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i am feeling overwhelmed as of late… in that ‘doing a lot but not feeling like i am doing enough’ type mood… the end of the year recitals killed me… i will never look at a five year olds award ceremony the same way again… i am getting the hang of my job… my boss is a real teacher and i feel like i am learning a ton from her… i drank too much last night… the bartender was being hella cool with us and saying ‘no’ felt like an insult to his generosity… it is a good thing that i cant hold my alcohol… if alcohol does not improve your performance on stage- you should really stop drinking before reading… if it does improve your performance but you are a belligerent drunk- you should leave pretty much as soon as you finish reading… if alcohol does not improve your performance and makes you a nuisance- 12 steps, thats all im sayin’…. the first time jess saw me read i was piss ass drunk and delivered one of my best performance ever… the next day i decided that if being the best on stage meant four drinks beforehand- poetry was dead… getting piss drunk and then going out into the crowd was how i learned to dance at clubs… this may explain a lot if you have ever seen me dance… thought of smoking weed once to improve the poetry… ‘it lets you step out of yourself and look at your work from the outside in while still being true’… hmmm… ‘no, i cant sleep a wink without at least two puffs’… ok, that idea is dead… my mom respects that i have sacrificed for my poetry… that means tons people… i have gotten better at not responding to emails right away… people love not being themselves… dont ask for opinions, you just might get them… “poetry is just a giant coin with only two sides- bad poetry & good poetry. you’d be surprised as to where i think my work lands.”…. if you ask me to look at your poem and i give critique- its cuz i like it… if you ask me to look at your poem and i have little to say… i didnt go to college long but my mind acts like i did… i have a massive headache… having a book doesnt make you a poet, it makes you an author, there is a difference… when you do a friend of a friend a favor, thanks arent necessary- its just fuckin common sense… nebulous posts are whack… i might be in love with someone whose name i will never tell you… moving seems like a valid idea from time to time… this headache wont quit… there are still at least half a dozen persistent thoughts in me that will become poems one day…. one day is the most nebulous measure of time there is… i am doing too much… i am not doing enough… maybe time to do something different… i wish i could paint… or sing… or play the guitar… would love to play the guitar… something to hang close to the bed and turn to instead of SportsCenter… i am not lonely simply for the reason that i am not that accustomed to being with someone…

last night was the Hunger & Full slam, which, as it was explained to me, meant you had to bring poems concerning food or appetite (for what- you decide)

the no brainer in this bad boy is to do the Ceviche poem and then (as slam has a tendency to do) ride the wave…

ah but i was feeling some extra paprika in my goulash last night and was not thinking in the conventional and, on the real, i wasnt even planning on doing the slam at all until this poem came out of hiding and emerged on to the paper

POEM FOR THE HISPANICS

WHO INSIST ON MISPRONOUNCING

THE MENU ITEMS AT THE CHINO-LATINO RESTAURANT

I don't understand

What is so hard

About asking

For #17.

and that be it folks. as i was going up the only thought going through my head, since i got the magic #5 out of 5 slammers spot was

“Either Ima win this whole suckah right here, right now

or Ima go down in a burst of flames.”

call the ladder & engine! and tell em to bring water, lots and lots of water!!

and i have a new all time slam low score to add to the mental rolodex- four point one (replacing the five point two i got when i slammed on my birthday two years ago)

for a total score of 22.5 (give or take)

my response to the judges- sounds about right!

i have not had that much in a while and it was just part of a great night were the louderCREW took very little and made it into a fun night

making the point very alive (at least for me) that the Slam is exactly what you make the Slam and you never ever let it make you (this message brought to you by the staff and friends of W.E.R.D. and affiliated peoples)

tonight- the blue ox! no poetry! only a bunch of friends getting together to celebrate the underdog and have some fun and hijinks- and guess what? i am still feeling giddy…

make it happen!

who woulda thunk it- patrick rosal has a blog!

Juan Diaz

Eliel Lucero

Matthew Charles Siegel

Jessica Torres

will be competing at this year’s New York City Regional Slam against NYC|louderARTS, NYC|Nuyorican, NYC|Urbana and a team to be determined using the 3×5 format on Thursday, July 22nd (@ the Bowery Poetry Club), Friday, July 23rd (@ the Nuyorican Poets Cafe) and Monday, July 26th (@ Bar13)

and that, party people, is all from the news desk here at W.E.R.D. radio

The last time I went to the Puerto Rican Day parade was maybe 11 years ago with Mike, Tom, Jose, John P, Angel, and the rest of the crew. We are somewhere in Central Park avoiding the main crowd and things were going well until un boracho decides to grab Tom’s snake by the head and have an encounter session-

Como estas culebrita?

I then grab said drunk’s wrist and twist it back-

Let go of the snake.

(To add context, you have to remember that for the most part, Tom has always enjoyed the company of his pets over the interaction of say 99.9% of the populace he meets up with.)

El boracho lets go of the snake and it all happens so quickly that nobody really notices the incident. We get to maybe 57th Street when the realization that I could have set off something bigger hits me. It is not crazy to imagine that this brother was rolling with a few friends and the chances that he was hanging with a deeper posse is probably closer to the truth and here I am, manhandling him, like if its all cool and sheet.

That’s when I knew that the claustrophobia that I get around large crowds was getting to me. Don’t get it twisted- I can have fun with a score of my friends or at least friends of friends but once strangers are added to the equation, it’s kinda over.

Yesterday marked my first ever foray into the fabled 116th Street Festival. Let’s just say that it was a true prelude to most of the depravity I’ve encountered on the day of the Parade.

Lowlights

-A girl handing out free condoms getting surrounded by six dudes on a corner. She looked like Richard Todd against the Raiders defense.

-Commenting on the skimpy outfits

o.b.: If I want to see these outfits, I could just really go to the beach

Caroline: Or just go online

o.b.: Werd

-Seeing some of these outfits up close. Good from far… but far from good.

-The lines of guys waiting to pounce on women walking solo

-The cops looking down on everybody

-The masses pressed against barricades

– Commentary from a young teenager as the ladies pass by: Da devil dun made that azz!

Highlights

-Hanging at Carlitos for a minute

– Commentary from a young teenager as the ladies pass by: Da devil dun made that azz! (Yes, it is a highlight AND lowlight!)

-Hector Rivera and Ray of the Welfare Poets, Flaco Navaja & Tato of Yerba Buena and crew getting down with the drums

-Rich: Where can I get a Boricua flag?

o.b.: you stoopid!

-What else- The Food! Arepas, emanadillas, arroz con pollo, arroz con damn near everything (Quote the Maven , ever more), mangoes, maduros con queso blanco(!), nectar Goya,

Sorry but I still can’t get down with this display of pride. Maybe it’s cuz I aint Potro Rok but most likely cuz I am a true introvert but I would just rather hang out at the roof of a brownstone with a grill and a set of binoculars alongside the

peeps. My real tribe. Ya know?