Wow. You never know where your next profound moment will come from.

That silly post I made about needing a stage name…edzeppelin posted a comment in the thread leading from it that said, well, this:

…in chicago in ’99. you poem you did second night about the artist really changed the way I look at writing.

I have to say something about this, and about that poem and that night.

The first night in ’99, Worcester kicked butt in their first bout. I came out of the night with the 2 (DJ Renegade took the 1), and felt pretty darn good about it.

The next morning, at around 7:30, I received a phone call from home that my oldest friend’s 16 year old daughter (one of a pair of twins) had been killed in a car wreck the night before.

I was shattered, ready to go home — and Skip (my friend) wouldn’t let me; he told me that if Shawna’s death meant anything, it meant that one should seize life while it was in front of you, and not turn aside from destiny. He wanted me to stay and perform.

So I did. I told my teammates that I wasn’t sure how it would be for me that night, but that I wanted to compete. And because they are wonderful people, they agreed.

That night, we faced Green Mill and Champaign-Urbana. We expected to have a tough time, especially with Regie Gibson and Maria McCray and Ken Green and Sheila Donahue on the hometown team. But we thought we might win, and we knew we had the goods to come in second and score highly enough to make semis.

I went up, and did the poem edzeppelin is talking about, a piece called “The Radioactive Artist”. It’s not a poem I slammed with often; it’s a poem about a sculptor (true story) who builds work from the remains and debris left over from building nuclear weapons; despite the risks inherent in such work, he does it because he feels that someone has to make beauty from such horror. It’s a poem about risking everything to make your life worthwhile.

I dedicated the piece to Shawna, and collapsed in my seat when I was done.

The judges were not kind (although I think I did the best performance I’ve ever done of the piece that night). I recall, I think, outcry from the audience, but hey, that’s slam.

Green Mill won; we missed the semis by 1.5 points.

My recent ruminations about “what if” have included some thoughts about that moment, but not many.

I don’t think I’ll have them ever again.

Thank you, sir…

anselm23 posted this challenge in his LJ:

1. A friend of mine writes roleplaying games for a living, and I earn some extra cash that way myself. What would you write for a living, or what do you write for a living?
2. A friend of mine just pushed me into reading the Count of Monte Cristo by telling me that my education would be complete after I read it. What book do you recommend as the book that will complete anyone’s education?
3. What three books are on the list of things you want to read but haven’t yet, and why do you want to read them?
4. What city, fictional or genuine, do you most want to visit, and why?
5. If you could switch bodies with someone for twenty-four hours, whose body would you want to inhabit?

He also offered bonus points if it was done in the form of a poem.

I may have taken a liberty or two with the strict truth, but here you go:

THE PERFECT WORLD REVISITED

In a perfect world I will live in someday
gold will be handed to me just for
inscribing my three names
in a blank book, illuminating the first letters of each
word with gilt and indigo flourishes, then
setting fire to the pages. As they flame out

I will walk
away from the bookstand
chanting the praises of monasteries. I will pretend
to take the vow of silence
just long enough to get all my crazy relatives
to stop talking to me – and then, I’ll run, baby,

I’ll run – and
I’m gonna go get my education then, you bet:
read the phone book so that I may appreciate
the nine million names of God, from Aaron Aachen
to Zyrtan Zyrrva; plot
takeovers of donut havens and
broth canneries, scheming for the sole control of
America’s comfort food industry (which I will treat as
a sacred trust until something better comes along);
and then, I’ll travel: go to Venice for the water,
Prague for the clarity, Istanbul for the hell of it –
I’ll screw my way through the royal families of Eurasia —
after assuming the secret identities of every hero I’ve ever read about.

In this way will pass the days until,
one day, while reading Pilgrim’s Progress,
or Moby Dick, or Valley of the Dolls –
which in fact are all the same book in my perfect world —

I will look up and see something
in the face of the last lover I tossed aside
and the perfect world will crumble,
like dust or old taffy underfoot:

I would give everything to be myself again,
and to have you with me,

as it was
before I ever dreamed of a perfect world.

was lovely…

The theme of our little shindig was “forged”. What struck me about the poems that were read in connection to the theme was that most contained some kind of religious imagery (Pagan and Christian). Odd. I need to think about it more (especially since I was one of the crew who did that, with “Suicide Notes”).

I got a request to read “Do It Yourself” last night, from Melissa G. I always feel weird doing such signature pieces (it’s the piece I closed with at Urbana, for those of you reading this who were there that night) in front of the hometown crowd, as it were; prefer to do more esoteric stuff, or newer stuff I’m still working out the bugs on. I figure folks are tired of the obvious stuff. But I’m learning that the people who hear me all the time still want to hear that stuff now and again…plus it keeps you thinking about how the work stays alive for you, and how you can keep from dialing it in.

The feature, Marj Hahne, was a real revelation: stunning work, focused imagery, beautifully performed, and a genuinely nice person to boot. She has a CD I really can’t wait to hear. Book her if she comes your way.

She made a comment last night about trying not to speak unless she feels she can improve the silence. I know it’s a quote, but can’t recall who said it…at any rate, it’s a great thought.

Don’t you wish everybody thought that way?