I skipped a poetry reading tonight to work on a paper.
Monthly Archives: August 2005
I’m feeling dirty
Every time I do a meme, I feel like a slacker for not being more original.
I’ve really tapered off of late, but I do get suckered in now and then.
Sometimes, a guy just can’t write a poem, y’know? Where’s Kirsten Dunst when I need her? (Or maybe I should do a Jessica Alba poem? Linda Hunt? How about Fred MacMurray?)
* mind boggles, then blisters*
Just call me Mr. Pink
| Quentin Tarantino Your film will be 52% romantic, 31% comedy, 52% complex plot, and a $ 47 million budget. |
| He hasn’t really made many films, but each successive one is a bigger and grander project … and more violent. Karate CHOP! Your life story will probably star Michael Madsen, Uma Thurman, or some TV or movie star from the 1980s for which your film will be the comeback — let’s say Emilio Estevez. Maybe. Now that the QT is dating Sofia Coppola, maybe he’ll get some tips about putting some lump-in-the-throat romantic moments in his films. Quentin’s short directing resume includes Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, Jackie Brown, and Kill Bill Vols. 1 & 2. |
 |
My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
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| Link: The Director Who Films Your Life Test written by bingomosquito on Ok Cupid |
just curious:
sparked by nerak_g‘s journal.
I’m not a Rockstar poet. No DPJ, no Slam titles. Minimal performance audio online for people to check out.
I’m a damn good writer and performer.
What would you suggest I charge for a feature? workshop, etc., without the benefit of all that lovely street cred?
(I’m really just curious — I have a high-paying day job PRECISELY so I don’t have to make these decisions.)
fever dream again — a little relief from the heavy
Kirsten Dunst
I sing of you,
Kirsten Dunst,
and your dark blonde image;
recall you tweaking me
in the vampire movie —
how did they get a little girl
to be that ravishing,
and what does it mean that
I noticed?
As a cheerleader you were
exactly as I imagined you would be,
like the girl I saw swimming
down the beach from where I fished
in high school,
and I reeled in the pickerel
knowing that you’d never be
mine, and I threw the fish back
in jealous anger.
In the superhero movie
you were perfect and unafraid
of the freaks who surrounded you,
and I began to have hope —
until I heard that out of character you were dating
the supermen around you and not the freaks.
Kirsten Dunst, those are all of the movies
I’ve seen with you in them. Maybe
you’ve made more, maybe not. Maybe
the kid in the coffee house
who insisted you were the sister
of that guy in Limp Bizkit
was right, maybe not. Maybe I’ve never really
been in love with you
and your wicked eyes. But it takes a village
to smother a child, and I think back to you
vamping for the villain
when you were so young, and I wonder
that I was so easily suckered myself,
that I dislike blondes but stop to stare
at you on a magazine cover, that I think I know
your every mood and move
without stepping inside a theater, that the village
makes us think you are someone we should know.
numbness as an approach to life is much underrated.
if i acted more in my self-interest, was more selfish with my needs and desires, i do not think i’d be happier unless i simultaneously became more immune to the pangs of conscience and self-consciousness that define me.
i think sometimes i will die in a flame of self-pity and foolishness.
home with a brutal headache
couldn’t even see to drive this morning.
i usually get these when the stress in my life builds to an unimaginable level.
surprise.
in other news, i haven’t eaten and i haven’t thrown up.
whee.
(took me ten minutes to type this — i just checked)
Can I demand
joy
of the universe?
Can I imagine
myself
into an ecstasy?
Can I say that
this is not perfect?
Can I lie about God?
Can you look me in the eye
and tell me I don’t know
happiness when I see it?
I see it.
I am not afraid of it now.
Can I be unfraid long enough
to take it, hold it close,
deathless,
until I lose myself inside?
Once again, where I am
I’ve updated my feature listing for those of you who are actually interested in where I’ll be so you can avoid me with pinpoint accuracy, as javabill would say.
Go here for that:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/chryslerpoet/288375.html
Still looking for an October gig, and any fill-ins here and there.
What Sunday Is Like
he thinks Sunday
is something
like a chance for love
thinks something
like not knowing what it means
to be in love, or about love not being an answer,
though it is not a question either, more a punctuation mark
in a long sentence, and something about it being
a way of knowing the difference between
stretches of encumbrance and moments of freedom
something like flight
something like a woman on stage
opening herself like an envelope
never mailed
something like postage due
something like understanding eyes
and a whiff of memory
something like the way
he sits on the stool
and after four drinks
sneaks a peek
into the strippers’ dressing room
something like grasping
for someone else’s
sanctuary
something he thinks he’s been given
by right of birth
something like a false idol
something he never had
something that disowned him
something he is ashamed of
something like the way he turns away
retreats to his car
drives the short way home
something like waking
from a just deferred thought
of home and knowing
it’s not likely to be recaptured
something like the dread that says
never go home
something like another sabbath
devoid of rest and sacrament
something like God
not having a bloody thing
to say to him
in the still of the car
after the engine
is turned off
and before
he opens the door
Happy Birthday to the world’s greatest poetic dinosaur, Morris Stegosaurus! May he never become extinct.
finally
After all the years I’ve been in the slam scene, at last I rate: this is one of the first certified David Huang photographs of me reading a poem at an NPS.
Since I only read one this time around…it’s obviously “The Last Word” at the Erotic Reading.
http://www.poeticdream.com/photo.php?gid=298&pid=05081101025445
shameful plugz
Where’m I gonna be?
Sept. 11, afternoon: Middleboro MA arts festival. Feature.
Sept. 11, evening: Java Hut, Worcester. Home venue feature — the worst kind. 😀
Sept. 28: evening: Brooklyn, NY. Feature with Patrick Rosal and Barbara Newsome at Words of Wisdom , in the Spoken words Cafe in Park Slope.
November 19: A gig in So. Jersey, near Philly. Again, details later.
Dec. 11: Nantucket, Ma — feature at the Nantucket Poetry Slam.
Full detail as each event approaches.
Of course, there’s the Hut most Sundays and SPEAK on the alternate Wednesdays.
October is empty. Anyone want to offer suggestions?
Penny Players feature tonight
was terrific —
loved the interactive cheese grilling, the filmstrip poem…brilliant.
it reminded me of the old adventurous WAG Open Stage days. (Inside reference, sorry. A lamented performance space a lot of us in this scene cut our teeth on in the late Eighties/early Nineties. It had a Wednesday night open stage that included everything from performance art to hardcore to classical guitar to poetry to acappella improvisation to hostage taking and live shotgun blasts. Those were the days.)
After ward, I cruised Worcester a bit, had a coffee at the Hut, and came home. I’m a sad loser of a hipster, I guess.
Later…
Dark Matter 