They are now filtering LJ at work.

This bites…but I promise a post every night from now on, to make up for it.

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Was in a foul mood today. Expect it to continue.

Come to SPEAK anyway tomorrow night.

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I need to do something to escape myself…break free of thought and ambitions for stability just long enough to sort myself out.

I no longer trust the desire for sanity; I think it’s a red herring for me. I’ll settle for colorful lunacy.

is that she’s one of a few people who seem to have taken what’s become known as the “slam Voice” and gone elsewhere with it than it usually ends up.

Of course, it’s not the only thing she does; but it’s the most remarkable thing. And it may be a harbinger of what really good poets may be able to do even within the bounds of the genre we’ve created.

is that she’s one of a few people who seem to have taken what’s become known as the “slam Voice” and gone elsewhere with it than it usually ends up.

Of course, it’s not the only thing she does; but it’s the most remarkable thing. And it may be a harbinger of what really good poets may be able to do even within the bounds of the genre we’ve created.

is up. I posted it earlier today, but was unable to approve it (weird stuff with the admin function).

Thanks, John…

All about Def Jam

Swiped from buscemi.

http://www.logicalcreativity.com/jon/plush/01.html

Recent comments on here have indicated that there’s a perception that the world of spoken word has shifted dramatically toward reinforcing performance over writing as a poet’s first priority.

I agree.

I also agree that the average open mike has become a scene of public masturbation — plenty of people pleasing themselves in public with very little attention to the idea of what might please another.

Who are we to judge this?

We’re the folks who did this before doing this was just another moderately successful pop-culture trend.

I’m not sure that qualifies us for understanding where this scene has gone.

I’m not sure I belong here anymore.

The problem is, I don’t belong anywhere else just yet.

We are responsible for creating the next place — the place where the masturbators go to please others, or get kicked to the curb.

By the way: none of the masturbators know they are doing that. They think they’re pleasing us.

Just like sex, if we don’t tell them otherwise when it’s happening…

Recently someone here said (I truly don’t recall who) that no one should ever get a 2.7 for a score on a poem.

Bullshit. If I had my way, there would be a lot more 2.7s at slams.

Time for folks to wake up. The average slammer (open miker, academic, beat wanna be, etc., etc., etc…)

SUCKS OUT LOUD.

We need to change that if we dislike it. And part of that means telling folks they suck if they do. (In a loving and constructive way, of course.)

Recent comments on here have indicated that there’s a perception that the world of spoken word has shifted dramatically toward reinforcing performance over writing as a poet’s first priority.

I agree.

I also agree that the average open mike has become a scene of public masturbation — plenty of people pleasing themselves in public with very little attention to the idea of what might please another.

Who are we to judge this?

We’re the folks who did this before doing this was just another moderately successful pop-culture trend.

I’m not sure that qualifies us for understanding where this scene has gone.

I’m not sure I belong here anymore.

The problem is, I don’t belong anywhere else just yet.

We are responsible for creating the next place — the place where the masturbators go to please others, or get kicked to the curb.

By the way: none of the masturbators know they are doing that. They think they’re pleasing us.

Just like sex, if we don’t tell them otherwise when it’s happening…

Recently someone here said (I truly don’t recall who) that no one should ever get a 2.7 for a score on a poem.

Bullshit. If I had my way, there would be a lot more 2.7s at slams.

Time for folks to wake up. The average slammer (open miker, academic, beat wanna be, etc., etc., etc…)

SUCKS OUT LOUD.

We need to change that if we dislike it. And part of that means telling folks they suck if they do. (In a loving and constructive way, of course.)

is how after I write a poem about how much the poetry reading at the Asylum means to me, several people associated with the scene have posted something in the last couple of days about wanting to avoid a poetry reading at all costs.

I don’t think it’s cause and effect. I certainly understand a desire to avoid drama and pain; we all do.

I just can’t live without a dose now and again — more often than not; the recent issues with my health and Annie’s health that have kept me away from Sunday nights have been quite painful to me.

I miss you, regular Asylum nights; miss you all, miss the expensive coffee and the dingy walls, the furniture, the impossibly high ceilings, the weird sightlines, the once-upon-a-time ridiculous sound system that too frequently made going off mike a necessity, not an adaptation (this has changed, but I still miss the intimacy).

I miss what was. I miss what will not be again — the sense of excitement walking in, wondering what new things were in store.

I’m jaded now; been to too many readings in too many towns, read on too many stages to ever feel that excited again.

I’ve become a serious poet at the cost of my excitement at poetry.

Most of all, I miss you; the person who changed me, who made me excited as you changed yourself, who laughed or cried at the right moment.

I never recall your name, but you were there too…that was you, that night; the poet whose words I will forget the minute I die.

I’ll be back soon, I promise.

is how after I write a poem about how much the poetry reading at the Asylum means to me, several people associated with the scene have posted something in the last couple of days about wanting to avoid a poetry reading at all costs.

I don’t think it’s cause and effect. I certainly understand a desire to avoid drama and pain; we all do.

I just can’t live without a dose now and again — more often than not; the recent issues with my health and Annie’s health that have kept me away from Sunday nights have been quite painful to me.

I miss you, regular Asylum nights; miss you all, miss the expensive coffee and the dingy walls, the furniture, the impossibly high ceilings, the weird sightlines, the once-upon-a-time ridiculous sound system that too frequently made going off mike a necessity, not an adaptation (this has changed, but I still miss the intimacy).

I miss what was. I miss what will not be again — the sense of excitement walking in, wondering what new things were in store.

I’m jaded now; been to too many readings in too many towns, read on too many stages to ever feel that excited again.

I’ve become a serious poet at the cost of my excitement at poetry.

Most of all, I miss you; the person who changed me, who made me excited as you changed yourself, who laughed or cried at the right moment.

I never recall your name, but you were there too…that was you, that night; the poet whose words I will forget the minute I die.

I’ll be back soon, I promise.

There is something pressing
I want to say about me,
or to me —
really, more to myself,
but it feels as if I no longer recall
what language
I speak.

Right now in fact
I can’t even think of a word longer than
two — what do you call them? parts?
sounds?
Two of those.

I hope when I do think
of what it is
I was going to say
that it is simple enough
for me to say it.

I could not stand it
if it was so
hard to say
that I might die before
I get it out of my mouth.

If it is worth saying,
let me say it in time
to save myself the trouble
of finding someone
to tell me lies
and convince me that
their lies are truth,
they are my truth,
that there is only one truth
for all of us.

It is said that saying things
doesn’t make them so,
but I have not
spoken yet — so
how can I
be sure?

There is something pressing
I want to say about me,
or to me —
really, more to myself,
but it feels as if I no longer recall
what language
I speak.

Right now in fact
I can’t even think of a word longer than
two — what do you call them? parts?
sounds?
Two of those.

I hope when I do think
of what it is
I was going to say
that it is simple enough
for me to say it.

I could not stand it
if it was so
hard to say
that I might die before
I get it out of my mouth.

If it is worth saying,
let me say it in time
to save myself the trouble
of finding someone
to tell me lies
and convince me that
their lies are truth,
they are my truth,
that there is only one truth
for all of us.

It is said that saying things
doesn’t make them so,
but I have not
spoken yet — so
how can I
be sure?

Zero Point Zero this week is about poetry and identity politics. I was writing the column before our recent debate, played with it a bit as a result. Thank you.

Have at it. It’s right here.

Zero Point Zero this week is about poetry and identity politics. I was writing the column before our recent debate, played with it a bit as a result. Thank you.

Have at it. It’s right here.

I swear this isn’t based on anything except the column I’m writing for this week.

When I was a youngster, disco was king. Lots of people hated disco out here in the suburbs; in later years, I realized that at least some of the dislike was based in racism, conscious or otherwise.

So…

How much do you think the dislike of hip-hop poetry comes from the same source?

I’ll be over here behind the bulletproof glass if you need me.

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ADDENDUM:

My perception of racism being behind dislike of disco or hiphop is based on observations and comments I’ve heard. Just that.

This perception by those feeling hostile to them that these art forms were/are associated with non-white cultural expressions is simply that: a perception.

I didn’t say it was logical, valid, or reasonable. Prejudices rarely are.

PLEASE stop trying to convince me I’m wrong about that perception. I’m not. I’ve seen it, heard it. Period.

My question here is pretty simple: do you see it too? And do you see it as being pervasive, less than pervasive, or what?

Clear?

Yow.

Which movie? by travel_crazy
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I’m really not sure what to say about this, as I didn’t like the movie despite the presence of Bowie.

In general, science fiction, speculative fiction, fantasy, horror movies, supernatural thrillers in any medium simply do nothing for me, with rare exceptions. This was not one of them.