Campaign trails: Not for stars or VIPs

Christopher Fox Graham
Deciphering Sedona

Scarlett Johansson has endorsed Sen. Barack Obama [D-Ill.] for president.
That endorsement may be key to winning the Democratic nomination before the national convention in August and may entice swing voters away from the presumptive Republican contender, Arizona Sen. John McCain, and could push Obama into the White House.
Those who stood in long lines at Sedona City Hall only wish they had heard her endorsement before Super Tuesday, otherwise they would have given the state’s delgates to Obama instead of Sen. Hillary Clinton [D-N.Y.] and McCain.
Even though Johansson has never been elected to office, she holds the crux of the pop culture swing vote.
Scarlett Johansson … yes, the actress. From “Lost in Translation” and “Girl With a Pearl Earring.” She was in “A Love Song for Bobby Long,” too, I think.
Johansson recently appeared in a music video alongside footage of Obama’s concession speech after the New Hampshire primary in January.
Even though he lost the state, the speech is an example of Obama’s linguistic prowess and inspires in a way only the man who dared to author a book called “The Audacity of Hope” could.
Johansson is accompanied by almost 40 other actors and musicians, including that guy from that thing, I think, and that girl I saw on a magazine, I think, or maybe her bandmate … maybe.
Quite honestly, aside from Johansson, I couldn’t name anyone in the video with certainty, hence the reason she’s receiving the brunt of my angst.
Anyone who can name more than 10 of the artists in the video probably spends more time watching music videos than deciding who to vote for anyway.
The video is an example of viral marketing — a sinister tactic that uses word of mouth and existing social networks to promote a concept or product.
The video snaked its way on to YouTube and Think MTV — make your own joke about that one — and into the collective consciousness pitting the “have you seen it yet?” faction against the “I’ve got to find it because I’m not cool” faction.
Thus, if you have seen it, you’re cool for being in the know. If you haven’t, you’re not. Sneaky marketers evolve just as fast as consumers.
The song was “written” by Black Eyed Peas frontman Will.i.am, who can call stolen lyrics a “song” the same way he can call his pretentious spelling of “William” a “name.”
Will.you.are, in music, it’s called sampling. In journalism and everywhere else, it’s called plagiarism.
Don’t get me wrong, Obama’s speeches are moving.
While my daily Bruce Wayne facade is a newspaper copy editor and columnist, my Batman is a slam poet, so I can say with some authority that Obama is a poet running for president.
He commands the English language like President Abraham Lincoln, imparting hope and patriotism without sounding cliché, and does so with enough humility that makes us believe we are merely angels trapped in skin suits.
I sometimes get chills from his cadence and inflection, which seems to blend the the inspirational concepts of President John F. Kennedy, the conviction of Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and the lyrical rhythm and simplicity of poet Maya Angelou.
However, watching a group of self-righteous celebrities ride on the coattails to promote a political candidate smacks of an impeding American Idol coup d’état, which threatens our fragile democracy.
It’s nice that celebrities have gotten out of rehab long enough to tell us that Obama’s words are moving, but, honestly, we don’t care.
We know the words are moving already.
What’s worse is that Obama’s campaign neither commissioned nor endorsed the video.
Actors should stay in movies, musicians should stay on CDs and only occasionally make the foray into other mediums to sell cologne or laundry detergent.
Leave the speeches to politicians and the poetry to the poets. If they happen to be same person, let the Obama be.
Deciphering Sedona is published every Wednesday in the Sedona Red Rock News. To comment, e-mail to cgraham@larsonnewspapers.com.

Underdogs get Sedona's sympathy

Christopher Fox Graham
Deciphering Sedona

In restaurants and bars across the city on Sunday, Feb. 3, Sedona residents joined the more than 97.5 million Americans to watch Super Bowl XLII.
While both teams garnered local support, in many Sedona venues, the crowds leaned toward supporting the New York Giants in its inevitable defeat at the hands of the as-yet undefeated New England Patriots.
Why?
Perhaps our support is a translation of the American way blended with Southwestern flavor.
We are a nation, after all, that earned independence by defeating the largest empire the world had ever seen with a army of Kentucky farmboys and Boston tea-tossers — then defied the greatest navy on Earth for good measure 30 years later.
There is a strong tradition of supporting people who have little chance of victory, yet we still secretly root for Dennis Kucinich, Ron Paul, the Washington Generals and the Rebel Alliance to overcome overwhelming odds.
Perhaps there’s some vicarious joy in watching Patriots’ quarterback Tom Brady, the provebial flawless homecoming king replete with cleft chin and five o’clock shadow, get showed up by Eli Manning, a Louisiana hick who often has the stunned expression like he’s just been hit in the face with a shovel.
Even in Hollywood, the doofus gets the girl.
However, Sedona’s support of the underdog was not unexpected, but an incarnation of our city’s character.
Sedona is a city of small-business owners and working artists who often defied convention to eke out a living and inevitable success among like-minded people struggling against larger forces, be it big box stores, economic instability, environmental doom or the vices of selling out to capitalist corporate music.
For Sedona residents, the Giants was our team.
Granted, New York was also destined to lose brutally.
The Patriots were 13.5-point favorites with an unblemished 18-0 record.
The team planned to walk home with the Lombardi Trophy and a perfect 19-0 record after a short Sunday afternoon of playing a quaint little scrimmage against a wildcard team with a 10-6 record.
Sports commentators nationwide debated whether the Patriots would abuse the Giants like Joe Pesci in “Goodfellas” with the largest blowout in history or merely rough up the team by a mere two touchdowns.
Yet, the unthinkable happened. The Giants not only put up a fight, they won.
Casino owners in Las Vegas made money like mad.
The “greatest team in football history” was run out of Phoenix by a scrappy team whose quarterback often throws footballs wildly, often into the arms of the opposition, and can be counted on to blow any advantage his defense can earn.
Manning looks like someone who fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down, then climbed back up because he thought he missed one.
Before Sunday, Manning was not anyone’s pick for most valuable player, certainly not by fans in New York [actually New Jersey, to be geographically accurate], who booed him during games earlier this year.
Yet, Manning led his team over the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, the Dallas Cowboys and the Green Bay Packers with plays that caused diehard fans to go white-knuckled at the sheer inane recklessness of his behavior on the field.
But perhaps we cheered for the New York Giants because the New Agey metaphysical gooeyness that is Sedona has rubbed off onto even football fans and we saw the future before it happened — and the cause of the Patriots inescapable fall from glory.
“Spygate” — the illegal videotaping of opposing teams’ sidelines during games by Patriots head coach Bill Belichick — was conspicuously absent from any reference during the telecast. Many felt the NFL’s punishment for the sin was far too light.
However, the universe smacked revenge by pressing the “smite” key giving the Giants a 17-14 upset of the Patriots
Sedona residents have a word for cosmic justice: Karma.
Deciphering Sedona is published every Wednesday in the Sedona Red Rock News. To comment, e-mail to cgraham@larsonnewspapers.com.

The cost of dynamite

The cost of dynamite

magic lurks in her shrouded shoulders
that only her few lovers have tasted
although scores claim her lips hold her enchantments
I've been touched by neither,
though her temptations keep me up at night
in the half-conscious imaginings
of our skin dances
her limbs have teased her proximity
and her anticipatory warmth
enlivens our thighs

caged horses feel this way
when they see open fields beyond the fences
but words like these
hungrily dripping ink on untouched pages
are best hidden on the unread bookshelves
lest they betray the thousand sins
we would visit on each other
should the skies ever see them

and to Dante,
who cataloged all our predecessors,
Virgil neglected to reveal the 10th level of Dis
reserved solely for the lustful un-inhibitions
destined to be enumerated in epic detail
by some future poet,
about the nights when she and I
unlock the inevitable collision of hips and skins

evangelical preachers will base sermons on our rhythms
to terrify parishioners toward good behavior
expect presidential campaigns to stump legislation
to combat the passions we would release
and slam poets to spit verses
in pale comparison to the erotic hip-hop hips
of our beat-box breathing

sinners have their new saints
and Screwtape has new letters
to write to Our Father Below

when our moment comes,
expect the fire department
and the local police
to secure the scene
while Hugh Hefner and Larry Flynt
thumb wrestle to the death
to secure the rights
prognosticators and prophets will claim
they saw the end coming in our coming
in poetry critics will cite this poem
claiming it a talentless rehash
of all slam poem to have come before

while my reply is simply
that those who must rely on these words
have yet to hear the earthquakes
when she lets loose her inhibitions
to her anticipations
and takes me along for the ride
rocking her hips to the stories
held between her shoulders

dreamers, you have heard us
in all your aimless wanderings
wondering how you could've lived your lives
before you knew of the chemistry
between skins locked
in the exasperated expression
of all that is holy

we are dying, but in our echo
the pageantries of our passions
will spill forth into the divine archetypes
to rebuild a new civilization as yet unimagined

that was just the title,

this is the poem:

in the lonely nights like these,
I wait for a lover I've never kissed
imagining that all these years of waiting for a meaningful lover
aren't in vain
my fear is to look back in old age
knowing that when the time was right
I'd let her slip away into the history and memory
too fearful of giving into the game we played:
always aiming for a checkmate
and afraid to lose I’ll play too harsh
she'll step back from the board
leaving my pieces in forever-stalemate with the absence,
seeking someone less serious and self-absorbed

if one of us can’t win the teasing test
of how far we can push the bounds
then these days and calculations
aren't worth the weight of numbers we measure

and lofty words aside,
I want to drift to sleep alongside her
in awake unashamedly unalone,
the way all great poets seem to do

but I'm too old to write about longing anymore
my poems of unrequited lovers
could kill passersby if dropped from high stories
yearning has its limits
and the ones that should plague my pages
would be best concluded with
“she's come again”

my words and would be better spilled
recounting ways to enumerate nuances
so that thousands could learn them
but so that they wouldn't forget the value of lonely moments
and if some student should find them in years hence
know that longing pains only focus so far
in the prophetic knowledge
that there is a light beaconing the end
I’d rather spend my days penning trivial sonnets at her side
then scribbling the epic of the ages in a studio apartment
made for one

illiteracy is inevitable and in time
all our silly words will become old,
understandable only in classes where academics
teach the ancient tongues of Aristotle and Chaucer

no poem retains its immediacy
when the poet is ash
but descendents can carry the fire
in their blood through the ages
long after the poem is obsolete
and its author is a grad school essay question
in her embrace its locks on
as if to a sinking ship’s life raft,
pen and paper yards away
the greatest poems of my fingers
will dance in her skin
and those that may find their way
through the sheets
to the floor
to the pages
they’ll merely echo those moments
when we erased our knowledge
of spelling and consonants
instead relying on vowels and the language of skins
to speak for us

these verses would I rather have annotate my days
in the press of her breath
and our secret words
would publish the best of me
while all the rest
can take the place when the moment suits
and the critics push aside their trivial jealousies
of not being born poetic
to pencil in a few pages
of their doctoral thesis

for them but me insert bits of profanity
a wayward curse
a gratuitous “fuck”
so they don't choose this piece
for its nonoffensive cleanliness
a well-placed “ass” can ruin a safe poem from publication
pun intended

these poems aren't for them anyway
they're just the thoughts of a boy
close enough to touch her
yet far enough away
to measure her distance from him
in multiples of the length of her shadow
and the geography of heartbeats and unspoken words
erects mountains between us
and the cost of dynamite
is bleeding my pockets dry

Governor's doublespeak leaves Sedona wondering

Christopher Fox Graham
Deciphering Sedona

Arizona Gov. Janet Napolitano visited Cottonwood on Jan. 15 to tell local leaders her plans for 2008.
She also came to say that the impending recession was not her call and that whether we’re in one or not is up to academics to determine.
Apparently, a recession is much like the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal — if you can’t see it, then it can’t see you.
No one wants to be the bearer of bad news, but the governor’s obvious omission does hold some weight, especially in financial markets where moods of investors can change the future, best illustrated by Robert Redford and Ben Kingsley in “Sneakers:”
Posit: People think a bank might be financially shaky.
Consequence: People start to withdraw their money.
Result: Pretty soon it is financially shaky.
Conclusion: You can make banks fail.
Of course, if the banks are already shaky, then the rationale for denial goes away. The governor, rather than looking like an alarmist, begins to look oblivious.
On Monday, Jan. 14, stock markets around the world crashed in their biggest drops since the economic fallout following the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001.
Markets from Mumbai and Hong Kong to London and Paris saw huge drops, some of which froze trading for hours to induce calm.
Imagine 10,000 high-stress, over-caffeinated stockbrokers trying to find something to do before the markets reopen while at the same time trying to find reasons not to kill themselves.
In the bars around the world’s stock markets, I bet pinball games recorded their highest usages ever.
In Japan, the Nikkei Index hasn’t fallen this fast since Ghidorah faced off with Godzilla.
Why did the world go nuts? With the U.S. economy roiling from the subprime housing fiasco, the Bush Administration announced details of a stimulus package Friday, Jan. 11.
Of course, economics looked at the package, then asked if the real package was hiding behind that one.
Call me shocked and awed.
The Bush Administration has been able to hold off widespread criticism of its domestic policies for the last six years due to a mediocre wartime economy, but as the housing crisis and credit crunch strikes hardest at the middle class, expect even die-hard right to turn on President George W. Bush.
Bush lasted longer in office than his father, but will be remembered the same way — as a bad economist.
Oddly enough, if the Bush Administration had stayed out of Iraq and restrained itself to snipe hunting Osama bin Laden in Waziristan, it would likely have enough of a surplus to afford a buyout of the worst mortgages and stave off the fall.
Hindsight is 20/20. That’s what the History Channel is for.
In the meantime, though, Arizona’s governor needs to face the state’s economic situation and offer us more than blase shrug of the shoulders.
If we wanted to ask an academic about the state’s economy, we would have elected one as governor. But we elected Napolitano and she needs to say it like it is.
Once people know they’re in a recession, spending habits change and the economy slowly begins to recover.
If they still think the economy is shiny, however, they buy Hummers and oceanfront property in southern Arizona figuring good times will refill their pocketbooks.
Locally, Sedona businesses are buckling down, while others are changing hands or closing up shop.
Houses that have been vacant and up for sale will likely stay that way a little while longer.
As a city, Sedona’s renewable resource is its landscape, so even in a recession, people will still come, artists will still create and the city’s finances won’t collapse.
So even if the governor won’t say it, pretend like we’re in a recession. Plan for worst, hope for the best.
In the end, what makes governor’s doublespeak ironic is that her ambiguous answer intended to keep us out of recession creates enough confusion and false security to push Arizona into one even faster.
Deciphering Sedona is published Wednesdays in the Sedona Red Rock News. To comment, e-mail to cgraham@larsonnewspapers.com.

New headshot by Ashley Wintermute

Photo by Ashley Wintermute, one of my favorite portraits by one of my favorite photographers.

A game of Red Rover decides next president

Christopher Fox Graham
Deciphering Sedona

Unless you’ve been behind closed doors this week or catching up on all the New Year’s Day bowl games via TiVo, the biggest news this week was the Iowa caucuses.
Every four years, the corn capital of America takes its focus off its native sons Tom Arnold and Ashton Kutcher and turns toward selecting our next president.
Unlike typical blind ballot primaries, the Iowa caucuses are an odd throwback to our agrarian heritage.
The premise is simple: neighbors gather in a town hall, church or farmer Jim’s big red barn and debate which person they like best, like a bad high school prom.
One of the major parties – figure out which one — uses a straw poll, but admission to the caucus costs $35, so candidates often purchase tickets and give them out to supporters.
This is different from buying votes, because, well, they say it is.
The other major party has voters stand in designated areas for each candidate. For 30 minutes, they shout each candidate’s pros and cons trying to coax other voters to leave their group.
Nothing says we have a modern 21st century government like choosing our leaders in a game of Red Rover.
As some candidates’ support drops below 15 percent, they are no longer viable and the former supporters have to choose a new candidate to support and 30 more minutes of “will my candidate make it.”
Kind of like musical chairs.
In the end, the results are supposed to prognosticate the future election season.
The turnout is historically miniscule. This year, 225,000 Democrats and 120,000 Republicans participated, slightly more than 0.15 percent of the country’s registered voters.
In layman’s terms, it’s like determining the end of an hour-long football game in the first 3.8 seconds.
In our microwave society, that brevity makes sense.
Thankfully, Arizona has the foresight to hold its primary on what was once called Super Tuesday, but now Super Duper Tuesday, perhaps the lamest name for a calendar date since Weasel Stomping Day.
The date places Arizona on the “forgettable states” list, when faced with the powerhouse delegate states of California, Illinois and New York.
However, it also means that as candidates skip Arizona in favor of California, we’ll also dodge their negative ads, the slight swelling of anger when they mispronounce “Prescott” in speeches and a deluge of campaign promises that they’ll forget if and when they reach the White House.
“Did I promise Arizona I’d protect its water, or was it Tennessee? It was all such a blur.”
The results of Super Duper Tuesday on Feb. 5 will essentially leave voters with the two major candidates for the long, bitter run to November.
While the particular process of primaries is almost silly, the matter behind it is not.
This presidential election offers female, black, Hispanic, Italian, Mormon, senior citizen and second-generation immigrant candidates — not as fringe choices but as major front-runners for both parties.
But what makes the 2008 election a milestone is not that candidates come from these groups, but that their minority statuses seem to matter so little.
While in past years, a person’s gender or ethnicity was seen as a benefit or bane, in 2008, it seems to be more of a footnote.
While voters and the media note the specific differences, the actual influence seemed to be negligible at best.
Voters at the Iowa caucuses were gleefully choosing from a slate of candidates far different from their state’s demographic, with little concern about that difference.
Whether Iowa voters predicted the future president during their popularity games, they chose candidates based on the content of their character.
The prediction that race, gender and family heritage will cease to divide us less and less after 2008 is one any election-watcher can see coming.
Deciphering Sedona is published every Wednesday in the Sedona Red Rock News. To comment, e-mail to cgraham@larsonnewspapers.com.

Pope Palpatine I

"The power of the Dark Side flows through you."

Workplace Revelation

I'm not a television watcher, but Greg Ruland is Michael Scott, only there is no Dwight Schrute in the newsroom.

Ruland pours incompetence like a fountain.

Have Gun, Will Speak Freely

Have Gun, Will Speak Freely
Sedona Gun Club Practices Second Amendment To Enforce The First
By Nate Hansen
944 Magazine © 2007

On a living room bookshelf, rising floor to ceiling, ranges an arsenal of literature from Friedrich Nietzsche to Dante Alighieri, David Sedaris to Kurt Vonnegut Jr. Chapbooks written by people otherwise unpublished sit among poems and books from the beats; inspiration some days, history others. Five miles away, off a winding road between a tourist town and lavish resort, the same book lovers worm through rounds from .40- and .45-caliber handguns, a .32-caliber pistol, a .30-06 rifle, a 12-gauge and an AK-47. At home, book jackets. At the firing range, full metal jackets.

Greg Nix and Christopher Fox Graham are the 20-something visionaries and organizers of Sedona Gun Club. Once a month, they gather like-minded people who relish in the idea of popping off rounds after sounding off poetry, haikus, quotes or jokes. You see, this isn't an ordinary gun club. First rule of Sedona Gun Club, there is no Sedona Gun Club. Actually, that's not true, but it's hard to resist saying it.

The Sedona Gun Club originated as the brainchild of writer and friend Nate Hansen [in case you haven't noticed, the writer of this article], but shortly thereafter was adopted and given life by Nix and Graham. Its mission is to guarantee — and enforce if deemed necessary — the First Amendment of the Bill of Rights and the United States Constitution by making use of the succeeding amendments, specifically the Second Amendment's "right to bear arms."

During meetings, members must read written works — original or otherwise — before shooting any weapons. Afterwards, the ceremony continues with one copy archived for a future underground newsletter called The Report, while the second is fired upon. After all, words and guns have and always will be natural combatants, Nix and Graham say.

"We use poetry as targets for its metaphorical statement. A poem is an intentional, concentrated effusion of words encapsulating a moment, a feeling or an experience. A bullet is an intentional concentration of metal, gunpowder and purpose," Graham says. "Granted, the metaphor isn't why we created the gun club — we initially just wanted to shoot at targets — but it seems to be a way to explain our rationale for blasting holes in our art."

Nix sees things a little differently. Born and raised in Georgia, he prides himself for his Southern cynicism, yet always ends an argument in a gentlemanly way. He agrees with his friend in respect to why they do what they do with poetry and guns, but explains it in a broader sense.

"Poets are taken seriously in other countries because they are meant to challenge them, meant to speak truth to power, meant to question what others take as a given," Nix says. "Poets in this country are just trying to figure out how to pander to the widest base and sell merchandise. Why take somebody seriously when they already make it clear what they're all about?"

Nix slips on a pair of ear protectors and slides a 30-round clip into an AK-47. He continues his tirade, feeling for the import weapon's safety lever.
"Poets aren't taken seriously in this country because most poets in this country are fucking morons. Write me a poem that has something intelligent to add to this supposed national dialogue we fantasize we are engaged in," he continues. "We all know racism, bigotry and war is bad, but how about you tell me why instead of just jerking off to the latest groupthink babble that's put out there?"

Nix steps up to the firing line, flips down the safety so the weapon and range is "hot" and unloads an entire magazine of 7.62 on Graham's 1980s hi-fi stereo. Graham looks on, laughing as remnants of a Culture Club cassette is blown to smithereens and scattered beside empty bottles of beer and wine consumed the evening before.

"You hit eject," Ella Garrett, original member of SGC screams with her hands over her ears.

After Nix returns the weapon to its rightful owner, Graham loads four rounds of .30-06 into his rifle. As Nix did, Graham attempts to multitask conversation with gunfire — sometimes oil and water, sometimes gunpowder and flame.

"Being an armed poet makes sense in the shadow of the Patriot Act. First, it's knowing what type of literature we're checking out of the library, then it's restricting it, then it's banning certain speech as treasonous. A cabal pursing corporate wealth at the expense of the people's rights is far less likely to enact legislation restricting free speech if they knew their constituents had a breaking point and would back up their outrage with a forceful return of those rights," he says.

Graham kneels down in the ready, looking oddly like a British soldier during the Revolutionary War. He makes sure his cowboy hat is properly adjusted over ear protection and returns to pay full attention to his rifle. He looks through the scope and focuses on the bullet-ridden stereo, his former boom box.

"Put the needle on the record. Put the needle on the record," P.J. Robbins, newest member, sings tauntingly.

Boom!
Echoes ring out over the forest service area when Graham pulls on the trigger.
Boom!
A cloud of dust and disc jockey debris fly from nearly 100 yards away.
Boom!
A miss, but it seems half the hillside collapses as dirt showers from 20 feet above an embankment.
Boom!

After his fourth and final hit, Graham rises from his position and approaches the makeshift armory, all smiles.

"Pro-gun and anti-gun lobbies have a far too narrow view of the Second Amendment. At the same time, your neighbor probably doesn't need a howitzer to hunt pigeons, it also shouldn't restrict ownership to the police and military.

The Second Amendment is very clear, "a well-regulated militia" protects the nation in case of invasion, while the "right to bear arms" protects the free speech of the people from government infringement," he concludes without missing a beat.

Friends and members of SGC are familiar with the duo's eloquence and well-versed antics, but this is impressive. Chewing bubble gum and walking has nothing on blowing an old television away while citing Shakespeare.

Nix and Graham aren't only the organizers of Sedona Gun Club, they're housemates. Before they began sharing a two-bedroom home in West Sedona, they were rivals at slam poetry events. Each one varies in their writing style, political stance and personality, but when it comes to their views towards free speech, they're brethren.

Nix is from Georgia, but Graham is from Montana. He prides himself on a western heritage, and similar to Nix, a heritage that has never been one to rollover and say, "die." On the other hand, the fact they both sleep on nearly 1,000 rounds of ammunition stored under their beds is comforting as well. While other members of SGC take turns on weapons of their own, they step away for a moment to discuss the gun club's mission and vision. Nix notices a Starbucks' coffee cup sitting beside a semi-automatic weapon cooling near the center console of a pickup truck. He can't help but laugh, then begin another sociopolitical rant.

"America is just a longing for a plot of land you can guard with guns, a soapbox made out of empty beer cases, and a night sky willing to listen to all the crazy, shit-pot theories you dare to come up with," he says. "Something's always wrong with America, but then again, something's always wrong in a family, a group of friends, and your mental state at any given moment. If shit wasn't going wrong, we'd have nothing to bitch about. If we had nothing to bitch about, you'd have nothing to read. Peace, love and happiness is a goddamned boring state of mind and doesn't keep circulation up."

"These are critical times for civil rights, perhaps the most dangerous times for free speech in our history, " Graham chimes in quietly. "Hope for the best with a pen in one hand, but prepare for the worst with a firearm in the other. If the worst should befall us, the common people are going to look to poets for hope," he says.

After calming themselves with passive glances back toward the firing line, both Nix and Graham insist their intention is not to promote aggressive behavior towards any entity, whether it be foreign or domestic, but rather ensure the freedom of speech without censorship. In other words, SGC maintains one right by upholding another. Everything SGC uses — ammunition, weaponry and targets — is as legitimate as a person can get. Soon, the gun club plans on making it mandatory for all members to take a gun safety course. Some already have their CCW, a concealed carry permit. All in all, and odd as it seems, it's good fun for a good purpose.

"Being a poet and knowing how to use a weapon safely isn't a contradiction, despite the stereotype of socially liberal poets as nonviolent peaceniks," Graham says. Before rounding up bits and pieces of technical targets and empty shell casings, the two make plans for everyone to meet at the Martini Bar, one of Sedona's few spots for nightlife. Thirsty for a few Pabst Blue Ribbons and Oak Creek Ambers, members talk among themselves.

"Imagine scores of armed poets springing up across the West like Chuck Palahniuk's fight clubs or a Cacophony Society with ammunition," Graham says to a dreadlocked marksman.

For more information, to inquire on how to become a member or to visit a Sedona Gun Club meeting, visit http://www.myspace.com/sedona_gun_club or www.myspace.com/nate_hansen

I'm too tough for Canada - and never allowed to visit

Another thing I discovered on my vacation after trying to enter into Sasakatchewan to shoot a few photos. According to the Immigration Office in Ottawa, Canada, I am forbidden from ever entering that country. I have a nice little letter saying the same.

If I ever try to enter or are found in country, I'll be promptly arrested, jailed and subsequently deported. The immigration official I spoke to at the border checkpoint had a cute accent, though.
"I just want to let you know, Mr. Graham, that we are turning you back at this time and you're forbidden from ever entering Canada, eh."

On the plus side, it was the most polite country to ever kick me out of it.

To The Girl Riding Shotgun

For Montana and Sarrah Wile

across this home country of rednecks and ranchers
the pages of my ancestry
turn backward to days
running barefoot over vetch and stones
when i stood much shorter
gracing the sweetgrass with elbows and shoulders
instead of the strained fingertips of today
memories flood back when i least expect them
lessons learned, loves lost,
childhood games and their innocence
before i translated the rules
and learned how to break them

the silhouettes of familiar landscapes
eagerly welcome me back as if they're the tourists
revisiting a boy they knew in their youth

these green wheat fields of farmer tans
these western hats signaling oncoming howdys
these selfless smiles from strangers
this countryside
this is home

a boy i knew once lives here
we shared the same name
wished on the same stars
jumped the same cricks together
and left the other behind
when we cut the cord
leaving him in the Rockies
while i wandered the deserts

we see each other still in dreams
and play tag with fawns, calves and cubs
that have yet to learn
our parents play predator and prey

he still plays on the hillsides i long for,
beneath fir trees overlooking the valley that once held me fast
along the yellowstone artery carving a canyon
our ancestors will see from orbit

his house is over the ridge,
somewhere
down this dusty stretch of gravel,
somewhere
in the shadow of flax and sweetpeas,
somewhere
i know the outline of the farm like a thumbprint
can pick it blindfolded from all the others
simply by the sound of the breeze
but the roads still seems unfamiliar
though the map clearly says it's here

and to the girl riding shotgun
all this land is as new
as it seems to me mostly
as i wait for the memories in bottles
to find me lost in this sea of rolling hills
beneath blue moons rising red in the blood of harvest
sometimes we're both awash anew in these fields
National Geographic anthropologists on assignment
deciphering a dialect with a common vocabulary
in others
she is only a passported traveler while i am timeless
standing swallowed by the sunset of red fields
touching my family's livelihood in the grain
reaching roots down deep into the land
that we love as a mother

bud lights, rodeos and hank williams
rise up from the soil
in the aftermath of a solid spring shower
as honky-tonk two-steps,
broad-rimmed stetsons
and a vigorous fiddle
shake free the alfalfa baled back home
and for a moment in the dim lights
old men remember being cowboys
while cowgirls look for old wives they will become

to understand montana
you must travel it by road
knowing that distances are measured in days, not hours
every stop is a must-see
because haybales are the only signs of human habitation
no matter what town you visit,
there's always a drink waiting at The Mint,
where the bartenders call you "hon,"
even if they know your name

lost locals identify themselves
by family name first
in the smallest towns
to which your bloodlines tie you
in montana,
family comes before the man

here, where death and life are cyclical
we learn young to converse honestly
because each visit
may be the last
until the hereafter
words are ties that bind

that boy i once knew
i see now grown up
behind the wheel of every beat-up Ford
that passes us
the girl riding shotgun learns
that the difference between
redneck and revolutionary
lies in the chance taken
by my parents
before i could even spell "poet"

that boy sees me, too
behind the wheel of every out-of-state plate
knowing that this boy looking for home,
somewhere
is on the interstate,
somewhere
dreaming of catching up,
somewhere
where the beer is cold
the jukebox plays only johnny cash
and on the drive back down country roads
the breezes bring back memories
on the parachutes of roadside dandelions

The GumptionFest Artist List

Sedona Poetry Gun Club

 

Sedona Gun Club

 

 

reprinted with permission

The "Just Because" house party

Sometimes, parties need to happen "just because."

(Originally intended as a birthday party, but the guest of honor can't make it, so we're throwing the party just because.)

You've been hearing about the party since March, so here are the details:

Two live bands:
Yin Yang & Zen Some
and
The Tarantulas.

Film students from the Zaki Gordon Institute of Independent Filmmaking will be shooting a music video of Yin Yang & Zen Some's song "Robots Attack!" so come in your best digs and get ready for some screen time!

The Gumptrix Reloaded

A Moment in Albuquerque

For R.A.

thump, thump
thump, thump
two hearts
one body

thump, thump
thump, thump
familiar landscapes drop away
in the rearview
summer moments falling behind
into the anxious embrace of the autumn
missed moons and winter choices
keep or cut loose

thump, thump
thump, thump
tires kiss asphalt
the way he kissed her
intentional and unavoidable
between the lines
between the sheets
the inevitable path onward
heads to skin to gas tank
skin to breath to pistons
breath to hips to axle
hips to rhythm to tires
rhythm to climax to road
and the headlights illuminate
the silent afterglow

thump, thump
thump, thump
the geography of bodies and maps
tell stories of our history
lovers' names tied inexorably to cities,
hometowns and vacation destinations
cities we've fled from or fled to
cities we met lovers or lost them
cities we've yet to see
or want to never see again
for her, Albuquerque carries a memory
most men can't comprehend
though the mathematics of the choice
we can calculate and counter
two bodies and a moment
equals three heartbeats in two skin
and a choice to subtract one in Albuquerque

thump, thump
thump, thump
November seems unseasonably cold
maybe it's the 80 mph highway wind
against the chassis
the silent air between them
as the miles tick by

thump, thump
thump, thump
what small talk should we have?
whatever slips of lips
seems woefully insignificant
if it evades the subject inside you
weather, road, womb, reaching fingers
desperate to comfort
so we say nothing
watch the passing headlights
chase the taillights ahead
from 89A to 17 to 40

thump, thump
Flagstaff
thump, thump
Holbrook
thump, thump
"Welcome to New Mexico"
one of you won't be leaving
thump, thump
Gallup
thump, thump
Albuquerque
thump, thump
we made the choice before we left
thump, thump
three becoming two
thump, thump
two heartbeats, one body
thump, thump
moment
thump, thump
choice
thump, thump
consequence

thump

thump

an equation
a city
a memory
and the ambivalent road

Poetry open mic returns to Sedona

Spoken word and performance poetry returns to Sedona with the Sedona Poetry Open Mic, from 8 to 10 p.m., on the first and third Tuesdays of the month. The event kicks off on Tuesday, April 3.
The open mic takes place on the at the Old Marketplace stage, 1370 W. Hwy. 89A, West Sedona, between The Martini Bar and Ravenheart Coffee, both of which will supply coffee and alcoholic for the audience.
The open mic is open to all types of spoken word artists, from page poets, slam poets, spoken word artists, performance artists, storytellers and comedians.
The open mic is co-hosted by Greg Nix and Christopher Fox Graham, both of Sedona.
Originally from Atlanta and a veteran of the Flagstaff poetry scene, Nix is a performance poet and writer whose use of satire, sarcasm, irony and humor interplay with his political sensibilities and social commentary with a Southern sense of sincerity, according to a press release.
Graham is a slam poet whose work blends romantic longing, confessional honesty and personal introspection with a touch of Arizona humor, according to the release.
A veteran of the metro Phoenix and Flagstaff slam scenes, Graham has represented Northern Arizona as a member of four National Poetry Slam teams, won the 2004 NORAZ Grand Slam and the 2005 Arizona All-Star Slam.
The Martini Bar, Ravenheart Coffee New Frontiers Natural Marketplace will offer gift certificates for the best poets, as chosen by the audience.
The event is sponsored by the GumptionFest Artistic Support Foundation, a coalition of artists dedicated to supporting the arts in the Verde Valley.
For more information, call The Martini Bar at 282-9288, Graham at 1-520-921-0075 or visit www.gumptionfest.com

On April 20, 1999, during the Kosovo war, Kosovar Albanian poet Flora Brovina was abducted by eight masked Serb paramilitaries. On 9 Dec. 9, 1999, in a show trial, she was accused of 'terrorist activities' under Article 136 of the Yugoslav Penal Code. She spent a year and a half in Serb prisons before being released as a result of international pressure.

Irina Ratushinskaya, ???´?? ??????´?????, was arrested in 1979 and charged with anti-Soviet agitation for "the dissemination of slanderous documentation in poetic form." She was released on the eve of the summit in Reykjavík, Iceland, between President Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev in October 1986.

John O'Leary (1830 - 1907) was an Irish poet and Fenian (patriot in the Irish republican movement). In 1865, O'Leary was arrested in England, and tried on charges of conspiracy. He was sentenced to twenty years' penal servitude, of which nine years were spent in English prisons prior to his exile to Paris in 1874.

In 1990, the Burmese military junta charged Myo Myint Nyein, editor of Pay Phu Hlwar magazine and poet, with "organizing youths and students to create instability" through articles in the publication. While in prison, Myo Myint Nyein and other incarcerated colleagues clandestinely formed the "Press Freedom Movement". Because of his involvement in the "Press Freedom Movement", Myo Myint Nyein was sentenced to an additional seven years of hard labor.

Armando Valladares was a political prisoner and prisoner of conscience in Cuba. Valladares was jailed in 1960, at age 23, when the new regime under Fidel Castro began to crack down on dissidents. Valladares's refusal to participate in any political rehabilitation programs elicited a response from the government - 46 days without food. His weakened muscles relegated him to a wheelchair for 5 years. Valladares spent 22 years in prison before being released in 1982 and moving to the United States. President Ronald Reagan appointed Valladares to serve as the US ambassador to the United Nations Human Rights Commission. As head of the US delegation, he successfully brought Cuba before the commission for its human rights violations. Reagan would later confer on him the nation's highest civil honor, the Presidential Citizens Medal. Statistics from the BBC.http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/5081360.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/2293991.stm

Poetry open mic returns to Sedona

Spoken word and performance poetry returns to Sedona with the Sedona Poetry Open Mic, from 8 to 10 p.m., on the first and third Tuesdays of the month. The event kicks off on Tuesday, April 3.
The open mic takes place on the at the Old Marketplace stage, 1370 W. Hwy. 89A, West Sedona, between The Martini Bar and Ravenheart Coffee, both of which will supply coffee and alcoholic for the audience.
The open mic is open to all types of spoken word artists, from page poets, slam poets, spoken word artists, performance artists, storytellers and comedians.
The open mic is co-hosted by Greg Nix and Christopher Fox Graham, both of Sedona.
Originally from Atlanta and a veteran of the Flagstaff poetry scene, Nix is a performance poet and writer whose use of satire, sarcasm, irony and humor interplay with his political sensibilities and social commentary with a Southern sense of sincerity, according to a press release.
Graham is a slam poet whose work blends romantic longing, confessional honesty and personal introspection with a touch of Arizona humor, according to the release.
A veteran of the metro Phoenix and Flagstaff slam scenes, Graham has represented Northern Arizona as a member of four National Poetry Slam teams, won the 2004 NORAZ Grand Slam and the 2005 Arizona All-Star Slam.
The Martini Bar, Ravenheart Coffee New Frontiers Natural Marketplace will offer gift certificates for the best poets, as chosen by the audience.
The event is sponsored by the GumptionFest Artistic Support Foundation, a coalition of artists dedicated to supporting the arts in the Verde Valley.
For more information, call The Martini Bar at 282-9288, Graham at 1-520-921-0075 or visit www.gumptionfest.com

On April 20, 1999, during the Kosovo war, Kosovar Albanian poet Flora Brovina was abducted by eight masked Serb paramilitaries. On 9 Dec. 9, 1999, in a show trial, she was accused of 'terrorist activities' under Article 136 of the Yugoslav Penal Code. She spent a year and a half in Serb prisons before being released as a result of international pressure.

Irina Ratushinskaya (Ири́на Ратуши́нская), born 1954, was arrested in 1979 and charged with anti-Soviet agitation for "the dissemination of slanderous documentation in poetic form." She was released on the eve of the summit in Reykjavík, Iceland, between President Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev in October 1986.

John O'Leary (1830 - 1907) was an Irish poet and Fenian (patriot in the Irish republican movement). In 1865, O'Leary was arrested in England, and tried on charges of conspiracy. He was sentenced to twenty years' penal servitude, of which nine years were spent in English prisons prior to his exile to Paris in 1874.

In 1990, the Burmese military junta charged Myo Myint Nyein, editor of Pay Phu Hlwar magazine and poet, with "organizing youths and students to create instability" through articles in the publication. While in prison, Myo Myint Nyein and other incarcerated colleagues clandestinely formed the "Press Freedom Movement". Because of his involvement in the "Press Freedom Movement", Myo Myint Nyein was sentenced to an additional seven years of hard labor.

Armando Valladares was a political prisoner and prisoner of conscience in Cuba. Valladares was jailed in 1960, at age 23, when the new regime under Fidel Castro began to crack down on dissidents. Valladares's refusal to participate in any political rehabilitation programs elicited a response from the government - 46 days without food. His weakened muscles relegated him to a wheelchair for 5 years. Valladares spent 22 years in prison before being released in 1982 and moving to the United States. President Ronald Reagan appointed Valladares to serve as the US ambassador to the United Nations Human Rights Commission. As head of the US delegation, he successfully brought Cuba before the commission for its human rights violations. Reagan would later confer on him the nation's highest civil honor, the Presidential Citizens Medal. Statistics about bullets acquired from the BBC.
Statistics on violence acquired from the BBC.

Elmo defends Bush policy before Senate Judiciary Committee

Elmo, White House spokesman, discusses detainee and enemy combatant legal rights in response to a question from Republican Sen. Miss Piggy of Iowa, Tuesday, March 13, 2007, during a Senate Judiciary Committee hearing on Capitol Hill.

Photo by Fozzie Bear (AP/MuppetNews)

Elmo defends Bush policy before Senate Judiciary Committee
WASHINGTON (By CHRISTOPHER FOX GRAHAM/MuppetNews) - The Bush administration, called to account by Congress after the Supreme Court blocked military tribunals, said Tuesday all detainees at Guantanamo Bay and in U.S. military custody everywhere are entitled to protections under the Geneva Conventions.

White House spokesman Elmo said the policy, outlined in a new Defense Department memo, reflects the 5-3 Supreme Court decision in 2006 blocking military tribunals set up by President Bush. That decision struck down the tribunals because they did not obey international law and had not been authorized by Congress.

The policy, described in a memo by Deputy Defense Secretary Aloysius Snuffleupagus, appears to change the administration's earlier insistence that the detainees are not prisoners of war and thus not subject to the Geneva protections.

The memo instructs recipients to ensure that all Defense Department policies, practices and directives comply with Article 3 of the Geneva Conventions governing the humane treatment of prisoners.

"You will ensure that all DOD personnel adhere to these standards," Snuffleupagus wrote.

The memo was first reported by the Financial Times, a British newspaper, and was later distributed to reporters at the Pentagon.

Word of the Bush administration's new stance came as the Senate Judiciary Committee opened hearings Tuesday on the politically charged issue of how detainees should be tried.

"We're not going to give the Department of Defense a blank check," Republican Sen. Animal, of Pennsylvania, the committee chairman, told the hearing.

Sen. Big Bird of Vermont, the committee's top Democrat, said "Captain Kangaroo court procedures" must be changed and any military commissions "should not be set up as a sham. They should be consistent with a high standard of American justice, worth protecting."

The Senate is expected to take up legislation addressing the legal rights of suspected terrorists after the August recess - timing that would push the issue squarely into the preliminary 2008 election season.

Guantanamo, not to be confused with Gonzo, has been a flash point for both U.S., Seasame Street and international debate over the treatment of detainees without trial and over allegations of torture, denied by U.S. officials. Even U.S. allies in the war on terrorism, including Oscar the Grouch, the Swedish Chef and British MP Sherlock Hemlock have criticized the facility and process.

The camp came under worldwide condemnation after it opened more than four years ago, when pictures showed prisoners kneeling, shackled and being herded into wire cages. It intensified with reports of heavy-handed interrogations, hunger strikes and suicides.

Elmo insisted that all U.S. detainees have been treated humanely. Still, he said, "We want to get it right."

"It's not really a reversal of policy," Elmo asserted, calling the Supreme Court decision "complex."

Grover, acting assistant attorney general of the Justice Department's Office of Legal Counsel, told the Senate hearing that the Bush administration would abide by the Supreme Court's ruling that a provision of the Geneva Conventions applies.

But he acknowledged that the provision - which requires humane treatment of captured combatants and requires trials with judicial guarantees "recognized as indispensable by civilized people" - is ambiguous and would be hard to interpret.

"The application of common Article 3 will create a degree of uncertainty for those who fight to defend us from terrorist attack," Grover said.

Elmo said efforts to spell out more clearly the rights of detainees does not change the president's determination to work with Congress to enable the administration to proceed with the military tribunals, or commissions. The goal is "to find a way to properly do this in a way consistent with national security," Elmo said.

Elmo said that the instruction manuals used by the Department of Defense already comply with the humane-treatment provisions of Article 3 of the Geneva Conventions. They are currently being updated to reflect legislation passed by Congress and sponsored by Sen. Scooter, R-Ariz., to more expressly rule out torture.

"The administration intends to work with Congress," Elmo said.

"We want to fulfill the mandates of justice, making sure we find a way properly to try people who have been plucked off the battlefields who are not combatants in the traditional sense," he said.

"The Supreme Court pretty much said it's over to you guys (the administration and Congress) to figure out how to do this. And that is where this is headed."

"Never mind! Me no want to hear. Me just want to eat." Democratic Sen. Cookie Monster of California said. "Where the cookies? Where cookies?"

Under questioning from the committee, Count von Count, principal deputy general counsel at the Pentagon, said he believes the current treatment of detainees - as well as the existing tribunal process - already complies with Article 3 of the Geneva Conventions.

"The memo that went out, it doesn''t indicate a shift in policy," he said. "It just announces the decision of the court on Article 3, Article 4, Article 5, Article 6, Article 7, Article 8, Article 9, Article 10, …" and continued counting for nearly an hour before Sen. Beaker of Texas caught himself on fire and Sen. Bunsen Honeydew of Florida called a recess and the fire department.

"The military commission set up does provide a right to counsel, a trained military defense counsel and the right to private counsel of the detainee's choice," Elmo said. "We see no reason to change that in legislation."

Gentle Poet Eyes/Slam Fencing 101

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