Gentle Poet Eyes
By Aaron Johnson
it's been a year since I looked you in the eyes
and like a hair club client,
I was dissatisfied.
I once considered you an artist and friend
but your ego is the new travel-size toothpaste,
keeping you from boarding the plane and flying.
you write well, for an ex-girlfriend highlight film.
the fox smells his own hole first
and you know that
talking to me was a step
to get you back to this drug cabinet we call spoken word
but I implore you to be encouraging and sincere
when you come back
think less of yourself and more for the new generation of poets
that have been listening to your ego on dvd and internet downloads
for the last five fucking years
pouring tears and words for papa's mountains,
for the dust in the corners of the room that have been inhaled like spores,
even your breakfast cereal poetry is not as soggy
as your contemporaries predicted it would
after the time test
you still have your best poetry inside those eyes
but you spent so much time with lies and "fucking with people";
masturbating -er- manipulating
but where was the poetry, the writing?
did it die in your guns, your newspaper, your red rock, your old friend on West Sedona Lane?
you may not care about my poetry, fine.
but I did care about yours:
reading your blogs, your mind;
lately, I've been bored.
they write now
because you ignited a fire in the Sedona under groundhog
and you may never grow into your adult hoodie
until you let go
of your ego
you have my attention
now what will you do with it?
your actions are louder than your words
and your eyes
Slam Fencing 101
By Christopher Fox Graham
PARRY
watch thy forked tongue, poet
it's easy to be righteous from the stage
if you never put yourself on the edge of it
and risked being kicked off
by those who said they'd stand behind you
I'll still pulling out the knives
et tu, Lefty?
when I was banished,
virtuous poet,
I did not hear you advocate for my return
although your words seemly sweetly honeyed now
nor did I hear condolences
but at least you can apologize to robot porn on MySpace
did you lose my number?
not pay the internet bill?
forget my address?
at least you could remember what city I lived in
if you could get 20 inches and a photo in my newspaper
were you happy to sweep the stage clean,
honorable poet,
because with me on it
you heard shouts of "10" more often from behind the curtain
than behind the mic?
you live well, for an opportunist
don't claim I'm the only one
nor that you don't rub it in
we've all seen your cover on Flagstaff Live
and how you pointed out Nix was there too
venerable poet,
if you'd ever gotten to know me
instead of using you verse
to score cheaper dime-bags
or drawing in glassy-eyed teens awed
by the newfound allure of bald cartoon characters
you'd see what we do:
a pawn in the shadows of the rest of the board —
first the egoist before he hunted Montezuma
then the liar with his peach-flavored pride
now the esurient entrepreneur
yes, you're a chameleon, but always a sidekick
with all the Greats covering your head,
you've never felt the reign
your aims on our stages
have volunteered their simplicity
and the rest of us see right through it
present thy purpose, poet: poon, pot, or points pushes your newest stanzas
to reach the pedestals beneath our feet
since I first looked you in the eyes,
I have been dissatisfied
RIPOSTE
did I get your attention, poet?
blood a little warmer, poet?
thinking about what lines to sample in your reply?
keep reading, pondering poet
Asgard has its Loki
the Hopis have their kokopelli
NORAZ has its Reynard
the poems you see on stage,
the poems I post
are for the crowd,
the roaring throng
the points and the prize
unblemished poet, your sketch of me has always been sketchy
you're snuggled in against my chest
holding tight to an abusive father you can't seem to let go
because hating the man and the act
is easier than knowing what lurks beneath these GPEs
you'd know the ego
is, has, and will be an act
it's part of the costume
like the sport coat bedecked in buttons,
the unkempt hair,
the doublefisted whiskey,
the stories of threesomes and orgies
what makes the mess funny
is that the CFG mythology was written
by other poets, by the crowd, by the foes
rumors become facts
(I would elucidate, but I've already written
"Welcome to Show")
this is my character
my anti-hero suit
the poems stand alone
but the attitude drives poets who compete
to strive harder to win
more challenge, more effort
better poems, better poets
everyone needs a villain
if it weren't for judas, dear poet,
we'd be genuflecting to Apollo
the reports of my boundless pride are greatly exaggerated
you'd rather follow that Gospel
than get to know the man who wrote them
the proof is in my peach
peel back its layers to see that peaches … don't have any
perfectly poised posture,
vigorous ventriloquism of absurdity
and nonsense with flair scored me three 10s
while better poems of grandfather's hands, WTC jumpers, and fear of dying young
never does better than "8.9, 9.2, 9.4"
peach proves this:
1) slam is a joke
2) don't let one poem be what the world remembers of you
3) write better than this
august poet,
the poems that are "me" get scribbled on postcards,
e-mailed to distant friends,
read quietly over the phone or over coffee
folded up and hand-delivered the way true poetry should be
ways to communicate between two strangers
desperately struggling fingertips to fingertips
not a cockfight on a stage beneath three-minute lights
"where was the poetry, the writing?"
not held in the heartless digital vacuum online
if it weren't for MySpace, poet,
you wouldn't have any friends
where have I read that before?
you want my sincerity?
its always been here, in my skin, in my voice,
over a beer or coffee,
sans slam
you and I can play our roles on stage
bicker in the blogosphere
but be brothers in the real world
but you've got some steps to make
put down the keyboard and pick up the phone
hit the road to meet up
rather than hit "send"
and you've got to shed that shadow that stands over you
(remind Mr. Lane that a dick is still a dick
no matter how high it raises its head)
if you want me back
if you want me on that stage
if you want me to push the next generation of poets
to become the next generation of great poets
you've got to realize my purpose:
I must be all that they hate about poets
so they can become all they're meant to be
if they test themselves in the battle
outflank my checkmates
they'll learn the real lesson of my treatise:
if you're writing only for your three minutes in the limelight
you're wasting your life — get the fuck off the stage
learn that poetry is only the first step
in the long march of sharing ideas, stories, and lives
real poets live their poetry
slam is only a game
Showing posts with label poetry tactics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry tactics. Show all posts
Monday, March 12, 2007
Monday, May 30, 2005
NORAZ Poets win the Arizona state championship at the 5th annual Arcosanti Slab City Slam
The Arizona State Championship title has returned to NORthern AriZona. The NORAZ Poets won the Arcosanti Slab City Slam on April 28, by 16.5 points.
"That's two touchdowns and a field goal," Christopher Lane, NORAZ Poets executive director and Team NORAZ member, said.
The fifth annual Arcosanti Slab City Slam featured 10 teams from all across the state. The NORAZ Poets included three teams of four poets each. Team NORAZ, Team Prescott, Team FlagSlam, faced off against Team Tucson, Team Arcosanti, The Loose Nuts, Hangover Express, a third Phoenix team, The X-Hosts, a team of slam hosts from the East Valley of Phoenix and Team NORAZ's cross-state arch-rivals Team Mesa Nationals, who has won the last four This year's Mesa team includes Brent Heffron a member of the 2004 Team NORAZ.
The championship team consisted of 4 of the 5 members of Team NORAZ:
Christopher Lane, of Sedona
Meghan Jones, of Flagstaff
Christopher Fox Graham, of Sedona, and
Logan Philips, of Flagstaff.
Team Prescott:
Eric Larson, of Prescott, and a member of 2004 Team NORAZ
Patrick David DuHaime, of Prescott
David Rogers "Doc" Luben, of Prescott, and
Greg Nix, of Flagstaff
Team FlagSlam:
Aaron Johnson, of Flastaff, the fifth member of Team NORAZ
Kimmy Wilgus of Flagstaff
Rhett Pepe, of Flagstaff
John R. Kofonow, Slam Master of Flagstaff
The tournament consisted of all 10 teams competing in two preliminary rounds.
Christopher Lane, kicking off the slam with "if this poem," starting in the middle of the crowd and moving to the microphone as he performed. At the end of the first round, Team Mesa was ahead by a slim margin. But Meghan Jones' poem, "Where's Your Microphone?," a plea to the women poets in the crowd to become slam poets started off the second round with Team NORAZ in the lead, and the margin of victory only increased. Christopher Fox Graham's "We Call Him Papa" and Logan Philips' "The Boy's Pockets" cemented their lead.
As round two rolled around, Team Mesa came in fierce in the first slot. Team FlagSlam was in the third slot, followed by Team Prescott, and Team NORAZ in the sixth slot. Logan Philips started off with "Worth of Words," followed by Meghan Jones' "Patches", Christopher Fox Graham's "Spinal Language" and closing out the last round of the bout with Christopher Lane's "poetry is still."
The final bout would be the top 4 teams: Team NORAZ, Team Prescott,, Team Tucson and Team Mesa Nationals.
The night's poetry feature was Luke Warm Water, an activist, poet, epidemiologist an enrolled member of the Oglala Lakota (Sioux) Tribe, born and raised in Rapid City, S.D. Author of John Wayne Shot Me, Luke Warm Water, has performed across the United States, England and Germany, in 120 venues within the last 4 years. He was preceded by 2005 NORAZ Poets semi-finalist Rowie Shebala, of the Navajo Nation.
Team NORAZ now had a comfortable lead of 12 points. The finals bout was a "feature" round for the team. Christopher Lane performed "for Jessica…". Christopher Fox Graham brought out perhaps the most anticipated poem of the night, "The Peach is a Damn Sexy Fruit." Meghan Jones, made the night a hot one with the sensual, sexy "Honey." The line "caramelize me," melted the audience in their seats. To top out the night, Logan Philips performed "La Viejita de Sonora."
In the end:
Team NORAZ 339.4
Team Mesa Nationals 322.9
Team Prescott 320.9
Team Tucson 315.6
The night ended with a bronze pour at the Arcosanti Bronze Foundry where the Arconauts created the 40-pound bronze trophy, followed by a fire performance by Flam Chen, and a huge after-party that rolled until dawn.
Note that NORAZ Poets, not just Team NORAZ won the tournament. Of the 40 poets who competed, 13 of them were NORAZ Poets. We are a community of poets, not just a team, and not individuals. The victory and the trophy represents our strength as a community, unified in our diversity.
"That's two touchdowns and a field goal," Christopher Lane, NORAZ Poets executive director and Team NORAZ member, said.
The fifth annual Arcosanti Slab City Slam featured 10 teams from all across the state. The NORAZ Poets included three teams of four poets each. Team NORAZ, Team Prescott, Team FlagSlam, faced off against Team Tucson, Team Arcosanti, The Loose Nuts, Hangover Express, a third Phoenix team, The X-Hosts, a team of slam hosts from the East Valley of Phoenix and Team NORAZ's cross-state arch-rivals Team Mesa Nationals, who has won the last four This year's Mesa team includes Brent Heffron a member of the 2004 Team NORAZ.
The championship team consisted of 4 of the 5 members of Team NORAZ:
Christopher Lane, of Sedona
Meghan Jones, of Flagstaff
Christopher Fox Graham, of Sedona, and
Logan Philips, of Flagstaff.
Team Prescott:
Eric Larson, of Prescott, and a member of 2004 Team NORAZ
Patrick David DuHaime, of Prescott
David Rogers "Doc" Luben, of Prescott, and
Greg Nix, of Flagstaff
Team FlagSlam:
Aaron Johnson, of Flastaff, the fifth member of Team NORAZ
Kimmy Wilgus of Flagstaff
Rhett Pepe, of Flagstaff
John R. Kofonow, Slam Master of Flagstaff
The tournament consisted of all 10 teams competing in two preliminary rounds.
Christopher Lane, kicking off the slam with "if this poem," starting in the middle of the crowd and moving to the microphone as he performed. At the end of the first round, Team Mesa was ahead by a slim margin. But Meghan Jones' poem, "Where's Your Microphone?," a plea to the women poets in the crowd to become slam poets started off the second round with Team NORAZ in the lead, and the margin of victory only increased. Christopher Fox Graham's "We Call Him Papa" and Logan Philips' "The Boy's Pockets" cemented their lead.
As round two rolled around, Team Mesa came in fierce in the first slot. Team FlagSlam was in the third slot, followed by Team Prescott, and Team NORAZ in the sixth slot. Logan Philips started off with "Worth of Words," followed by Meghan Jones' "Patches", Christopher Fox Graham's "Spinal Language" and closing out the last round of the bout with Christopher Lane's "poetry is still."
The final bout would be the top 4 teams: Team NORAZ, Team Prescott,, Team Tucson and Team Mesa Nationals.
The night's poetry feature was Luke Warm Water, an activist, poet, epidemiologist an enrolled member of the Oglala Lakota (Sioux) Tribe, born and raised in Rapid City, S.D. Author of John Wayne Shot Me, Luke Warm Water, has performed across the United States, England and Germany, in 120 venues within the last 4 years. He was preceded by 2005 NORAZ Poets semi-finalist Rowie Shebala, of the Navajo Nation.
Team NORAZ now had a comfortable lead of 12 points. The finals bout was a "feature" round for the team. Christopher Lane performed "for Jessica…". Christopher Fox Graham brought out perhaps the most anticipated poem of the night, "The Peach is a Damn Sexy Fruit." Meghan Jones, made the night a hot one with the sensual, sexy "Honey." The line "caramelize me," melted the audience in their seats. To top out the night, Logan Philips performed "La Viejita de Sonora."
In the end:
Team NORAZ 339.4
Team Mesa Nationals 322.9
Team Prescott 320.9
Team Tucson 315.6
The night ended with a bronze pour at the Arcosanti Bronze Foundry where the Arconauts created the 40-pound bronze trophy, followed by a fire performance by Flam Chen, and a huge after-party that rolled until dawn.
Note that NORAZ Poets, not just Team NORAZ won the tournament. Of the 40 poets who competed, 13 of them were NORAZ Poets. We are a community of poets, not just a team, and not individuals. The victory and the trophy represents our strength as a community, unified in our diversity.
Monday, June 21, 2004
3rd Annual Arizona All Star Slam: 3rd Times the Harm
Round One
(poet, poem, score, cumulative score, rank)
Akua, 25.3, 8th
Don McIver, 21.4, 15th
Dan Seaman, 23.1, 13th
The Klute, "NASCAR Über Alles", 27.5, 2nd
Suzy La Follette, "Suzy Strap-on" 22.3, 14th
Cass J. Hodges, "Sushi", 25.1, 9th
Bill Campana, 25.0, 10th
David Rodgers Luben, "Weed" My lament for those who toke instead of at least having the dignity to do real drugs 24.7, 11th
Brent Heffron, "24", 25.8, 6th
Logan Phillips, "¿Sin Voz?" 25.5, 7th
Eric Larson, 24.4 (after -0.5 penalty for 3:19), 12th
Sharkie Marado, 26.7, 5th
David Tabor, "A.A.D.D." - Another rant about living in the times that I do, 27.1, 3rd
Christopher Fox Graham, "Spinal Language", 26.9, 4th
Aaron Johnson, 27.6, 1st
Round Two
Aaron Johnson, 25.4, 53.0, 6th
Christopher Fox Graham, "Three Days From Now", 28.5, 55.4, 1st
David Tabor, "Slugger!" - Written after braking yet another printer while working on a chapbook. After braking my car-horn a week earlier, inspiration strikes. 26.3, 53.4, 5th
Sharkie Marado, 27.8, 54.5, 3rd
Eric Larson, "Alpha Male", 26.2 (after -1.0 penalty for 3:26), 50.6, 12th
Logan Phillips, "Prescription", 26.3 (after -0.5 penalty for 3:15), 51.8, 11th
Brent Heffron, 26.2, 52.0, 9th
David Rodgers Luben, "Preposition Noun" "In Love" being the specious phrase in question 28.0, 52.7, 7th
Bill Campana, 27.0, 52.0, 9th
Cass J. Hodges, "Beautiful", 27.4, 52.5, 8th
The Klute, "Cereal Aisle Racist, 26.8, 54.3, 4th
Akua, 29.5, 54.8, 2nd
Round Three
Christopher Fox Graham, "I’m Not A Poet For Applause" 25.7 (after -1.0 penalty for 3:22), 81.1 4th
Akua, 28.5, 83.3, 1st
Sharkie Marado, 27.7, 82.2, 2nd
The Klute, "Love Letter to Private Lynddie England" 27.2, 81.5, 3rd
David Tabor, "The Poem About My Dad" - About 20 years of my having breakfast with Dad every Sunday. Summed up in 3 minuets. 26.3, 79.7, 8th
Aaron Johnson, 28.0, 81.0, 5th
David Rodgers Luben, "Fat Girl Fuck" Which, after over a year, still makes my mouth go dry with fear every time I speak it in public 25.4 (after -1.5 for 3:31), 78.1. 10th
Cass J. Hodges, "Waking Up", 28.4, 80.9, 6th
Brent Heffron, "Super Drunk", 79.0, 9th
Bill Campana, 28.2, 80.2, 7th
Final Rank
1, Akua, 83.3 $300
2, Sharkie Marado, 82.2 $75
3, The Klute, 81.5 $50
4, Christopher Fox Graham, 81.1
5, Aaron Johnson, 81.0
6, Cass J. Hodges, 80.9
7, Bill Campana, 80.2
8, David Tabor, 79.7
9, Brent Heffron, 79.0
10, David Rodgers Luben, 78.1
11, Logan Phillips, 51.8
12, Eric Larson, 50.6
13, Dan Seaman, 23.1
14, Suzy La Follette, 22.3
15, Don McIver, 21.4
"Major, major props for what I think was the best slam in AZ..." - The Klute
"I'm more impressed with the talent level of NORAZ every time I come up the hill." - David Tabor
"As always it was a blast. I especially loved the fact that I did well and didn't feel obligated to do three greatest hits and instead of performing I did what I love to do most, which is writing crazy shit and reading it to a frenzied crowd. Until next time..." - Bill Campana
"I felt incredibly priviledged to be at the All-Star Slam, and it meant a lot to me to be on the stage with a whole carnival of poets who seemed truly to feel that the work and the chance to share it was more important than points and praise. People who seemed to know the shit from the shit. Shiny." - David Rodgers Luben
"Love to Mr. Lane too for the host-y goodness." - The Klute
(poet, poem, score, cumulative score, rank)
Akua, 25.3, 8th
Don McIver, 21.4, 15th
Dan Seaman, 23.1, 13th
The Klute, "NASCAR Über Alles", 27.5, 2nd
Suzy La Follette, "Suzy Strap-on" 22.3, 14th
Cass J. Hodges, "Sushi", 25.1, 9th
Bill Campana, 25.0, 10th
David Rodgers Luben, "Weed" My lament for those who toke instead of at least having the dignity to do real drugs 24.7, 11th
Brent Heffron, "24", 25.8, 6th
Logan Phillips, "¿Sin Voz?" 25.5, 7th
Eric Larson, 24.4 (after -0.5 penalty for 3:19), 12th
Sharkie Marado, 26.7, 5th
David Tabor, "A.A.D.D." - Another rant about living in the times that I do, 27.1, 3rd
Christopher Fox Graham, "Spinal Language", 26.9, 4th
Aaron Johnson, 27.6, 1st
Round Two
Aaron Johnson, 25.4, 53.0, 6th
Christopher Fox Graham, "Three Days From Now", 28.5, 55.4, 1st
David Tabor, "Slugger!" - Written after braking yet another printer while working on a chapbook. After braking my car-horn a week earlier, inspiration strikes. 26.3, 53.4, 5th
Sharkie Marado, 27.8, 54.5, 3rd
Eric Larson, "Alpha Male", 26.2 (after -1.0 penalty for 3:26), 50.6, 12th
Logan Phillips, "Prescription", 26.3 (after -0.5 penalty for 3:15), 51.8, 11th
Brent Heffron, 26.2, 52.0, 9th
David Rodgers Luben, "Preposition Noun" "In Love" being the specious phrase in question 28.0, 52.7, 7th
Bill Campana, 27.0, 52.0, 9th
Cass J. Hodges, "Beautiful", 27.4, 52.5, 8th
The Klute, "Cereal Aisle Racist, 26.8, 54.3, 4th
Akua, 29.5, 54.8, 2nd
Round Three
Christopher Fox Graham, "I’m Not A Poet For Applause" 25.7 (after -1.0 penalty for 3:22), 81.1 4th
Akua, 28.5, 83.3, 1st
Sharkie Marado, 27.7, 82.2, 2nd
The Klute, "Love Letter to Private Lynddie England" 27.2, 81.5, 3rd
David Tabor, "The Poem About My Dad" - About 20 years of my having breakfast with Dad every Sunday. Summed up in 3 minuets. 26.3, 79.7, 8th
Aaron Johnson, 28.0, 81.0, 5th
David Rodgers Luben, "Fat Girl Fuck" Which, after over a year, still makes my mouth go dry with fear every time I speak it in public 25.4 (after -1.5 for 3:31), 78.1. 10th
Cass J. Hodges, "Waking Up", 28.4, 80.9, 6th
Brent Heffron, "Super Drunk", 79.0, 9th
Bill Campana, 28.2, 80.2, 7th
Final Rank
1, Akua, 83.3 $300
2, Sharkie Marado, 82.2 $75
3, The Klute, 81.5 $50
4, Christopher Fox Graham, 81.1
5, Aaron Johnson, 81.0
6, Cass J. Hodges, 80.9
7, Bill Campana, 80.2
8, David Tabor, 79.7
9, Brent Heffron, 79.0
10, David Rodgers Luben, 78.1
11, Logan Phillips, 51.8
12, Eric Larson, 50.6
13, Dan Seaman, 23.1
14, Suzy La Follette, 22.3
15, Don McIver, 21.4
"Major, major props for what I think was the best slam in AZ..." - The Klute
"I'm more impressed with the talent level of NORAZ every time I come up the hill." - David Tabor
"As always it was a blast. I especially loved the fact that I did well and didn't feel obligated to do three greatest hits and instead of performing I did what I love to do most, which is writing crazy shit and reading it to a frenzied crowd. Until next time..." - Bill Campana
"I felt incredibly priviledged to be at the All-Star Slam, and it meant a lot to me to be on the stage with a whole carnival of poets who seemed truly to feel that the work and the chance to share it was more important than points and praise. People who seemed to know the shit from the shit. Shiny." - David Rodgers Luben
"Love to Mr. Lane too for the host-y goodness." - The Klute
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
Southwest Shootout Finals
Denver, 5 person group poem (Andrea Gibson, Ian, Eirean Bradley, Paulie Lipman, & Ken Arkind), 28.8
NORAZ, Logan Phillips, 12 Things You Need to Know About Mexico, 28.2
Berkeley, Mack Dennis, 28.5
Palo Alto, 4 person Group (Lee, Karuna Tanahashi, man, and woman), 27.0
Austin, Zell Miller III, 29.3
Palo Alto, Lee, 29.2, 56.2
Austin, Andy Buck, Janet Jackson's Tittie, 29.7, 59.0
Denver, 5 person group poem (Andrea Gibson & Eirean Bradley off-stage, Paulie Lipman, Ian, & Ken Arkind at the mics), Welcome to Suburbia, 28.6, 57.4
NORAZ, Christopher Fox Graham, The Peach is a Damn Sexy Fruit, 28.7, 56.9
Berkeley, Abdul Kenyatta, Fuck a Poet (with the line "I have a dream today / that Jew and Gentile / Black and White / Christian and Muslim / Lesbian and Gay / will spank a poet's ass tonight"), 58.9, 57.4
NORAZ, Eric Larson, Plea, 28.0, 84.9
Berkeley, Charles Ellik, 26.8, 84.2
Palo Alto, 28.5, 84.7
Austin, Christopher Lee, 29.0, 88.0
Denver, Paulie Lipman and Eirean Bradley, For the Survivors, 28.6, 86.0
FINAL SCORES
Austin 88.0
Denver 86.0
NORAZ 84.9
Palo Alto 84.7
Berkeley 84.2
NORAZ, Logan Phillips, 12 Things You Need to Know About Mexico, 28.2
Berkeley, Mack Dennis, 28.5
Palo Alto, 4 person Group (Lee, Karuna Tanahashi, man, and woman), 27.0
Austin, Zell Miller III, 29.3
Palo Alto, Lee, 29.2, 56.2
Austin, Andy Buck, Janet Jackson's Tittie, 29.7, 59.0
Denver, 5 person group poem (Andrea Gibson & Eirean Bradley off-stage, Paulie Lipman, Ian, & Ken Arkind at the mics), Welcome to Suburbia, 28.6, 57.4
NORAZ, Christopher Fox Graham, The Peach is a Damn Sexy Fruit, 28.7, 56.9
Berkeley, Abdul Kenyatta, Fuck a Poet (with the line "I have a dream today / that Jew and Gentile / Black and White / Christian and Muslim / Lesbian and Gay / will spank a poet's ass tonight"), 58.9, 57.4
NORAZ, Eric Larson, Plea, 28.0, 84.9
Berkeley, Charles Ellik, 26.8, 84.2
Palo Alto, 28.5, 84.7
Austin, Christopher Lee, 29.0, 88.0
Denver, Paulie Lipman and Eirean Bradley, For the Survivors, 28.6, 86.0
FINAL SCORES
Austin 88.0
Denver 86.0
NORAZ 84.9
Palo Alto 84.7
Berkeley 84.2
Saturday, June 12, 2004
Southwest Shootout
First Bout at the Harwood Art Center
Dr. Trans All Stars, Matthew John Connelly, 26.4 (after -0.5 penalty)
NORAZ, Logan Phillips, ?Sin Voz?, 27.1
San Antonio, RIAlistic, 27.0
Colorado Springs, Kevin 23.0 (after -0.5 penalty)
Sante Fe, Henry Vasquez, 25.9 (after -1.0 penalty)
Colorado Springs, Carol, 26.1, 49.1
Sante Fe, Danyem, 25.3, 51.2
Dr. Trans All Stars, 26.7, 53.1
NORAZ, Christopher Fox Graham, Spinal Language, 28.8, 55.9
San Antonio, 27.0, 54.0
NORAZ, Brent Heffron, Battle Cries, 26.1 (after -0.5 penalty), 82.0
San Antonio, 27.0, 81.0
Colorado Springs, Karen, 26.8, 75.9
Sante Fe, 27, 78.2
Dr. Trans All Stars, Taneka Stotts, 28.6, 81.7
FINAL:
NORAZ 82.0
Dr. Trans All Stars(a pick-up team) 81.7
San Antonio 81.0
Sante Fe 78.2
Colorado Springs 75.9
Second Bout at the Harwood Art Center
San Jose, Mighty Mike Magee (2003 Individual National Poetry Slam Champion), I like you a lot, 28.4
Albuquerque, Group poem with Cuffee, Libby Kelley, and Jazz
Palo Alto, Duo with Lee and Melissa Rose, 28.7
Westside, Big Poppa E, I Can't Dance, 28.1
Austin, 28.0
Westside, Jerry Mondragon, Radio of Life, 27.8, 55.9
Austin, Da'Shade, 29.2, 57.2
San Jose, Caroline Harvey, A Crooked Line, 28.2, 56.6
Albuquerque, Group poem with Tony Santiago, Don McIver, Libby Kelley, and Cuffee, 28.2, 56.3
Palo Alto, Duo with Lee and Karuna Takahashi, poem about a female Palestinian suicide bomber and an Israeli soldier, 28.8, 57.5
At this point, a homeless man burst into the venue, host Danny Solis went to handle it and Taneka Stotts, Danny's co-host took over, but got the order mixed up.
Westside, Sonia Dragon, 27.7, 83.6
Danny Solis took over, explained the situation and said that his name tonight was "MC Protest Denied". Slam resumed as follows:
Albuquerque, duo with Tony Santiago and Don McIver, Johnny Cash, 28.9, 85.2
Palo Alto, Karuna, Peanut Butter (funny and erotic), 28.8, 86.3
Austin, Tony Jackson, Black Coat, 29.2, 86.4
San Jose, Eric Sanchez, 29.0, 85.6
FINAL:
Austin 86.4
Palo Alto 86.3
San Jose 85.6
Albuquerque 85.2
Westside (a pick-up team) 83.6
3rd Bout at the Blue Dragon
FINAL:
Denver
Berkeley
Albuquerque High School
Dallas
Houston
Tonight is the finals
the 5 teams:
NORAZ
Berkeley
Austin
Denver
Palo Alto
Dr. Trans All Stars, Matthew John Connelly, 26.4 (after -0.5 penalty)
NORAZ, Logan Phillips, ?Sin Voz?, 27.1
San Antonio, RIAlistic, 27.0
Colorado Springs, Kevin 23.0 (after -0.5 penalty)
Sante Fe, Henry Vasquez, 25.9 (after -1.0 penalty)
Colorado Springs, Carol, 26.1, 49.1
Sante Fe, Danyem, 25.3, 51.2
Dr. Trans All Stars, 26.7, 53.1
NORAZ, Christopher Fox Graham, Spinal Language, 28.8, 55.9
San Antonio, 27.0, 54.0
NORAZ, Brent Heffron, Battle Cries, 26.1 (after -0.5 penalty), 82.0
San Antonio, 27.0, 81.0
Colorado Springs, Karen, 26.8, 75.9
Sante Fe, 27, 78.2
Dr. Trans All Stars, Taneka Stotts, 28.6, 81.7
FINAL:
NORAZ 82.0
Dr. Trans All Stars(a pick-up team) 81.7
San Antonio 81.0
Sante Fe 78.2
Colorado Springs 75.9
Second Bout at the Harwood Art Center
San Jose, Mighty Mike Magee (2003 Individual National Poetry Slam Champion), I like you a lot, 28.4
Albuquerque, Group poem with Cuffee, Libby Kelley, and Jazz
Palo Alto, Duo with Lee and Melissa Rose, 28.7
Westside, Big Poppa E, I Can't Dance, 28.1
Austin, 28.0
Westside, Jerry Mondragon, Radio of Life, 27.8, 55.9
Austin, Da'Shade, 29.2, 57.2
San Jose, Caroline Harvey, A Crooked Line, 28.2, 56.6
Albuquerque, Group poem with Tony Santiago, Don McIver, Libby Kelley, and Cuffee, 28.2, 56.3
Palo Alto, Duo with Lee and Karuna Takahashi, poem about a female Palestinian suicide bomber and an Israeli soldier, 28.8, 57.5
At this point, a homeless man burst into the venue, host Danny Solis went to handle it and Taneka Stotts, Danny's co-host took over, but got the order mixed up.
Westside, Sonia Dragon, 27.7, 83.6
Danny Solis took over, explained the situation and said that his name tonight was "MC Protest Denied". Slam resumed as follows:
Albuquerque, duo with Tony Santiago and Don McIver, Johnny Cash, 28.9, 85.2
Palo Alto, Karuna, Peanut Butter (funny and erotic), 28.8, 86.3
Austin, Tony Jackson, Black Coat, 29.2, 86.4
San Jose, Eric Sanchez, 29.0, 85.6
FINAL:
Austin 86.4
Palo Alto 86.3
San Jose 85.6
Albuquerque 85.2
Westside (a pick-up team) 83.6
3rd Bout at the Blue Dragon
FINAL:
Denver
Berkeley
Albuquerque High School
Dallas
Houston
Tonight is the finals
the 5 teams:
NORAZ
Berkeley
Austin
Denver
Palo Alto
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
Birth, Disease and Grand Slams
Christopher Lane and Akasha had a baby at 8:17 on Friday night, Oren Jacob Lane (rolled or gutteral "R" on Oren; those wacky Jews). 7lbs, 9oz. Already has more hair than Lane, and his beard is coming in the same. Oddly enough, I hear he's already taller than Chris.... I am a surrogate uncle. But it means he was out of the slam.
I was in pain from the sore throat starting Sunday and by Tuesday, I was in so much constant pain that I just wanted death, sweet death. I slept for four straight days with breaks in between to cry in the shower, try to not throw up, and drink water, tea, and gargle with salt water. Took me till Wednesday to actually say "ah" and look at my throat. I'm the son of a Registered Nurse, yet, I am a medical idiot. Anyway, went to the Emergency Clinic for the pain. The doc said I tested negative for strep and mono, but that my throat was the worst (throat infection) he'd ever seen on a living person. The doc was 70+ so he has some clout. He said the strep test (a throat swab) may have given a false-positive, but the mono test (blood test) was almost totally negative. I wasn't sleeping because I was tired, I slept because it was either sleep or feel pain. He gave me some antibiotics (heavy dose of amoxicillin) and I was over-dosing to get the throat clear for Saturday. Instead of 2 every 12 hours, I was doing 2 ever 8 on top of double doses of 24-hour Sudafed and extra-strength Tylenol. When I get a disease, I blitzkrieg the mother-fucker. I never do things the easy way.
By the Slam, I was feeling OK, more or less. More on the Slam later. Suffice it to say, the venue rocked, the audience was fucking huge, the host Bill Campana, feature (one of my best friends and former touring partner) Josh Fleming, calibrators Rebekah Crisp, John R. Kofonow, Dan Seaman, and Suzy La Follette, and slammers Justin "Biscuit" Powell, Sharkey Marado, Cass Hodges, Aaron Johnson, (and my NORAZ Teammates:)Brent Heffron, Logan Phillips, and Eric Larson were amazing. I was honored to share that stage. Everyone I know, poetry-wise in Northern Arizona was there, in addition to my Mom and step-dad Bill, and my Phoenician best friends Michael "KuK" KuKuruga, Nikki Kaufmann, Kevin Crawford and his wife Erin Crawford.
Oh, and I won the slam. By more than 4 1/2 points while everyone else was fighting for the 1/10ths of points between them.
Whoopty-fucking-do.
I was in pain from the sore throat starting Sunday and by Tuesday, I was in so much constant pain that I just wanted death, sweet death. I slept for four straight days with breaks in between to cry in the shower, try to not throw up, and drink water, tea, and gargle with salt water. Took me till Wednesday to actually say "ah" and look at my throat. I'm the son of a Registered Nurse, yet, I am a medical idiot. Anyway, went to the Emergency Clinic for the pain. The doc said I tested negative for strep and mono, but that my throat was the worst (throat infection) he'd ever seen on a living person. The doc was 70+ so he has some clout. He said the strep test (a throat swab) may have given a false-positive, but the mono test (blood test) was almost totally negative. I wasn't sleeping because I was tired, I slept because it was either sleep or feel pain. He gave me some antibiotics (heavy dose of amoxicillin) and I was over-dosing to get the throat clear for Saturday. Instead of 2 every 12 hours, I was doing 2 ever 8 on top of double doses of 24-hour Sudafed and extra-strength Tylenol. When I get a disease, I blitzkrieg the mother-fucker. I never do things the easy way.
By the Slam, I was feeling OK, more or less. More on the Slam later. Suffice it to say, the venue rocked, the audience was fucking huge, the host Bill Campana, feature (one of my best friends and former touring partner) Josh Fleming, calibrators Rebekah Crisp, John R. Kofonow, Dan Seaman, and Suzy La Follette, and slammers Justin "Biscuit" Powell, Sharkey Marado, Cass Hodges, Aaron Johnson, (and my NORAZ Teammates:)Brent Heffron, Logan Phillips, and Eric Larson were amazing. I was honored to share that stage. Everyone I know, poetry-wise in Northern Arizona was there, in addition to my Mom and step-dad Bill, and my Phoenician best friends Michael "KuK" KuKuruga, Nikki Kaufmann, Kevin Crawford and his wife Erin Crawford.
Oh, and I won the slam. By more than 4 1/2 points while everyone else was fighting for the 1/10ths of points between them.
Whoopty-fucking-do.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
Flagstaff, Sedona, and the Resolution Slam
I work best under pressure. So, rather than work on the minimum six poems I needed for the slams over the last month, I squeezed four of them into the last week, and two into the last 20 hours before I needed to leave; staying up to 4:00AM the day before tweaking lines.
Procrastination is a religion.
It was in the shower the next morning that I had the brilliant idea to write a slam poem specifically aimed at arch-nemesis and über-rival Christopher “Death Monkey” Lane. Good Morning America was on television and I could hear political ads playing. I love mudslinging ads. I love slam poems directed in good humor at someone in the audience. I love Christopher Lane’s reaction to the stunts I pull. Voila, the Election Year Mudslinging. Genius.
Whenever I leave Phoenix, it’s like I’m busting out of prison. Seems fitting that one passes two prisons (a juvenile hall and a federal prison) just before losing sight of the city and heading into the “master planned” town of Anthem, a suburban prison (the Nazis had master planned communities too…).
Reached Sedona and master Lane. We ate at an Indian buffet, talked poetry and politics then headed down to the Write Here Writing Center, in the back of Sedona Books and Music. It was an excellent place to cool and chill. I met Rochelle Brener who will be interviewing me next week for an upcoming featurette in the Kudos newspaper that serves 18,000 readers in Sedona and the Verde Valley. Cool for me.
Lane and I haven’t faced off in a slam bout since the 2001 Flagstaff Slam Team, either in a practice bout or at the Slam Off itself. So the smack-talking between us started weeks ago. I even convinced my mom to send him an email with the gist of “Hi. My son is going to kick your ass tonight. Sincerely, Sylvia.” The fact that she did it proves she rocks and Lane’s reaction was hysterical. Imagine getting smack talk from someone’s mother.
After I got the details down, I squeezed out the gem of a poem "Election Year Mudslinging" in about 30 minutes. The piece almost wrote itself. What made it brilliant, in my mind, was that I planned to read the piece with the semi-accusatory voice we’re all used to on political ads. I had to duck out a few times to work on the sound I wanted for some parts without him overhearing.
We headed back to Lane’s, picked up his fiancée Akasha, and headed north for the bout. I was itching to bust out the new piece.
The old crew was there, everyone ready to slam. The über-amazing full-of-love Suzy La Follette, Dom Flemons much improved since I first saw him, Cass Hodges deep-down my secret favorite, Logan Phillips back from Mexico with a full beard, Brent Heffron in his first slam since last April.
The feature, Krystal Ashe, a former Slam Master in Chicago and now living in the Bay area, arrived a little late after driving seven hours. She came in to the packed house during the second performer of the open mic and Kofonow put her after the first round, with the house already geared up.
Everyone was on top of their game but I was only gunning for Christopher Lane. Suzy la Follette did a great piece about being made into an action figure toy, a lesbian with a strap-on. I’d buy one for all my friends. Lane’s first round piece was also brilliant, a humor piece toying with the idea that if men could get pregnant, we’d make it a sport. He went way over time and lost a good 4 points.
I pulled the wrong love poem for round one. I had meant to pull a new love poem "how once was", but instead grabbed "i smelled you on my skin today." it's a good poem, but i had read it in Sedona at the Butterball Slam in November and I wanted to do a new piece.
Round two was a little more perfect. Lane went toward the end, doing his "Can you spare some change" political poem. After a brief respite from Dom Flemons, i got my chance to bust out "Election Year Mudslinging." Pure genius in the rotation.
Best night's sleep I had in weeks.
The next morning, Lane and Akasha went to Flagstaff to see their midwife. I bounced up the same time and went to Snowbowl. It'd been months since I'd seen snow so i took the long road at full tilt and ran around in the snow. Such a boy.
I headed to Barnes and Noble. It's always uncomfortable to go, after all that drama with Lisa. Her engagement wasn't really a surprise and I doubt I'll see her again, but that fear is there. I always hope she'll be cordial, want to chat, maybe about her engagement, etc., but I'll never know. I bought "Worst Case Scenario Handbook: Parenting" for Lane and Akasha, Al Franken's "Lies, and the Lying Liars who tell them", and Chuck Palahnuik's "Lullaby."
I met this amazing poetess named Danielle (her stage name was Sandia), the very same night Lisa and broke up two years ago. She and I went on this amazing date at the Morning Glory Cafe. Live music, and then we all made sandwiches and got a little loaded. I walked her to her car and said goodbye, but i was too much of a wus to ask her out for a second date. So I stopped in to the Cafe, bought a hemp sandwich, and made small talk with the owner who remembered me. She is a little crazy, but intuitive. She suggested that i wasn't "big" enough then, but i am now.
I ate for lunch downtown and added special notes to the parenting handbook.
By chance, I caught up with Lane and Akasha at the Campus Coffee Bean, made a little chat, then met Brent Heffron at B&N. After a bit of the talky-talky, we started the night.
The first bar we hit has always been one of my Flagstaff favorites. San Felipe’s is a little preppy, a little posh, but i like the bright shiny colorful things.
And therein, amid the bright and shiny, was Eliena, über-amazing from the smile to the attitude. She is a dance student at NAU and moved her body like art. She walked like she was telling a story. Cute, sweet, took command of the conversation like she had written it before we got there. She also had the best story for how her mom named her; She-ra's best friend. Remember She-ra, Girls' reply to Boys' He-Man? That rocks. She's a heartbreaker.
We bounced to Uptown Billiards for round two. The bartender had my same birth date, even year, so she and i traded quips about our respective personalities. Too weird.
My ex Emily Lyons met up with Brent and I for a few games of pool, a few more drinks before we bounced back to San Felipe's for another round. Emily Lyons kept stealing my drink, claiming I had had too much (this will be important later).
The final stop for the night was the Monte Vista. Here, we did more of the drinky-drinky. I love the dark velvet lighting of the space. For Karaoke, Emily Lyons did, perhaps the worst rendition of Danny Boy I've heard. All in fun though.
Meanwhile, of all the people I thought I'd never see again, I ran into Emily Markel. She was shooting pool with her new beau, and we made the talky-talky, but I don't really remember much at that point.
We also hooked up with Emily Lyons's friends, a gay boy with glasses and a cute Asian girl whose names totally escape me. Swap stories, trade laughs. Might see more of them in the future.
The drive home was my personal highlight. Emily Lyons sat on Brent's lap, on the verge of queasy. But as she got out, she paused by the tree in her front yard and doubled over. It's so funny to be on the other side of the drunk curtain for once.
Slept on Brent's floor.
A foreign bathroom is always a unique experience. The water pressure, the temperature, it's all like being a kid again. Especially when hung over.
Nice drive home. Had plenty of time to clear my head. I am going to enjoy moving up to Sedona.
Lane was surprised to see me, on time and sober. The hiking party consisted of myself Lane, Akasha, and her 1-year-old niece Zowie, and crazy fun Carl, who is at least 60 if not older. We hiked Doe Mountain., west of Sedona. The five of us, marching in a line; two hunters, a pregnant woman, a baby, and wise, wacky, slightly crazy old man, felt very tribal.
Akasha took me and Zowie to meet with her younger sister, (and Zowie's mom), Hannah for lunch at Natural Foods. Afterwards, I met with Mary Guaraldi who worked with me on some of my pieces and my breathing (i get too tense in my shoulders and upper torso).
I reworked my new piece, "hit me running" and primed it for the slam.
I didn't expect them to show up (he had to work and I didn't think she'd make the 2hr drive alone), but my two best friends from Tempe, Michael "KuK" KuKuruga and Nikki Kaufman grabbed seats in the back. That made my day.
The Slam's feature was Krystal Ashe fresh from a show down in the Valley
The slam was slated for 12, but got pushed to 15 because of the way the newspaper invitation worded the event. Lane is tough with the rules and doesn’t play favorites, but the article seemed to indicate that anyone who signed before 6:30 could have a go. 15 it is, then. The first slammer was Logan Phillips from Flagstaff, followed by Tony Carito from Sedona. Not a big fan of Tony. He does improv performances, but has a fake ring to him and stands out as being way too pretentious. His work (i wouldn't call it poetry per se), doesn't have any honesty to it. Next was Corbet Dean, who after throwing a fit about Sedona and boycotting an event, felt okay coming up to compete this time around. Up next was Dom Flemons. As I've known him, I've become more and more appreciative of his work. He does enjoy performance. Following him were Eric Larson improving performer, but he needs to stop pacing back and forth), R. Scott, Robin Anderson slowly becoming one of my art heroes, Reese Lebard who should never be allowed on stage ever again, Brent Heffron slamming for the first time in a long while, Akua from Phoenix, Rebekah Crisp who is also improved a great deal since her first slam last year (and may be my new landlord), Autumn Garza (who may have been drunk), Sharky Marado a blue-collar slammer from Flagstaff slowly coming into her own. Pulling up the last was the unsinkable Bill Campana, then myself. For round one, I busted out "Election Year Mudslinging",, just to get me into round two. A went a little long, and though I scored a perfect 30, the time penalty dropped me to a 29.0.
The cuts were fierce, dropping out Tony Carito, R. Scott, Robin Anderson, Reese Lebard, Brent Heffron, and Autumn Garza.
For round two, I read another new poem "spinal language". Despite my hope that my third round poem would have the biggest impart, I got most of the compliments for this poem.
Cuts for round two were Dom Flemons, Sharky Marado, and Logan Phillips.
This left only 6 slammers, including Corbet Dean and Eric Larson. I was extremely pleased that Rebekah Crisp made the cut, proving that she is moving forward in her performance. Bill Campana performed "Rulebreaker". I had hoped that he would have performed a new piece, but only because I'm so familiar with it, and I think he's gone above and beyond with his more recent work. Bill scored a 29.9, as did I with "hit me running". Edging us out was Akua with a perfect 30.0. That left Bill and facing off with a haiku bout. I won the toss, and Bill's testicle haiku whooped mine (i think because I said "I will" instead of "i'll" and the judges counted 18 instead of 17 syllables. Akua didn't have a victory poem on hand, so she did an old favorite.
Every time I'm in Sedona, I fall more and more in love sweet, young Lyrica. I think i may marry her. Flirty-flirty, talky-talky.
Later, at the campfire, the night's survivors talked poetry, drank cheap beer, and faded out. Nikki, Lane, KuK and I endured longer than the others, and turned in around 4:00AM. The five of us (Akasha was already asleep) slept in their tiny trailer in Oak Creek Canyon. The next morning, KuK and Nikki left early, so Lane and I had breakfast at the Garland's store down the hill. We read over the surveys from the night before, made the talky-talky, then I took off for the valley, having decided to move to Sedona by mid-March.
It was in the shower the next morning that I had the brilliant idea to write a slam poem specifically aimed at arch-nemesis and über-rival Christopher “Death Monkey” Lane. Good Morning America was on television and I could hear political ads playing. I love mudslinging ads. I love slam poems directed in good humor at someone in the audience. I love Christopher Lane’s reaction to the stunts I pull. Voila, the Election Year Mudslinging. Genius.
Whenever I leave Phoenix, it’s like I’m busting out of prison. Seems fitting that one passes two prisons (a juvenile hall and a federal prison) just before losing sight of the city and heading into the “master planned” town of Anthem, a suburban prison (the Nazis had master planned communities too…).
Reached Sedona and master Lane. We ate at an Indian buffet, talked poetry and politics then headed down to the Write Here Writing Center, in the back of Sedona Books and Music. It was an excellent place to cool and chill. I met Rochelle Brener who will be interviewing me next week for an upcoming featurette in the Kudos newspaper that serves 18,000 readers in Sedona and the Verde Valley. Cool for me.
Lane and I haven’t faced off in a slam bout since the 2001 Flagstaff Slam Team, either in a practice bout or at the Slam Off itself. So the smack-talking between us started weeks ago. I even convinced my mom to send him an email with the gist of “Hi. My son is going to kick your ass tonight. Sincerely, Sylvia.” The fact that she did it proves she rocks and Lane’s reaction was hysterical. Imagine getting smack talk from someone’s mother.
After I got the details down, I squeezed out the gem of a poem "Election Year Mudslinging" in about 30 minutes. The piece almost wrote itself. What made it brilliant, in my mind, was that I planned to read the piece with the semi-accusatory voice we’re all used to on political ads. I had to duck out a few times to work on the sound I wanted for some parts without him overhearing.
We headed back to Lane’s, picked up his fiancée Akasha, and headed north for the bout. I was itching to bust out the new piece.
The old crew was there, everyone ready to slam. The über-amazing full-of-love Suzy La Follette, Dom Flemons much improved since I first saw him, Cass Hodges deep-down my secret favorite, Logan Phillips back from Mexico with a full beard, Brent Heffron in his first slam since last April.
The feature, Krystal Ashe, a former Slam Master in Chicago and now living in the Bay area, arrived a little late after driving seven hours. She came in to the packed house during the second performer of the open mic and Kofonow put her after the first round, with the house already geared up.
Everyone was on top of their game but I was only gunning for Christopher Lane. Suzy la Follette did a great piece about being made into an action figure toy, a lesbian with a strap-on. I’d buy one for all my friends. Lane’s first round piece was also brilliant, a humor piece toying with the idea that if men could get pregnant, we’d make it a sport. He went way over time and lost a good 4 points.
I pulled the wrong love poem for round one. I had meant to pull a new love poem "how once was", but instead grabbed "i smelled you on my skin today." it's a good poem, but i had read it in Sedona at the Butterball Slam in November and I wanted to do a new piece.
Round two was a little more perfect. Lane went toward the end, doing his "Can you spare some change" political poem. After a brief respite from Dom Flemons, i got my chance to bust out "Election Year Mudslinging." Pure genius in the rotation.
Best night's sleep I had in weeks.
The next morning, Lane and Akasha went to Flagstaff to see their midwife. I bounced up the same time and went to Snowbowl. It'd been months since I'd seen snow so i took the long road at full tilt and ran around in the snow. Such a boy.
I headed to Barnes and Noble. It's always uncomfortable to go, after all that drama with Lisa. Her engagement wasn't really a surprise and I doubt I'll see her again, but that fear is there. I always hope she'll be cordial, want to chat, maybe about her engagement, etc., but I'll never know. I bought "Worst Case Scenario Handbook: Parenting" for Lane and Akasha, Al Franken's "Lies, and the Lying Liars who tell them", and Chuck Palahnuik's "Lullaby."
I met this amazing poetess named Danielle (her stage name was Sandia), the very same night Lisa and broke up two years ago. She and I went on this amazing date at the Morning Glory Cafe. Live music, and then we all made sandwiches and got a little loaded. I walked her to her car and said goodbye, but i was too much of a wus to ask her out for a second date. So I stopped in to the Cafe, bought a hemp sandwich, and made small talk with the owner who remembered me. She is a little crazy, but intuitive. She suggested that i wasn't "big" enough then, but i am now.
I ate for lunch downtown and added special notes to the parenting handbook.
By chance, I caught up with Lane and Akasha at the Campus Coffee Bean, made a little chat, then met Brent Heffron at B&N. After a bit of the talky-talky, we started the night.
The first bar we hit has always been one of my Flagstaff favorites. San Felipe’s is a little preppy, a little posh, but i like the bright shiny colorful things.
And therein, amid the bright and shiny, was Eliena, über-amazing from the smile to the attitude. She is a dance student at NAU and moved her body like art. She walked like she was telling a story. Cute, sweet, took command of the conversation like she had written it before we got there. She also had the best story for how her mom named her; She-ra's best friend. Remember She-ra, Girls' reply to Boys' He-Man? That rocks. She's a heartbreaker.
We bounced to Uptown Billiards for round two. The bartender had my same birth date, even year, so she and i traded quips about our respective personalities. Too weird.
My ex Emily Lyons met up with Brent and I for a few games of pool, a few more drinks before we bounced back to San Felipe's for another round. Emily Lyons kept stealing my drink, claiming I had had too much (this will be important later).
The final stop for the night was the Monte Vista. Here, we did more of the drinky-drinky. I love the dark velvet lighting of the space. For Karaoke, Emily Lyons did, perhaps the worst rendition of Danny Boy I've heard. All in fun though.
Meanwhile, of all the people I thought I'd never see again, I ran into Emily Markel. She was shooting pool with her new beau, and we made the talky-talky, but I don't really remember much at that point.
We also hooked up with Emily Lyons's friends, a gay boy with glasses and a cute Asian girl whose names totally escape me. Swap stories, trade laughs. Might see more of them in the future.
The drive home was my personal highlight. Emily Lyons sat on Brent's lap, on the verge of queasy. But as she got out, she paused by the tree in her front yard and doubled over. It's so funny to be on the other side of the drunk curtain for once.
Slept on Brent's floor.
A foreign bathroom is always a unique experience. The water pressure, the temperature, it's all like being a kid again. Especially when hung over.
Nice drive home. Had plenty of time to clear my head. I am going to enjoy moving up to Sedona.
Lane was surprised to see me, on time and sober. The hiking party consisted of myself Lane, Akasha, and her 1-year-old niece Zowie, and crazy fun Carl, who is at least 60 if not older. We hiked Doe Mountain., west of Sedona. The five of us, marching in a line; two hunters, a pregnant woman, a baby, and wise, wacky, slightly crazy old man, felt very tribal.
Akasha took me and Zowie to meet with her younger sister, (and Zowie's mom), Hannah for lunch at Natural Foods. Afterwards, I met with Mary Guaraldi who worked with me on some of my pieces and my breathing (i get too tense in my shoulders and upper torso).
I reworked my new piece, "hit me running" and primed it for the slam.
I didn't expect them to show up (he had to work and I didn't think she'd make the 2hr drive alone), but my two best friends from Tempe, Michael "KuK" KuKuruga and Nikki Kaufman grabbed seats in the back. That made my day.
The Slam's feature was Krystal Ashe fresh from a show down in the Valley
The slam was slated for 12, but got pushed to 15 because of the way the newspaper invitation worded the event. Lane is tough with the rules and doesn’t play favorites, but the article seemed to indicate that anyone who signed before 6:30 could have a go. 15 it is, then. The first slammer was Logan Phillips from Flagstaff, followed by Tony Carito from Sedona. Not a big fan of Tony. He does improv performances, but has a fake ring to him and stands out as being way too pretentious. His work (i wouldn't call it poetry per se), doesn't have any honesty to it. Next was Corbet Dean, who after throwing a fit about Sedona and boycotting an event, felt okay coming up to compete this time around. Up next was Dom Flemons. As I've known him, I've become more and more appreciative of his work. He does enjoy performance. Following him were Eric Larson improving performer, but he needs to stop pacing back and forth), R. Scott, Robin Anderson slowly becoming one of my art heroes, Reese Lebard who should never be allowed on stage ever again, Brent Heffron slamming for the first time in a long while, Akua from Phoenix, Rebekah Crisp who is also improved a great deal since her first slam last year (and may be my new landlord), Autumn Garza (who may have been drunk), Sharky Marado a blue-collar slammer from Flagstaff slowly coming into her own. Pulling up the last was the unsinkable Bill Campana, then myself. For round one, I busted out "Election Year Mudslinging",, just to get me into round two. A went a little long, and though I scored a perfect 30, the time penalty dropped me to a 29.0.
The cuts were fierce, dropping out Tony Carito, R. Scott, Robin Anderson, Reese Lebard, Brent Heffron, and Autumn Garza.
For round two, I read another new poem "spinal language". Despite my hope that my third round poem would have the biggest impart, I got most of the compliments for this poem.
Cuts for round two were Dom Flemons, Sharky Marado, and Logan Phillips.
This left only 6 slammers, including Corbet Dean and Eric Larson. I was extremely pleased that Rebekah Crisp made the cut, proving that she is moving forward in her performance. Bill Campana performed "Rulebreaker". I had hoped that he would have performed a new piece, but only because I'm so familiar with it, and I think he's gone above and beyond with his more recent work. Bill scored a 29.9, as did I with "hit me running". Edging us out was Akua with a perfect 30.0. That left Bill and facing off with a haiku bout. I won the toss, and Bill's testicle haiku whooped mine (i think because I said "I will" instead of "i'll" and the judges counted 18 instead of 17 syllables. Akua didn't have a victory poem on hand, so she did an old favorite.
Every time I'm in Sedona, I fall more and more in love sweet, young Lyrica. I think i may marry her. Flirty-flirty, talky-talky.
Later, at the campfire, the night's survivors talked poetry, drank cheap beer, and faded out. Nikki, Lane, KuK and I endured longer than the others, and turned in around 4:00AM. The five of us (Akasha was already asleep) slept in their tiny trailer in Oak Creek Canyon. The next morning, KuK and Nikki left early, so Lane and I had breakfast at the Garland's store down the hill. We read over the surveys from the night before, made the talky-talky, then I took off for the valley, having decided to move to Sedona by mid-March.
Thursday, May 29, 2003
Sedona All-Star Slam II review
I drove to Sedona on Friday with my friend Michael Kukuruga and his girl, Nikki. If I had a Tyler Durdan, Kuk would be he. We can say more without saying a word and we've been through a lot of similar experiences. We both know what it's like to sleep in Tempe Jail, for instance.
We drove up in Nikki's car while I read "Fast Food Nation" and Kuk read my chapbook "I've Seen You Naked". We rolled into town around 13:00, got something to eat from the organic market next to the Canyon Moon Theater and then hit the kitchy part of Sedona to molest statues and offend tourists. After parking illegally, then sneaking through a hotel lobby to avoid getting towed, we hit the street.
If you have to debate whether or not to shoplift in every store, does that make you a bad person? I'm talking every store.
Kuk and I wandered from store to store, place to place, making small talk with the locals and the tourists while Nikki followed with a camera in hand. Among other things, Kuk dry-humped a bronze statue and made out with a cigar-store Indian. We played a Kuk'd eye game that everyone wants to play but none have defined, till now. Pass by that girl you've been checking out, slowly. Then glance at her. (We all do that glancing thing wherein we look a someone but we don't want them to think we're looking, so we look around and "happen" to see someone. Milk it.) Wait until she "glances" at you, then catch her with a "gotcha" or "I won", then move on.
We met the poets at the Red Planet then headed to the venue. They included from Las Vegas/Flagstaff Andy "War" Hall, from Sedona: Jarrod Karimi and Rebekah Crisp, from Flagstaff: Logan Phillips, Dom Flemons, Suzy La Follette, and SlamMaster John R Kofonow, from Mesa: Tony Damico, Corbet Dean, Julie Ann Elefante, Taneka Stotts, and Jonathan Standifird, from Albuquerque, SlamMaster Danny Solis and Kenn Rodriguez, and from Tempe, Christopher Fox Graham. Our Host was my good friend Christopher Lane. Also up but not competing was Halcyone whom Kuk spent all of dinner hitting on in some crazed attempt at a threesome. Ah Kuk, sigh.
Then the battle began. It was harsh for Julie Elefante who had to lead the first round. Despite an over the top performance that landed him sprawled out on the ground, Dom Flemons didn't make it to round two. Rebekah Crisp, I think, had no idea what to expect and Jarrod Karimi pulled a wrong piece at the wrong time. He made it as the dark horse alternate for Flagstaff in 2002 doing freestyle but picked a poem that was just too short for this bout. He has a poem "She is a Cactus Flower" that is brilliant and would been gold. Little John R Kofonow had the most inventive poem of the night, about the tortoise and the hare, but it was too unrehearsed and still on page. It was good to hear him read again, and do so happily. I still regret the way he felt in Vegas in 2002 when the relatively unresponsive crowd at the Cafe Roma dampened his spirits. I still think he's a great kid. Danny Solis also got knocked out early. "Fat Man" was too subdued for a first round poem and he went too early in the round. Jonathon Standifird did a great piece, but the audience for some reason was not receptive. Their loss.
Suzy La Follette's poem for Christopher Lane's fiance Akasha, was brilliant and I was praying to follow and target her (Suzy) with "She Needs it Bad", but I was wary after the tongue-lashing I got from last time. But Kenn Rodriguez followed her. I had a number of poems prepped for the first round but Logan Phillips's Night Poem left me without a real clue of what to do and I selected my first poem while at the mic. Andy Hall is insane and I love him. Round two left nine poets. Brief Intermission.
That being said, ROUND TWO: EVERYBODY DIES (I had to keep from laughing when I thought that on stage). Have a someone you want to kill? Do it in Round Two. All in all, I think we had a five-year-old, a five-year-old's mother, a high-school friend, and someone's father bite the dust in round two. Even Andy Hall brought a downer. Thank GOD for Tony D. I think we all moved the audience and even I was moved by some of the performances by the other poets, but from a cynical, critical point of view.... The Klute's piece about killing imaginary friends for the sake of slam would have gone over well, despite the true sincerity of all the poets.
Round Three left just six. Suzy La Follette and Tony D Score 30s. In the end deciding between three pieces, I pulled "Coming Home" and scored a 29.9. This was apart of the cosmic reason from two posts ago.... I managed to sink the intensity and the humor into one of the best performances I think I've ever done of that piece. Rounding the night was Suzy La Follette, Corbet Dean, and Christopher Fox Graham in 1st, 2nd, & 3rd respectively.
The whole night was a beautiful crapshoot, and I remember leaning over to John R Kofonow as the wave of 9.0+ score took over in round two. The whole night was a bit high as the difference between Suzy La Follette and myself was only 0.5. With lower scores throughout the night, things would have fared differently.
On the long drive home, Nikki slept in the back seat. She had originally planned on coming to Sedona to interview for a job at a camp after a brief stint in Florence, Italy this summer. The Slam was just a happy diversion after the interview. She scored the job.
Kuk and I talked strategy and I swear, it was like the kid had been watching slam for years, rather than this being his first slam. An hour of debate and analysis with someone who is as skilled at the verbal chess as I am. I miss having a true game-player in slam. Someone who sees the whole thing like one big fencing bout. I hadn't felt that engaged about tactics since Nationals. Why doesn't he write?
By the way, I now have internet access at home. Yay me.
Thursday, May 15, 2003
Y'all Know What It's About
I feel great about the Slam off last night. I did perhaps the best renditions of three poems I really feel are strong, solid pieces.
Round One Manifesto of an Addict
I had thought about doing English Major, because humor goes over well at Essenza, but general slam-offs that I've seen, humor takes a back seat to serious poems. Going so early in the round, after David Tabor's humor piece got low scores, I figured it was a lock. If I had seen how the night was going to turn out, I might have save it for a later round and done English Major, for a quick high score. Bottomline, Manifesto of an Addict was an top-notch performance, but bad strategy.
I hadn't done the piece since tour and one fluke drunk slam at Essenza in December. I don't think I can break it out in a hard-core competition again because it doesn't soun right as a solo poem.
Round Two He Needs it Bad
Target: Corbet Dean. Maybe a bad idea (especially if I knew his sister and mother were in the audience). I didn't want to early again for the rest of the slam, yet there I was first in round two. Good performance, great laughs, but the rule of score creep levels all. If Corbet and I carpool to Sedona next week for the slam, I may not make it back....
Round Three This Poem Has a Secret Title (sic)
I had a toss up between English Major, Bookstore Dreams and , This Poem Has a Secret Title. In the end, I wanted to do the poem I had always wanted to read in Arizona. I wrote this poem in downtown Manhattan the night I and my Save the Male Tour featured in the Nuyorican's Poet Cafe, June 21st 2002. It felt great to read it and get it off my chest, and I thought the beauty of it outweighed any score, high or low. By that point, 4th was a distant goal, only if Regina and Jon Standifird got time penalties and I were to get an unbelievably high score. Bottomline: my best piece of the night and the one I felt most proud of. It's deeply personal, with good reason, and the real title and inspiration is known by only a select few....
SIDELINE COMMENTARY
Round One
Score Creep is mother-fucker. David Tabor and Julie Elefante took the brunt of it. I got a bad piece too, and the real scores didn't start flying until Regina Blakely read.
Round Two
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theklute was genius. I love that anti-slam slam poem. I hope he does it a Nationals, hopefully, in the early rounds to pre-empt and drop-kick the other teams.
David Tabor got raped on scores.
Round Three
The only slot really up for grabs was 4th. Alternate was also eligible, but that fourth slot was the only target for the 5 of us who weren't already assured. I think Regina Blakely rightly snagged it because she brought out a crowd-pleaser. No foul. The four of us who did not make the cut read what we felt and did an kick-ass, true-to-heart reading.
Overall
#1 One of the single best slams I've seen outside of a National team bout. Maybe Flagstaff 2001 was better, despite the venue, a slam I saw on tour at the Cantab where all 20+ poets were spectacular. I guess, with some reservation, that the point system does work.
#2 Cutting to 8 after round two was a bad, bad, bad idea. Everyone who slammed last night deserved to read three times, even if they had no shot at the team after round two. Everyone worked on three poems and being unable to read them was a harsh, bad idea. I disagree strongly with the decision to cut. This isn't Urbana, nor is it Boston. We read because we love to, not because we're cutthroat about points. There were no tears last night (except during poems) and no screaming and yelling afterwards. There was good blood among us all so that decision, again, was a serious flaw to the fairness of the sport. [Off my soapbox and stand to the left].
#3 Any one of the 11 of us deserved to be on that team. What it came down to was slot-pulls, the ever-permanent crap-shoot that are judges, and a few shitty scores.
#4 There is a cosmic reason I didn't make the team. Other forces were at work. Call me a crazy Pisces, but I all I know is what I know, if you know what I mean.
#5 Yay, Slam. You cruel, beautiful bitch, you. It's the only chess match artists have.
I had thought about doing English Major, because humor goes over well at Essenza, but general slam-offs that I've seen, humor takes a back seat to serious poems. Going so early in the round, after David Tabor's humor piece got low scores, I figured it was a lock. If I had seen how the night was going to turn out, I might have save it for a later round and done English Major, for a quick high score. Bottomline, Manifesto of an Addict was an top-notch performance, but bad strategy.
I hadn't done the piece since tour and one fluke drunk slam at Essenza in December. I don't think I can break it out in a hard-core competition again because it doesn't soun right as a solo poem.
Target: Corbet Dean. Maybe a bad idea (especially if I knew his sister and mother were in the audience). I didn't want to early again for the rest of the slam, yet there I was first in round two. Good performance, great laughs, but the rule of score creep levels all. If Corbet and I carpool to Sedona next week for the slam, I may not make it back....
I had a toss up between English Major, Bookstore Dreams and , This Poem Has a Secret Title. In the end, I wanted to do the poem I had always wanted to read in Arizona. I wrote this poem in downtown Manhattan the night I and my Save the Male Tour featured in the Nuyorican's Poet Cafe, June 21st 2002. It felt great to read it and get it off my chest, and I thought the beauty of it outweighed any score, high or low. By that point, 4th was a distant goal, only if Regina and Jon Standifird got time penalties and I were to get an unbelievably high score. Bottomline: my best piece of the night and the one I felt most proud of. It's deeply personal, with good reason, and the real title and inspiration is known by only a select few....
SIDELINE COMMENTARY
Round One
Score Creep is mother-fucker. David Tabor and Julie Elefante took the brunt of it. I got a bad piece too, and the real scores didn't start flying until Regina Blakely read.
Round Two
theklute was genius. I love that anti-slam slam poem. I hope he does it a Nationals, hopefully, in the early rounds to pre-empt and drop-kick the other teams.David Tabor got raped on scores.
Round Three
The only slot really up for grabs was 4th. Alternate was also eligible, but that fourth slot was the only target for the 5 of us who weren't already assured. I think Regina Blakely rightly snagged it because she brought out a crowd-pleaser. No foul. The four of us who did not make the cut read what we felt and did an kick-ass, true-to-heart reading.
#1 One of the single best slams I've seen outside of a National team bout. Maybe Flagstaff 2001 was better, despite the venue, a slam I saw on tour at the Cantab where all 20+ poets were spectacular. I guess, with some reservation, that the point system does work.
#2 Cutting to 8 after round two was a bad, bad, bad idea. Everyone who slammed last night deserved to read three times, even if they had no shot at the team after round two. Everyone worked on three poems and being unable to read them was a harsh, bad idea. I disagree strongly with the decision to cut. This isn't Urbana, nor is it Boston. We read because we love to, not because we're cutthroat about points. There were no tears last night (except during poems) and no screaming and yelling afterwards. There was good blood among us all so that decision, again, was a serious flaw to the fairness of the sport. [Off my soapbox and stand to the left].
#3 Any one of the 11 of us deserved to be on that team. What it came down to was slot-pulls, the ever-permanent crap-shoot that are judges, and a few shitty scores.
#4 There is a cosmic reason I didn't make the team. Other forces were at work. Call me a crazy Pisces, but I all I know is what I know, if you know what I mean.
#5 Yay, Slam. You cruel, beautiful bitch, you. It's the only chess match artists have.
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