the universe has an awful sense of humor- on the same date as the infamous triangle fire (check out nina’s post), the bronx also remembers the fire at the happy land social club.

a forgotten tragedy as far as slam poetry is concerned. other than the great job jack agueros did in his crown of sonnets, i never hear anything about this.

you dont hear about eleanor bumpers when it comes to police brutality but you should. i grew up in the same building and went through her fourth floor apartment about a week after. not too pay homage or reflect, i was just a kid rummaging through an empty apartment.

anthony baez is also another footnote in police brutality. maybe the fact that this cop actually did time, not real time but at least some, makes it different.

it would be safe to assume that this wont be the last great tragedy in the bx but lets just not let it go forgotten just cuz it cant fit into the standard slam poem, aight?

friend: having a good time?

me: nope

f: why not?

m: i just want it to be over

that was my feeling half way through the Acentos anniversary jam. mind you, the show was going great. all the performers were money. fish managed the open mic marvelously. miguel algarin was one of the easiest most care free features i have ever dealt with (can i be there early so i can see the open mic?) and mayda del valle was able to come through as a special bonus feature to all our die hards. all systems go, everything should be smooth, right?

i wish that i could feel that way but until the last second, i am always expecting something to fuckin happen. (case in point- getting to the ox, the cab i was in was pulled over cuz he almost hit an undercover cop car and they had me waiting in the back for like five minutes as they are grilling the cabbie)

in the end, all my fears went unfounded. yes, the show went over time but that is the sad reality of these things- plan, plan, plan and then pray.

the other thing was just how the whole thing was much bigger than any one person or performance. even with the bookends of nuyorican poetry on the mic (miguel- founder of the cafe & editor of Aloud and mayde- first latina to win the indy title at nats and nuyorican grandslam champ) the whole event was pretty huge.

ya know, not for nuthin, but i never pictured it would get this far. not cuz i didnt think we would make the year but just cuz i always thought about it as the next show, the next show. that is always the most important show- the next one. not the anniversary one, not the special feature one, just the next one.

thanks to everybody who stuck around to the bitter end, not only did ya get to see a rare appearance from ms del valle but the free drinks and pizza was just our lil way of saying thanks.

i havent even looked at the guestbook, yet. last year, when i was reading through it i really broke down and had a cry like i havent ever had before. and i was still pretty fuckin closed off back then so who knows what would happen now.

the coolest thing about yesterday- the fact that a year ago, i didnt know half the people who make my life great. i didnt know rich, jess, nina, maria, matt, juan, eliel, girsel, toro, raina… none of em. now, i can look back and see some great moments that we have shared. not all of them life altering, some of them just plain fun.

enuf wit dis- i’m getting sappy and incoherent. to all of y’all that now- i love ya.

The ultra secret meeting of the men folks was this last Wednesday. Me thinks these little get togethers have become way too formalized and that it’s just cool that we can all be boyz and hang togther when the mood hits. The line up was Rog, MC, Jai and the Sorat Rican. Funny story- last year, before Elana was leaving to Cali, it’s me, Rog, Elana, Lynne and Sabrina chillin in Casa Graham- Rog’s old place. Whenever the ladies were around, me and Rog were acting the proverbial fools and when they let us be- we got to talking about relationships, truth in poetry, truth in conversation and where all those roads meet (or don’t) in the middle.

“What y’all fools talking about?”

When we told them, they laughed and dismissed it as more chicanery. Then they let us be and on to Michael Jackson and how he may just be the ultimate physical manifestation of America’s persistent need to equate class with fair skin. This went for a lil bit till the ladies came back again and we reverted to third grade tactics,

I look forward to guy’s night just to know that we can momentarily suspend that factor from the equation of our conversations and only get dumb cuz we want to not cuz we are forced to. Don’t get me wrong- I am the first fool to act silly when a woman is around and should there be more than one… watch out! Ima retreat to whatever safety blanket I have.

The main point of topic became race and with three immigrants of different points of origin and the Caucasian upstater in the house, it became quite the exchange of ideas. Nothing was solved and nobody turned out to be no more right than the other in their varying theories but we all went at it though. Even when Neesha, Rog’s childhood friend from Trini came by and lent the female perspective, things stayed pretty tight and the silliness was held to a simple laugh.

One of the things we were supposed to do was write a poem about our masculinity that did not include women in the text. I ended up going somewhere I haven’t been too in a while. Frankie was the son of Linda. He was ten months old when I entered their lives. He also had an older brother, 2 yr old Ricky, but it was me and Frankie that quickly developed a bond. I mean, how could you not when you are there for someone’s first steps, first birthday, baptism and the first words he says are ‘ahh-stahh” before “mmaa-mmeee.”

I looked nothing like Frankie’s dad and didn’t look like Linda much, either, but wherever we would go, it was always- “He looks so much like his daddy.”

Linda wouldn’t bother correcting folks and after some time, neither would I. Frankie looked like he was gonna be a straight up fullback always barreling through everything but still being gentle enough to cry if his brother even looked at him wrong. He was everything I would have wanted in a son and I told him the night I broke up with his mom. He was dead asleep but it wouldn’t have made much difference any way. He was only two and wouldn’t remember this anyway. I wonder if he ever asks who the man in all those pics of his early years is?

it’s been a while since i actually have been excited about something in poetry. guy’s new project is going to be off the hook but i was kinda expectin it. (me thought the lecharles was protesting too much when he said he wasnt interested in running another series) hence, i am thrilled for my friend and also really looking forward to what a new series will do for the entire community in regard to our work output and what different audience we can generate.

keyword- we. any time the community endeavors to present a new format only good can come. this performance poetry thing is not that big. hbo, broadway, college gigs- all that stuff is the realm of the few and a low level group musician or standard actor in an off-off broadway production stands to make better loot than what we are doing. divide & conquer works well when there is a larger prize to be gained, when cutting the fat leads to a bigger piece of the steak but in our world, the grizzle is almost all we got.

at last night’s soulnation, i got to hear some voices that genuinely make me happy to be in this life- alixa + naima’s political lyricism leaves me breathless. i am so out of synch with my own internal rhythm which makes me so respect anybody that can let their words sing (especially when they have some content to back it up)

the ladies of mahina definitely fall into that category and you never know if you will be wondefully whisked away to a new place or back slapped a healthy dose of modern reality. either way, its an experience.

nina brings some crazy fire to her words. she lends urgency to her pleas and sincerity to her reflections. she is also one of the most bull headed, stubborn people i know with only me being denser and more obtuse to the obvious. this is why we clash and why i am so glad that she is around to tell me when my bullshit is getting too thick. i hate when people talk about me when i am not around to the point that i go invisible about a lot of things. doing what i do, i accept the whispers and ignore most of the pettiness. i respect nina cuz she doesnt bother with that shit and just tells me the straight up even when it means pointing out what an ass i’m acting like.

jess… a la chica rock… it wasnt that long ago that we had to make an affort to get jess to read on the mic. the work was there but we had to develop a trust based upon a simple platform- knowing that people are listening. acentos came through on its part of the deal & jess came though on her side challenging us to listen to complex imagery and introspective narrative. out of all the heads i’ve come across, jess is the one that has the best shot to make real waves with her unwavering dedication to the page. when shes up there, glasses on the edge of her nose and paper firm in hand she is the figure of poetic confidence- not the eggshell exterior that most performers put up (want to see it crack? dont be the laugh track for their sophomoric verse and reamin stoice during theri call & response- enjoy the omelete!) jess’ confidence comes from the word and nobody can fuck wit dat.

both ladies got their share of the spotlight last night and came through like the bright stars they are leaving me happy and eager for more. knowing how committed they are to having their voices ring true i am still in that ol place-thrilled but not excited

‘las gallas’ brought to the stage that same ol song of the hispanic upbringing. being that there are no new stories, that all has been written, they aint nothing wrong with that. what wears me thin is all this karaokeing that goes on in poetry. people taking the same song and just lightly throwin their voice over the soundtrack of recycled metaphors… been der/done dat.

these new chicas gave me fresh perspective on a subject i would say i am fairly familiar with, the latino experience in the innner city. just when you think you have heard every Wepa! reference in the book…

it’s good to get the curve ball every once in a while and to trade in a night of the formulaic for the unexpected

TOMORROW NIGHT!-

make no mistake, mahina knows how to throw a party and this one will be a womens showcase to end all womens showcase…

SATURDAY NIGHT!-

doin’ what we do best…. come on down