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Dis/Course

If, at all possible, never get into an argument with a performance poet. The impassioned pleas, the long pauses, the dramatic breaths, the reaching out of arms, the utter bullshit. Not too long after I started reading, I found myself in a post-9/11 discussion amongst family members. A cousin decided that she would no longer patronize the candy store owned by a group of Middle-Eastern descent. “I am not supporting those people, even one cent! They are not getting my money!” I then went on a tirade asking if she knew there actual country of origin, religion or anything that may link them with the acts of September 11. She had little answer. I continued the barrage and questioned her as to the implications of racial profiling and how if it is OK for Hispanics to generalize “Arabs” then it will be OK for whites to generalize Hispanics.

Man, she was toast. I used all the stuff I picked up from the mic and woo’ed everybody in the room and, somewhere in the middle, got wrapped up in the sound of my own voice and kinda forgot the argument.

It’s rare that this happens in the louderCREW, we usually just go for straight volume when we want to really get a point across. Nobody ever tries their stage shit, at least none I’ve ever seen.

As for the infamous “Slam Listserve,” that’s a whole ‘nother thesis [© T’ai] These boys and girls type as if they were onstage. You can sense the drama building up with every line and feel the mounting urgency of their conviction and may-your-local-deity-show-mercy should you have a conflicting opinion. Few months back, someone on the ‘list commented as to the fact that there are over 300 members but only about 20 or so actively post on the message board. I was about to interject and let them know that I have little desire to post because I really don’t know any of them and don’t feel that my thoughts are that relevant, meaning “It’s your club house, I just visit.” Then decided that I really don’t care what these folks think of me or my opinions.

A little bit after that, a guy was advertising a Slam he was setting up in North Carolina that had one rule that was different from the norm, he required that all Slammers have their material memorized and that anyone reading off-page or forgetting their poems would be disqualified. Santicimo Señor, the whole ‘list jumped on that one and then also questioned how open the Slam was and it’s affiliations. I’ll give the dude all the credit, he answered every question like a pro and maintained a dignified posture throughout. The same can not be said for some of the members of the ‘serve with the highlight being someone replying back “Hey! Fuckwad!”

Let me tell you, if someone on a message post tries to get open like that on me— I will have a field day on their ass. Especially if they don’t know me but then, how am I supposed to have a fight with someone that I don’t even know. How do I get under their skin? What do I make fun of?

That’s the whole bullshit of it.

Mr Congeniality later apologized for his comments claiming he was caught in the emotion of the moment. Dude, you are typing a message that you have to review for spelling (I don’t but that’s me), punctuation, grammar, syntax (Scratch the previous comment, if I’m arguing with someone on e-mail, you’d best believe that every word will be correct) and then you have to click the ‘Send’ button. Do not tell me that you get THAT riled up about an e-mail.

After that episode, I knew I would never post on that board. People don’t know how to act and hide behind their keyboards. Then you see them days or months later and they act like they don’t know why you’re mad. ‘Oh, that comment it was in the heat of cyber battle. Rules of engagement say we meet on the field of RPGs to settle this!’ Yeah, my ass. Now there is an ongoing debate as to whether or not PSI needs to declare an official statement denouncing the war. Personally, I feel that I can speak well enough for myself and that if enough people join you, the ruling body will follow. If not, then you make your stand regardless. Suckas need gangs and fools need clubs. It’s a long road and it’s great to have company but it’s still a long road.

Guy started up a group, Poets Speak, that is putting together a statement denouncing the war. I’m with that because it’s action and it wasn’t waiting for a group of people to join hands together and embrace. Meanwhile back at the listserve, arguments and personal threats are being thrown around like candy and I wonder if some of these boys and girls wouldn’t be better off waiting till this weekend’s SlamMasters meeting and then going at it. Then again, in real life, when you call someone a ‘Fucker’ you’d better be ready to do more than just type.

play/dreams/rassling

today started with a trip to brooklyn to rehearse the louderARTS play. i wisely left my car on the upper west side and then met up with ray. we took the subway to crooklyn and headed to elana’s place.

unlike the past ones, this rehearsal proved very satisfying as sabrina & i were able to concentrate on our scene. we went over the motivations of the characters, both real (myself & ‘leticia’) and the ones in the play. after kicking some ideas back and forth, we found the perfect vehicle to let the audience know where our mindset is… laundry. yep, by simply folding some shirts on a table, we should be able to express to the audience that these are two people comfortable with each other but still needing a lil something to bring them closer together. our final prop will be the bomb and should make the ending ot our scene come off as da bomb.

the dry run with the rest of the crew left everyone pretty spellbound, even though they’ve heard the poem a good number of times.

headed back to manhattan and ray’s house. while waiting for some take-out, i tell seve about this weird ass dream i had a few nights back that involved the louderCREW, brooklyn, expolsions, the colors red, white & green, escape and detention. he was bugging as to the clarity of my dream and then we went over some other doozys i have had over the years.

i must be the most lucid dreamer ever becuase people always tell me they dont remember their dreams and i have an amazing clarity in my dreams. colors, tastes, people… they are all so fuckin’ real and have left more than a few dreams crying, laughing nad just plain disoriented. the ones about my ex were particulary disturbing as i was trying to shut off my sub-concious from my fream state. by the end, i was hypothesizing how the more intense you feel about someone, the more you steal abit of their essence and that bit actively invades your dreams. weird, but that was the only explanation i could come up with.

then wrestlemania capped off the evening. wrestling is just so good to relax and unwind. see the matches progress and wonder about the outcomes. yes, i know wrestling is a pre-determined athletic exhibition but finding out if your favorites emerge victorious is the true draw. i would rate this wrestlemania pretty high, in that all the matches ended decisevly with a minimum of bullshit. most of the outcomes went against my wishes but that is what is supposed to make you come back.

low lights– limp bizkit, ashanti, catfight girls, coachman, lita, opening match, undertaker match, length of hardy-mysterio match, hh wins again

high-lights– angle(!), micheals-jericho match (even though the wrong dude won), rock-austin, 3 way tag match, cena, hardy-mysterio, trish(!), hogan-mcmahon (the batlle of geritol was pretty good & rowdy roddy made an appearance), booker t and the angle-lesnar match (even though lesnar F*CKED UP his last move and may have given himself a concussion)

great stuff and i can only hope the WWE gets their shit together and starts pushing cena, lesnar, jericho, team angle & beniot before its too late.

“to be the man, you got to beat the man! whoooooo!”

being a hatah

you may have noticed, that generally speaking, i portray the world of nyc poetry as very gumdrops & rainbows. it’s not. i just choose to highlight the parts that i find positive and uplifting. in short ebonics– no hate.

that may have to do with my policy of not talinkg shit behind people’s back. if i cant say it to their own mug, i wont lay it out here. thats some punk shit and i aint having it. my last journal outlined a wonderful converstion i had with wanna.be.actor/poetry.will.get.me.to.the.top/minister.of.dis-information, harvey, and how i told harvey he was dead wrong on his viewpoint of poetry, nyc spoken word and me.

now, i may have to put some other fool in their place.

flat night

hosted the baruch latino reading last night, except there was very little latino about it. i held up my bargain– brought myself and three hispanic poets. only to find that there was almost NO latino audience. all of the crowd was courtesy of the cataclysm, a hip-hop group from hunter college.

my hosting did not go well. i was not synching with the college crowd, not even a lil bit. my first open micer almst took 15 minutes all by himself as he got permission from someone else to use music, beatboxed (quite well, i must say) till the music started, couldn’t use the mic, then had to get the music re-cued, told the story behind the rap, restarted, killed the music and then finished his piece.

and here i am, trying to keep a smile on my face. the open mic was not that bad, however, and i was interspersing my invited guests with the open mic. the energy was flowing pretty good, anacaona hit the mIc and started with this:

“i just want to say ‘sorry,’ my poem has a lot of spanish and…”

at that point, fish and i just yelled at her.

‘never apologize for your language!’

man, that shit really boiled me. more for the fact that people were saying ‘ok, we understand’ as if it to give her permission… permission? then, mo’fos were tuning her out.

that lead to the biggest rant i have ever spit on the mic.

man, i have got to contain that energy and throw it into a poem because i was telling these little fools that there narrow-mindness is the same bullshit the gov’t wants to lay on us… and they loved it.

after that, the thrill was gone and i was happy to hand over the end of the show to the cataclysm and break out. as i was leaving, they put on a great hip-hop set. not poetry, hip-hop.

it is said “all men with honor are kings but not all kings are men with honor”

and that same applies to all these MCs who try to drop a verse and think they are fucking saul williams. in nyc, this is a very uphill battle.

so off we go, fish & i, to the martinez gallery to check out rog, lynne & ed kick some pieces. ya know, chill with friends, hear real poetry, get re-inspired. then we get a flat and have to wait two hours for a two truck to show because for some unknown reason the brand new tire fish’s dad put on the car refused to come out. we were taking turns being pissed off and then the tow truck came and he tried to charge us $80 to go to 116th street… when we are at 14th & broadway!

“what do you mean we are going to 116th street”

‘that’s where our mechanic is at’

“what if we go to 38th street”

‘we could do that’

“then what will you charge us?”

‘the same’

“what?”

‘our mechanic is really good, though’

“we dont need a mechanic, we need a tire fix!”

long story short, we got a cheaper tow, got to the tire fix, saw the guy pop out the tire 1.2.3 and then headed uptown. when i got dropped off, i realized i had left my acentos book with all out promo material and a group of my poems!

the remix

“ya know, any fool can hit the bulls-eye on his first try, it’s the second try that really counts”– the back of my mind as i’m heading to acentos

things started on a good note as, while i’m leaving my job, i see victor d., the older gentleman that i’ve seen at a few open mics (including acentos) i offer victor a ride to acentos and then pick up ray. the house is a bit thin when i arrive which is, pretty much, my worst fear. the eight slots open mic fills up quick though and jumps to nine right from the jump as fish puts on raul, who missed out on the last open mic– make that twelve as i have lily (with a phone in request), guy and jayme (our first acentos “virgin”) added to the list.

it’s 7:42 and i figure it’s time to open the show. fish gives me a mic little intro and it’s off to the races. the first half of the open mic is quick and to the point. readers are picked at my discretion to keep a good flow going on the mic. newcomer/veteran, male/female, comedic/serious, conversationalist/imagery or to put it really basic people.whose.work.i.know/people.whose.work.i.dont.know. this allows the show to have a good ebb and flow that never allows the audience to get to comfortable in their chair. i’ve seen a few open mics where it’s bad reader after bad reader, seen a host grab an old-timer by the collar and say “i need you to kick a piece, next!”

‘well, uhmm, i didn’t really want to read tonight. i kinda, you know, wanted to chill…’

“we are losing the audience. you are up, right NOW!”

i’ll say this– it worked, the old-timer got the crowd back on their feet and the rest of the night went great but if that host didn’t have an ace up the sleeve, shit coulda got ugly.

also seen venues where the host loads up the front of the open mic with all their favorites. nice strategy if you want to keep the same six poets getting exposure and positive crowd response. keeps your crowd really into the poetry as well, for 4o minutes, then they know that new people are coming up and the grand exodus begins. now you have a third of the house giving minimal love to a newbie trying to find their voice. tell ya this– if that had happened to me, when i started, i would’ve never got better.

ed hits the mic as feature and gives me a hysterical intro: “ed is very important to me and my friend…” i was laughing all the way through, ‘specially cuz it’s true. ed was the person who convinced me to turn the salsa poem into a slam piece but that’s a story for another time.

one of the wild things about performing is the energy in the room. it’s a very real thing and, if you’re good, you can make it do what you want. ed knows how to make it do what he wants. he did a wonderful piece about being “special” and was making fun of himself for two minutes before totally flipping the energy and converting all those laughs into genuine concern. mixing old and new, everything flowed well and the crowd responded perfectly to ed’s words… with a 103 degree fever! that’s dedication and a half!

the second half of the open mic started out with jayme, our first acentos virgin (virgin meaning this is your first time on the mic, a nuyorican virgin is anyone who has never read at the nuyo before but that’s the fuckin’ nuyo) i befriended j a few weeks back when i twisted her arm to judge a slam and have been encouraging her since to come to the mic. ‘you’ve never read before? well, how about next week? you know, nah, make it two weeks… you’ll be the first acentos virgin!” love it when a plan comes together… j did great for a first timer and had some real natural poise on the mic. it’s good to know that i helped someone get on the mic for the first time and did everything in my power to make it a great encouraging experience. ditto for lily who has some good verse just needs to get her voice to match up to her words. then, lo and behold, we had a second virgin… harmoney is a friend of hermen’s who has been thinking about taking the plunge and i hooked him up with a spot. also, a good first timer and i can’t ask for much more.

did end up turning away a good six people and even got one real long face. it hurt to tell people they couldn’t get on the mic… this week. i’ll look out for all of them next time around but one of my goals is to have a nice tight show that doesn’t run too late. as opposed to the last acentos were i was letting everybody get on the mic and had a way too long show.

another acentos in the book and things are looking bright for this series and am going to start booking through the summer.

oh, the afterparty was at beau sia’s whatever. it was the usual ruckus as rog, jayme and i met up with helen, omar & lynne. especially when we saw the meatloaf lookalike ” He has a name… His name is Robert Paulsen. His name is Robert Paulsen.”

hanging out with the dead.guy.in.the.subway.who.helps.out.patrick.swayze.in.’ghost’ lookalike “Get off my train!!!”

drove the crew home and got stopped at a police check point. in the strangest twist of fate, the young african-american officer was all gung-ho and wanted to get em for something, anything. then the white, ultra conservative, lieutenant was telling him to let me go. the youngblood wasn’t having it but the superior officer had spoken and i got over… big time. i got to fix that headlight, no way i can have this good a luck.

then again, i just brought some more good poetry to the bronx and helped usher two new peeps into the world of spoken word… some good vibes deserve to come my way. circles, ya know?