new, the end is
something done, something old.

What am I supposed to learn from this?

What am I to take from this???

Pistols pop, registers rings, cards are slid, the echoes sing.
The cars hum, pollutions polish, the sun set thanks, and takes all the glory.
Kids starve, adults live like kids, a quarter, no, a dollar, no, a
fuckin' hug, ok.

And in the wings hides a balance, a balance, ah, it sounds refreshing,
a balance.
Like a summer day, a swimming pool, some eye candy, if your lucky the
top will fall down.

I heard a man say that this one is finished. Too many people, too many
fuckin' people. Too many problems, not enough solutions. So why try?
Why not trade in my worn out souls for something new, something new,
we all want something new?

A suit and a tie, some pretty biddy on the side, some hot something in
the office, a man's life, a winning track. A fuckin' red steak, some
fuckin' red blood dribblin' down my chin, a cloth napkin, and it soaks
in.

A laugh, a belly laugh, a deep groan of man's laugh, ahhhhahahaha!
Mother fucker, a laugh. You know that it's funny, can't you tell by
the way I laugh. It's loud, it must be funny, and loud and it's long,
it must be funny.

Some shiny new fucking shoes, a retirement plan, two houses, two cars,
security. I love it, I want it. We're all dead here now anyway, fuck
it, dead, dying, or on the way. No hope for man kind, no hope for me.
The soul is just a memory. The memory fades away.

The sun, the snow, the blue sky, the smile, the tears, tears, some
water, a woman and a bird. Flowers, fruit, food, life.

Do we live for humankind?
Do we love for humankind?

No.