obsessions

i am clearly a creature of habit. once i find something that captures my attention- it’s full steam ahead.

when my dad, mom and baby sis all left to ecuador to finish some immigration legalities a few years back, it was me and my lil bro for the winter. i was dating linda at the time and playing ‘daddy’ to her two young sons, a situation that helped me out immensely since kirk (my brother) was 10 at the time. the thought of being able to roughhouse a three and one year old were pretty good at the time and when he got tired of that, linda would make him baked ziti and tell him how cute he was. me, i was just praying that this would keep his mind off the fact that the rest of the clan was far away. on occasion, i would see his eyes sink in and just be a bit away from crying with only burgeoning machismo sentiment keeping him from admitting that he felt abandoned.

we needed to bond, not just as brothers but as men as equals… what to do?

enter the super nintendo! he would whip my ass something awful on mortal kombat 2 and since the boys didn’t have the button moves down yet and linda thought we were being d-u-m it was our special thing. we found cheat codes and secret tricks and would play well into 2 in the am even though linda was calling me to make sure that i had already put him to bed (she was a mom, after all)

the clan returned and kirk got the super nes and i moved on to the play station. i was, literally, the first kid on the block with one and the boys came over to my house to celebrate with an all night session battle arena toshiden. game after game came through the pipe and i was obsessed. not just with the games but with all the behind the scene drama. how nintendo screwed ‘earthworm jim’ with high cartridge prices that ‘miraculously’ came down when their own hi-meg game, “donkey kong country,” came out. how sony was making their visual library open to everyone as opposed to sega that was hoarding their secrets tight and close. eventually, this faded out to a bigger obsession… something that would make monday nights the most exciting part of me week… wrestling!

linda, again, had a big part in this. as we were breaking up she asked for one last favor from me, tape wrestlemania for the kids. her cable was out and she needed a tape to keep the boys happy. i hadn’t seen wrestling since high school and was surprised to see what had happened to some characters. how they finally hit gold after years of obscurity. how they finally wrangled through the politics of backstage backstabbing to make it to the spotlight and (later to find out) how they were closely guarding their new found position.

the biggest drama was happening in the boardroom as ted turner (backed by aol-time warner) was taking a light grudge from the 80s into a full blown corporate war as he was challenging the empire of vince mcmahon. mcmahon was (and is) the head dog of the wwe (then wwf). vince built his empire by being more daring, more ruthless, more tech savvy and more coldhearted than anyone else and threw the rules of territorial respect out the window when the video age allowed wrestling to be more than a once a moth gathering. now he was meeting somebody just as ruthless with even more assets than him. it was tough battle and it took vince a couple of years to claim full victory. a victory that came as a result of a third party- ecw. local philadelphia promoter paul heyman chose to stay out of the big dogs fight and gave people a viable alternative- a federation so violent, so shocking, so hardcore that local cable wouldn’t be able to air it if it wanted to. ecw developed a hardcore following and was making stars. vince picked up on the idea and started forcing cable execs to change their practices to allow him to compete with turner. it worked and in the end wcw (turners fed) and ecw all went broke trying to fend off vince.

i was in love with this madness for years but it slowly fell out of favor to poetry. following the pattern from above, i quickly put my ear to the ground and was just as curious to history as i was to the immediate. what’s going on is always interesting but the factors that led up the events is what i have always found fascinating. soon i was piecing together histories and timelines and everything in poetry was complete- i had an artistic outlet that also let my inner detective and historian run free and have a good time. mondays became a habit and soon, i found myself in the strange position of actually being part of the storyline. from just a casual reader i became a bar13 regular and, eventually, a part of the louderARTS.

now, teaching is going to be my new monday fix. seeing the stories these kids will write will be more than enough to keep me in check and the stories that they will be generating from me will be more than plenty to keep my soul occupied. the new pieces that have come out of me are more related to my teaching at mind-builders and the pietri tributes than anything that has happened on monday nights.

from PS1 to WM17 to Bar13, my habits have evolved and changed but i will add this- i haven’t played a video game in years and this upcoming wrestlemania get together at seve’s has more to do with my enjoyment of mr maher’s hospitality than it has to do with HHH (and, yeah! i do want to see benoit win though i doubt now it will happen) meaning that i always go into everything 100% and rarely return phone calls to past loves and old habits.

thanks to tony & guy:

So, say you were meeting a new person – blind date, new friend, who knows. And you wanted them to have some idea of what kind of person you are, and who you are. But you can’t actually tell them in so many words. Instead, you have to give them a box, with a dozen things in it for them to ponder over.

What would you put in the box? No cheating – you’re not allowed to include things such as links to your blog.

WHAT I’D PUT IN MINE:

1. a straight edge razor

2. U2 the greatest hits

3. an uncashed check from 98

4. “miller’s crossing”

5. a blank journal

6. raspberry scented candles

7. a beeper made up of parts of other beepers

8. an aged bottle of chivas regal- unopened

9. batman- the dark knight returns

10. a spanish translation of the constiution

11. my ticket to the yankees-brave world series game 2

12. a synonymus jam recording

friday:: back to the nuyorican. i was going over in my head how much of last season i missed and when the team was decided i barely knew anyone’s work. knew who some of the nuyo team WAS but poetically i wasn’t sure as to the content of their work. this year i am seeing some of their poets develop and evolve over the course of the slam season.

lately i have been more pensive than usual when it comes to work i see on stage. the hatah has been trying to take a break but it seems the quieter i get- the more people want to hear m’mouth.

(after a friday slammer delivers quite the crowd pleasing tirade)

woman- “that was great!”

me- “yeah”

woman- “i love it! thats poetry!!!”

me- “yeah”

woman- “what did you think of it?”

(why? why? why? ok, at this point i still lay back)

me- “it was funny”

woman- “oh hell yeah it was!” what else did you think?”

(oh sweet guerrieri of asbury park!) *e(g) reference done and noted!*

me- “not sure… i mean… what did he say?”

woman- “i’m not sure if he even said anything! i just thought it was great!”

me- “oh”

woman- “i mean do people even have to say anything up there?”

(at this point i went back to sipping my beer cuz i was about ready to lay all the cards on the table but karen was ready to intro the next poet and, on the real, it looked like it was gonna take a lil work to get this lady to acknowledge what she was saying and how it was viewpoints like her’s and not the individual slammers that is the underlying reason why many claim that slam is ruining poetry.)

that was last friday… this friday…

and an 8.1!!!

observer- “what?! that was a ten!”

observer- “didn;t you think it was a 10?”

(uh oh!)

me- “seemed pretty consistent with how that group was scoring”

observer- “but that poem was the best one of the night!”

me- “well, they scored it higher than the other stuff they scored tonight”

observer- “but what is it gonna take to get a ten?”

me- “dude, how many 10 poems have you ever seen in your life. i mean how many poems have you ever heard that your life would just be a soulless void if you had never ever heard them?”

observer- (silence)

me- “i think, maybe, i ve heard about three”

observer- “true”

(i am sure next week the hunt for the 10 will go on and that the night will debase into who can make me feel like i have found new meaning in poetry)

the debates that emerge from these simple statements are very necesary ones that help define us as artists. we have a choice- we can either agree or disagree on these points and the two above are debatable.

maybe the woman felt something she couldnt verbalize thanks to this poem

maybe slam is all about somebody clearly having a poem that is head and shoulders above all the rest for that night

maybe… i have had some light convo with folks but they usually fold real quick and concede to my point. i think its just a hollow effort to shut me up cuz i can see in their eyes that aint shit changed in their view point. there are some other folks who i just love entering the octagon with and seeing what happens. i have been told that these sessions do nothing and that the varying topics are not the heart of poetry… oh well. they work for me.

saturday:: poetically incorrect at cornelia street cafe. before acentos, chance was holding it down and continues to bring poetry to ears that may not know that they are ready for it. PI draws mostly the MiGente.com crowd that chance has his finger directly on the pulse of. chance knows what they like and brings it to them. i was glad to see his core audience is still there and that he is doing his thing.

chance started me on my feature roll post-nationals in 2002. after he asked me to do a set at cornelia, i started getting crazy offers. i will always thnk him for that. and anytime anybody goes through the trouble of the shit side of things- organizing, promoting, emailing- they should get a hand.

sadly, work didnt let me out on time and i missed most of the night. all was better as rich, raina and i had an awesome mexican meal afterwards. guacamole- made on the spot! oh, hell yeah!!

then we tried to check out the weapons of mass inFUNKtion but (here i go again!) we get there late. why does food seem to make all the wounds heal so much faster… pizza and the buzzer on the bathroom door did the trick as we hooked up with abena, ray, elana, matt richer and peter dressler afterwards. all indications was the wmiF’s were found and that the world is a better place for it. liftoff at spaceship casita follows.

sunday:: checked out beau sia’s one man show at the BPC. it was really a warm up for his show at aspen where many the big media wigs will be at. beau stopped the show a few times with some freestyle asides that were just as gunny as the show. a good hour spent trying to pick up stage techniques from one of the best in the game.

saw jeff mcdaniel and helen yum as well so i had me quite the night… er… afternoon.

synonymus jam. low turnout. high energy. omri reemerges and lets the chaos loose. peter wails. raina sings. oscar on conga(!) and ray as maestro de ceremonias. afterwards me and ray hit TIXE’s goodbye party. the space is being torn down in favor of a high rise. this is just the reality of the city. but when the wrecking ball hits, this will be part of the rubble… “Acentos- Nina- Juan- Jess- 11.03” always a part of the history of that place. always.

finally, i learned that walking with a guitar case strapped to your back is pure gold when it comes to getting the attention of ladies in the street!

thursday:: the choice was between urbana or supporting vinny toro, a friend who has been there for me when it really counted and who, unfortunately, doesn’t get the number of features that he should. the spot was halcyon in brooklyn, a dj store.slash.cafe.slash.lounge. eclectic? yes but it all flowed together really well. i was hella late for the reading and only caught the very end but all was still good cuz toro was still there as was his fiancee, grisel and noel mendez (singer, guitar accompanist & visual artist) actually, all three of these folks have been there for acentos & synonymus when we needed them.

post halcyon we headed to a thai spot and ate up a storm! the appetizer was steamed mussels in a green coconut curry sauce and it just got better from there. now i am in the element that i am the most comfortable in- good food, great company & interesting conversation. the majority of it revolved around our experiences with various educational institutes and their subtle (and not so subtle) racial policies. everything from grade school to the awarding of teaching fellows was explored and it seems that we have all been victims of the latino stigma since childhood. sadly, it seems even then we were aware of it to some degree but just accepted it as part of our normal upbringing.

the latino stigma- i’m sure there is a better name for this somewhere out there but i aint in the mood to google right now (inside joke) but it revolves around the fact that latinos are not always the victims of head to head racism because of our surnames. example: julio rodriguez, john anderson, emily sanchez and toni james all apply for jobs/scholarships/grants/whatevah… if the governing body doesn’t want a minority to get the goods they can look at the list and eliminate two names right off the bat. doesn’t matter if the person has pelo bueno or not- they are out. these folks could be the light skinned, clear eyed poster child but their surname leaves too much in the air… a lil too much exotic, perhaps?

where the other two names may or may not be the clean cut norman rockwell picture- only one way to find out- bring em in for the interview and then let the racism begin.

this lil theory got the once over twice as we were all reflecting as to how many times we were included in remedial english classes or were questioned about our grasp of the language.

serendipity went into over drive when toro’s cousin-in-law, a playwright, happened to be eating next to us. the talk switched to upcoming projects and somehow we were treated to an amazing story of a son discovering his father’s homosexuality. this led to the discussion that many gay latinos from the 50s

were some of the roughest thugs on the planet. they had no choice! either be able to defend yourself in a bar fight should your secret come out or get lynched in st mary’s park in the bronx (true story).

you just can’t make shit like this up and it was great to be able to share. no need to censor or to fight for a chance to speak… organic conversation at its finest over chilled thai iced tea.

the bottom line is this-

job tres is a done deal and i will be teaching kids from the bronx river projects (one of the true homes of hip-hop, yo!) poetry through the writings of latino authors.

kids… martin espada. martin espada.. these are the kids.

it is going to be a hella dope challenge and all the people i have met so far are right there with me when it comes to my view points as progressive critiqued poetry being a valuable and indispensable means of passive social activism. (whew!)

the whole poetry as social activism deal is something that’s been with me for a while. from when people first started sharing how our poetry directly affects our audience and the consequences of what that could potentially do. i have seen a cascading waterfall of poems emanating from one performance or even a lecture of poetry. the responsibility of the mic is heavy and to limit your sights to just the next pay check or how quick you can pump out a chapbook is, in the sorta rican’s mind, a disservice to the art from that got you hear.

you know that- kids are starving in india- bit your mom used to guilt trip you with. well, poets have died for getting on the mic. garcia-lorca got blasted for writing magical realism. and i see muthafuckahs riffing about their ex’es dirty cooch for five minutes and get mad when people tell them times up on the mic. (rant, over)

the real symbolism was brought to me when the e.d. pointed outside to a friendly spray painted mural that just shows some kids holding hands preaching peace.

“in another place, that’s enough to get us all kicked out of here.” palabra

i was also at a theatre workshop over the weekend. the majority of it consisted of a group of exercises designed to subconsciously have us admit out co-dependence upon our communities. it wasn’t said but that’s what i got out of it. one of the early ones had us introduce our selves and what type of activist we are.

activist? sheet… i host a mic twice a month and read my musings on the first soapbox i can find… activist? but then all of it started to come together and instead of running from the label i wanted to see where it fit in.

“i am part of a community of writers that has chosen to dispel borders and language as definitions and look toward artistic choices as a root denominator”

incredible the shit that will come from my mouth when the clock is on.

there is an ancillary effect on this new career choice i have made. my classes are from 6-8 on monday nights meaning i don’t know if i will be coming back to bar13. it’s a 12 week gig but i think that i can make it a little more permanent, maybe. for now, this next monday will be my last one for a while… i mean, i can still make it for the features and for the slams but it’s always been about the open mic for me and if i miss that… then i may not have any good reason to show up.

i have been looking for time off from 13 for a lil bit. this last monday’s feature was a good time off and there were some other dates that i showed up more cuz the louder crew was dispatched to the four corners and were short staffed rather than actually really wanting to be there. for me, this can only be a good thing cuz more teaching equals more writing and more social work equals clearer purpose as to why i am on this dust ball. and some time to catch raw again will be good seeing that benoit is going to get the belt and all ;-)