I've lived in Sedona long enough. It was about time to get my astrological chart done.
Rising Sign is in 06 Degrees Pisces
Very sensitive to your surroundings, other people's feelings become your feelings. Try to avoid negative people because your tendency to empathize with them will make you negative also. An idealist, you must believe in something beyond your normal everyday existence. A dreamer, you like to escape to a world of your own creation. As such, you are known for the vividness of your imagination and should try to share your inner visions with others. Very self-sacrificial by nature, beware of others becoming overly dependent on you or vice versa. Allow yourself to live for yourself once in a while -- you deserve it. Don't be so envious of those who are more aggressive than you -- your gentle charity and true humility are indeed wonderful gifts. on the tenth house cusp (MIDHEAVEN).
Sun is in 21 Degrees Pisces.
Extremely sensitive and emotional, you absorb the emotions of others (whether positive or negative) like a sponge. Emotionally vulnerable, you are easily upset and tend to cry readily. You are at your best when you can structure your environment in such a way that you are surrounded by positive, upbeat people. You are very helpful and understanding of the needs of others. Indeed, at times this can be a disadvantage, because you can be a sucker for anyone who needs help. Shy, dreamy, romantic in nature, you delight in retreating into your private fantasy world. Just be careful that you do not get lost in it! Trust your intuitions -- you may be quite psychic.
Moon is in 06 Degrees Virgo.
You tend to be serious-minded but cheerful for the most part. You need tasks that engage both your mind and your hands. A careful worker, you enjoy making things. You are neat and orderly, and are very concerned with good health habits. Fastidious to the extreme, you cannot tolerate messes and will immediately clean them up. Reserved, shy, and very self-critical, you tend to be very hard on yourself. You usually will go out of your way to be helpful and useful to others. Practical, reliable, efficient and conservative, at times you are a bit of a prude. You are known to lead a simple, uncomplicated, frugal, methodical and unemotional lifestyle. You are devoted and caring to those you love.
Mercury is in 08 Degrees Aries.
Very quick-witted, you are known for being an independent thinker. You love to debate and argue, and are excellent at repartee and battles of wits. At times, however, you act too fast on hastily formed opinions and thus waste a lot of energy defending your rash and sometimes incorrect conclusions. It is perfectly acceptable for you to defend your beliefs with your usual vigor, but try not to take the opinions of others as personal insults.
Venus is in 10 Degrees Aquarius.
You are a friendly and outgoing individual, but close relationships are difficult for you to maintain due to your fear that they will cause you to lose your freedom. You attract friends and associates who are exciting, different and sometimes a bit odd. You are popular with others and enjoy working within a group toward group goals.
Mars is in 10 Degrees Pisces.
Very sensitive and vulnerable, it is difficult for you to assert yourself. At times, you feel quite tired and you will require a lot of sleep in order to maintain your health and your strength. You are at your best when you act without your ego being important. You can be very unselfish and considerate of the needs of others. You get the most satisfaction by giving to others when you expect nothing in return. Beware of a tendency to want always to work behind the scenes or to become overly deceptive by doing things behind others' backs.
Jupiter is in 29 Degrees Cancer.
You must be emotionally secure in order to grow and develop. You are happiest when your family and community support and nourish you and boost your morale. Whether your childhood experiences of love and emotional dependability were positive or negative will set the tone for your emotional growth and stability as an adult. When you feel at ease with yourself, you are able to offer assistance to those who need a helping hand.
Saturn is in 09 Degrees Virgo.
Your life must be orderly and practical and full of known and familiar routines in order for you to feel comfortable with yourself. Be careful, however, not to let "order" become the be-all and end-all of your life, or you may become cold, crass and unfeeling. Doing useful, practical things boosts your self-esteem. Abstract concepts and reasoning seem frivolous and a waste of time to you. You are very critical of yourself (and others), indeed at times quite self-deprecating. Try to relax a bit and allow yourself the freedom to fail once in a while. However, you probably won't fail very often because you are such a perfectionist.
Uranus is in 20 Degrees Scorpio.
You, and your peer group, demand to confront life at its deepest and most meaningful levels. Very compulsive and obsessive in your approach to everything, you will avoid anything that is casual or superficial, especially when it comes to relationships. You will seek out and explore new methods of healing as well as different ways to deal with deep-seated emotional problems.
Neptune is in 20 Degrees Sagittarius.
You, and your entire generation, are heavily involved in investigating and idealizing foreign and exotic intellectual systems and religious philosophies. The most extreme ideals will be pursued with gusto. You will be at the forefront of humanitarian attempts to improve the lot of those who are in need of assistance. You will be comfortable with the concept of the "global village."
Pluto is in 18 Degrees Libra.
For your entire generation, this is a time of radical changes in society's attitude toward marriage and interpersonal relationships. There is a general fear and awe at the power inherent in making emotional or contractual commitments -- they will not be entered into lightly.
N. Node is in 17 Degrees Virgo.
You're usually quite at ease in leaving leadership roles in the hands of others. You would rather tend to the thousand and one details that need to be accomplished to keep any group going. Although you're very fussy and high-minded when it comes to choosing your associates, once your loyalty is given you can be trusted with many of the practical aspects of any project that is being undertaken. Usually quite unselfish, you will toil long hours in the service of any worthy cause that demands your attention. But be careful that your perfectionist tendencies don't get in the way of making real progress. (In other words, don't waste your time dusting clean shelves!)
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Monday, June 21, 2004
Three Days From Now
for Daniela Jara's 20th birthday on 6.21.04
three days from now
she will rise up to the playground of angels
fighter jets and zeppelins
burst open the door
translate her body into an equation
of one–hundred twenty pounds moving
nine–point–eight meters per second per second
and tumble from heaven
because she wants to taste the sky
on her birthday
this is the part of the poem
where I should drop metaphors
about falling in love with her
or how she's already fallen from heaven once
or something about shooting stars
or glass ceilings
but this isn't a love poem
I said I would fall alongside her
stretch out fingers to find her
falling ninety miles an hour
doesn't scare me nearly
as much as forgetting her touch
the romantic in me said
if her parachute does not open,
I will not open mine
instead, I would rather impress myself
emboss myself into the earth
next to her
so that the soil remembers me following her
always
until the crater I create
speaks poetry without my body there
she called me silly
I said
if her parachute does not open,
there is no reason to open mine
she said that if her parachute doesn't open
she'll reach the earth first
and she wondered what it would sound like
I said that it would sound like a dream exploding
it would sound like all the poems in history
being read simultaneously
it would echo across the earth
making poets of every language weep
like a thousand hearts breaking in unison
she wondered if it would be more like a 'thud'
or a 'squish'
I said that if my parachute doesn't open
I would hit first
so she could hear the sound
and in the next life, moments later,
she could tell me
she said I would have to wait her lifetime
for that story
and how much it would suck
to get her car keys from my pocket
so she could drive home
this isn't a love poem
because three days from now
she will fall away from me
and she doesn't want me to catch her
this isn't a love poem
because she wants to fall alone
I know now
I've never been good enough for her
she knows now
that she never needed me in the first place
that our kisses were forgettable
that the press of our skins together beneath sheets
kept her warm some nights
but that anyone else would do
she's not the kind of woman
who will wait for anyone to follow her
even at terminal velocity
she wants to fall alone
which is why I write these love poems
three days from now
my heart will become a projectile
as she shatters herself through heaven
from the other side
to her
this isn't a love poem
it's just some crap to read
before she leaps from the door
and tastes the sky
alone
to me
only the sky knows
what this feels like
three days from now
she will rise up to the playground of angels
fighter jets and zeppelins
burst open the door
translate her body into an equation
of one–hundred twenty pounds moving
nine–point–eight meters per second per second
and tumble from heaven
because she wants to taste the sky
on her birthday
this is the part of the poem
where I should drop metaphors
about falling in love with her
or how she's already fallen from heaven once
or something about shooting stars
or glass ceilings
but this isn't a love poem
I said I would fall alongside her
stretch out fingers to find her
falling ninety miles an hour
doesn't scare me nearly
as much as forgetting her touch
the romantic in me said
if her parachute does not open,
I will not open mine
instead, I would rather impress myself
emboss myself into the earth
next to her
so that the soil remembers me following her
always
until the crater I create
speaks poetry without my body there
she called me silly
I said
if her parachute does not open,
there is no reason to open mine
she said that if her parachute doesn't open
she'll reach the earth first
and she wondered what it would sound like
I said that it would sound like a dream exploding
it would sound like all the poems in history
being read simultaneously
it would echo across the earth
making poets of every language weep
like a thousand hearts breaking in unison
she wondered if it would be more like a 'thud'
or a 'squish'
I said that if my parachute doesn't open
I would hit first
so she could hear the sound
and in the next life, moments later,
she could tell me
she said I would have to wait her lifetime
for that story
and how much it would suck
to get her car keys from my pocket
so she could drive home
this isn't a love poem
because three days from now
she will fall away from me
and she doesn't want me to catch her
this isn't a love poem
because she wants to fall alone
I know now
I've never been good enough for her
she knows now
that she never needed me in the first place
that our kisses were forgettable
that the press of our skins together beneath sheets
kept her warm some nights
but that anyone else would do
she's not the kind of woman
who will wait for anyone to follow her
even at terminal velocity
she wants to fall alone
which is why I write these love poems
three days from now
my heart will become a projectile
as she shatters herself through heaven
from the other side
to her
this isn't a love poem
it's just some crap to read
before she leaps from the door
and tastes the sky
alone
to me
only the sky knows
what this feels like
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
Saturday, June 5, 2004
Ode to Tarah Leija
Ode to Tarah Leija:
A silly little poem
oh Tarah,
for whom my heart beats
oh Tarah,
who art squeezably soft
oh Tarah,
with hair dark like midnight
and other poetical things that are dark,
oh Tarah,
the tarahlisciousness of thy skin makes me weep
weep like a little boy
a little boy with melting ice cream
and hands too small to enjoy the dairy joy on a cone
with chocolate sauce
oh Tarah,
you are the square root
of love
oh Tarah,
you are the kiss and oak tree gives a Jetta at 80 miles and hour
oh Tarah
may little girls want to grow up to be you
and little boys want to grow up to love you
oh Tarah,
who is so sexy,
she makes that final "H" in her name silent in shock
of her beauty
and makes it speak to the rest of us,
"H" (an exhale)
oh Tarah
tall enough to shatter skyscrapers
oh Tarah
whose smile still breaks hearts
from 151.67 miles away
I looked it up on Mapquest
of Tarah,
you are the comma (,) in this sentence
and the period at the end of this one (.)
you are still punctuating my poetry
with a smell of skin that I can't deny
semi-colon, question mark, exclamation point, exclamation point, ellipse
;?!!...
oh Tarah
why do you tease me so
by not marrying me?
oh Tarah
I would buy you dishes
with a great china pattern
that your mother would love
like she would love me,
the boy who loved Tarah
oh Tarah
if you were a Kangaroo,
I would watch you hop
oh Tarah
if you were the moon
i would build a rocketship
land on you
and hit golfballs in a spacesuit
just to make an MTV commercial
20 years later
oh Tarah
you are where my keys are
oh Tarah
lets hyphenate your last name
with mine
and say them together
every time we meet someone new
that's real love, honey
oh Tarah
your name means Earth
if it were spelled differently
and we all spoke Latin
but we speak English
and it's spelled with two A's
and a silent H
which is Latin for nothing
but not nothing
i mean nothing translates into Latin
from "Tarah"
which is how I like
to love you:
untranslatably.
Ode to Tarah Leija
Ode to Tarah Leija:
A silly little poem
oh Tarah,
for whom my heart beats
oh Tarah,
who art squeezably soft
oh Tarah,
with hair dark like midnight
and other poetical things that are dark,
oh Tarah,
the tarahlisciousness of thy skin makes me weep
weep like a little boy
a little boy with melting ice cream
and hands too small to enjoy the dairy joy on a cone
with chocolate sauce
oh Tarah,
you are the square root
of love
oh Tarah,
you are the kiss and oak tree gives a Jetta at 80 miles and hour
oh Tarah
may little girls want to grow up to be you
and little boys want to grow up to love you
oh Tarah,
who is so sexy,
she makes that final "H" in her name silent in shock
of her beauty
and makes it speak to the rest of us,
"H" (an exhale)
oh Tarah
tall enough to shatter skyscrapers
oh Tarah
whose smile still breaks hearts
from 151.67 miles away
I looked it up on Mapquest
of Tarah,
you are the comma (,) in this sentence
and the period at the end of this one (.)
you are still punctuating my poetry
with a smell of skin that I can't deny
semi-colon, question mark, exclamation point, exclamation point, ellipse
;?!!...
oh Tarah
why do you tease me so
by not marrying me?
oh Tarah
I would buy you dishes
with a great china pattern
that your mother would love
like she would love me,
the boy who loved Tarah
oh Tarah
if you were a Kangaroo,
I would watch you hop
oh Tarah
if you were the moon
i would build a rocketship
land on you
and hit golfballs in a spacesuit
just to make an MTV commercial
20 years later
oh Tarah
you are where my keys are
oh Tarah
lets hyphenate your last name
with mine
and say them together
every time we meet someone new
that's real love, honey
oh Tarah
your name means Earth
if it were spelled differently
and we all spoke Latin
but we speak English
and it's spelled with two A's
and a silent H
which is Latin for nothing
but not nothing
i mean nothing translates into Latin
from "Tarah"
which is how I like
to love you:
untranslatably.
Ode to Tarah Leija
Ode to Tarah Leija:
A silly little poem
oh Tarah,
for whom my heart beats
oh Tarah,
who art squeezably soft
oh Tarah,
with hair dark like midnight
and other poetical things that are dark,
oh Tarah,
the tarahlisciousness of thy skin makes me weep
weep like a little boy
a little boy with melting ice cream
and hands too small to enjoy the dairy joy on a cone
with chocolate sauce
oh Tarah,
you are the square root
of love
oh Tarah,
you are the kiss and oak tree gives a Jetta at 80 miles and hour
oh Tarah
may little girls want to grow up to be you
and little boys want to grow up to love you
oh Tarah,
who is so sexy,
she makes that final "H" in her name silent in shock
of her beauty
and makes it speak to the rest of us,
"H" (an exhale)
oh Tarah
tall enough to shatter skyscrapers
oh Tarah
whose smile still breaks hearts
from 151.67 miles away
I looked it up on Mapquest
of Tarah,
you are the comma (,) in this sentence
and the period at the end of this one (.)
you are still punctuating my poetry
with a smell of skin that I can't deny
semi-colon, question mark, exclamation point, exclamation point, ellipse
;?!!...
oh Tarah
why do you tease me so
by not marrying me?
oh Tarah
I would buy you dishes
with a great china pattern
that your mother would love
like she would love me,
the boy who loved Tarah
oh Tarah
if you were a Kangaroo,
I would watch you hop
oh Tarah
if you were the moon
i would build a rocketship
land on you
and hit golfballs in a spacesuit
just to make an MTV commercial
20 years later
oh Tarah
you are where my keys are
oh Tarah
lets hyphenate your last name
with mine
and say them together
every time we meet someone new
that's real love, honey
oh Tarah
your name means Earth
if it were spelled differently
and we all spoke Latin
but we speak English
and it's spelled with two A's
and a silent H
which is Latin for nothing
but not nothing
i mean nothing translates into Latin
from "Tarah"
which is how I like
to love you:
untranslatably.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Ode to Tarah Leija
oh Tarah,
for whom my heart beats
oh Tarah,
who art squeezably soft
oh Tarah,
with hair dark like midnight
and other poetical things that are dark,
oh Tarah,
the tarahlisciousness of thy skin makes me weep
weep like a little boy
a little boy with melting ice cream
and hands too small to enjoy the dairy joy on a cone
with chocolate sauce
oh Tarah,
you are the square root
of love
oh Tarah,
you are the kiss and oak tree gives a Jetta at 80 miles and hour
oh Tarah
may little girls want to grow up to be you
and little boys want to grow up to love you
oh Tarah,
who is so sexy,
she makes that final "H" in her name silent in shock
of her beauty
and makes it speak to the rest of us,
"H" (an exhale)
oh Tarah
tall enough to shatter skyscrapers
oh Tarah
whose smile still breaks hearts
from 151.67 miles away
I looked it up on Mapquest
of Tarah,
you are the comma (,) in this sentence
and the period at the end of this one (.)
you are still punctuating my poetry
with a smell of skin that I can't deny
semi-colon, question mark, exclamation point, exclamation point, ellipse
;?!!...
oh Tarah
why do you tease me so
by not marrying me?
oh Tarah
I would buy you dishes
with a great china pattern
that your mother would love
like she would love me,
the boy who loved Tarah
oh Tarah
if you were a Kangaroo,
I would watch you hop
oh Tarah
if you were the moon
i would build a rocketship
land on you
and hit golfballs in a spacesuit
just to make an MTV commercial
20 years later
oh Tarah
you are where my keys are
oh Tarah
lets hyphenate your last name
with mine
and say them together
every time we meet someone new
that's real love, honey
oh Tarah
your name means Earth
if it were spelled differently
and we all spoke Latin
but we speak English
and it's spelled with two A's
and a silent H
which is Latin for nothing
but not nothing
i mean nothing translates into Latin
from "Tarah"
which is how I like
to love you:
untranslatably.
for whom my heart beats
oh Tarah,
who art squeezably soft
oh Tarah,
with hair dark like midnight
and other poetical things that are dark,
oh Tarah,
the tarahlisciousness of thy skin makes me weep
weep like a little boy
a little boy with melting ice cream
and hands too small to enjoy the dairy joy on a cone
with chocolate sauce
oh Tarah,
you are the square root
of love
oh Tarah,
you are the kiss and oak tree gives a Jetta at 80 miles and hour
oh Tarah
may little girls want to grow up to be you
and little boys want to grow up to love you
oh Tarah,
who is so sexy,
she makes that final "H" in her name silent in shock
of her beauty
and makes it speak to the rest of us,
"H" (an exhale)
oh Tarah
tall enough to shatter skyscrapers
oh Tarah
whose smile still breaks hearts
from 151.67 miles away
I looked it up on Mapquest
of Tarah,
you are the comma (,) in this sentence
and the period at the end of this one (.)
you are still punctuating my poetry
with a smell of skin that I can't deny
semi-colon, question mark, exclamation point, exclamation point, ellipse
;?!!...
oh Tarah
why do you tease me so
by not marrying me?
oh Tarah
I would buy you dishes
with a great china pattern
that your mother would love
like she would love me,
the boy who loved Tarah
oh Tarah
if you were a Kangaroo,
I would watch you hop
oh Tarah
if you were the moon
i would build a rocketship
land on you
and hit golfballs in a spacesuit
just to make an MTV commercial
20 years later
oh Tarah
you are where my keys are
oh Tarah
lets hyphenate your last name
with mine
and say them together
every time we meet someone new
that's real love, honey
oh Tarah
your name means Earth
if it were spelled differently
and we all spoke Latin
but we speak English
and it's spelled with two A's
and a silent H
which is Latin for nothing
but not nothing
i mean nothing translates into Latin
from "Tarah"
which is how I like
to love you:
untranslatably.
Saturday, May 8, 2004
Summer Conversations in April
summer conversations in April
unglue the bookends between
weekends and weekdays
Calvin and Hobbes adventures
through backyard forests
bare feet in clover like when we were 10
remove the clothes of adult professions
fold up the faces of waiters, lawyers,
and corporate drones
stick them in a drawer
with fake smiles and name tags
and flip on cartoons
let milk soggy cereal
slide across tile in white socks
and don’t let mom
catch us with water guns in the house…
bugs, garden hoses, unleashed dogs
and summer baseball
short an outfielder and a catcher
we’ve forgotten when the civil war started
how to spell "obsequious"
or the square root of 121
left them behind
to make room in our heads
for sleep over ghost stories
tree house constructions with rope swings
games of ding dong ditch
and water balloon slingshots
neighbor’s cats hate boys
before they chase girls instead
and change the content
of summer conversations
from skinned–knees
and expeditions to rooftops
to kisses,
pretty nothings,
and shaking hands on feminine kneecaps
while boyish stories fade
until sons long to hear them
unglue the bookends between
weekends and weekdays
Calvin and Hobbes adventures
through backyard forests
bare feet in clover like when we were 10
remove the clothes of adult professions
fold up the faces of waiters, lawyers,
and corporate drones
stick them in a drawer
with fake smiles and name tags
and flip on cartoons
let milk soggy cereal
slide across tile in white socks
and don’t let mom
catch us with water guns in the house…
bugs, garden hoses, unleashed dogs
and summer baseball
short an outfielder and a catcher
we’ve forgotten when the civil war started
how to spell "obsequious"
or the square root of 121
left them behind
to make room in our heads
for sleep over ghost stories
tree house constructions with rope swings
games of ding dong ditch
and water balloon slingshots
neighbor’s cats hate boys
before they chase girls instead
and change the content
of summer conversations
from skinned–knees
and expeditions to rooftops
to kisses,
pretty nothings,
and shaking hands on feminine kneecaps
while boyish stories fade
until sons long to hear them
every day should sing like this
every day should sing like this
the pageantry of cities
swimming by tourists
drunk on summer conversations in april
bright shiny words or catch our eyes
costumes on skin, of skin
on a parade of genetic soup
in endless variety
every day should sing like this
where boys who should be brothers
reminisce over childhoods they could have shared
exorcise the pretty words
conjoining thoughts of hopscotch games
already pointless
boil down the bullshit
to its component parts
and only speak new things
shed free of the costumes and headdresses
so we are nameless
every day should sing like this
we pave streets with the should’ves and would’ves
let loose our insides to another
to cyclone leftward,
lift our skins back to Oz.
kisses that should be
gestate into gyrations of heartbeats
germinate across the carpet
leaving warm hands on hands
sweat and skin compacted tightly
and bare feet wading in shallow breath,
swallow from ear to ear
in another smile’s taste,
the alto and tenor shaking,
sharing harmonies like they should have
long before they forgot how to sing
dancing around the octaves with new resonances
beating forth the songs
of the next 100 generations in their smile,
pulled through hair and whispers
every day should sing like this
where new tribes dance
around new fires
on the laughing shadows of ancestral tombs
while new myths spring from shared tongues
and remixed memories
new loves replace ones misstepped before
and new starts from good endings
the pageantry of cities
swimming by tourists
drunk on summer conversations in april
bright shiny words or catch our eyes
costumes on skin, of skin
on a parade of genetic soup
in endless variety
every day should sing like this
where boys who should be brothers
reminisce over childhoods they could have shared
exorcise the pretty words
conjoining thoughts of hopscotch games
already pointless
boil down the bullshit
to its component parts
and only speak new things
shed free of the costumes and headdresses
so we are nameless
every day should sing like this
we pave streets with the should’ves and would’ves
let loose our insides to another
to cyclone leftward,
lift our skins back to Oz.
kisses that should be
gestate into gyrations of heartbeats
germinate across the carpet
leaving warm hands on hands
sweat and skin compacted tightly
and bare feet wading in shallow breath,
swallow from ear to ear
in another smile’s taste,
the alto and tenor shaking,
sharing harmonies like they should have
long before they forgot how to sing
dancing around the octaves with new resonances
beating forth the songs
of the next 100 generations in their smile,
pulled through hair and whispers
every day should sing like this
where new tribes dance
around new fires
on the laughing shadows of ancestral tombs
while new myths spring from shared tongues
and remixed memories
new loves replace ones misstepped before
and new starts from good endings
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, April 15, 2004
Slam finalists
Sedona Slam March 26th:
2nd Eric Larson - 78.7
3rd Sharky Marado - 78.4
4th Brent Hefron - 73.7
----------------------------------------
5th Aaron Johnson - 72.6
6th Rhette Pepe - 67.4
7th Ryan Guide - 50.7
Flagstaff Slam April 14th:
1st Cass Hodges - 88.9
2nd Aaron Johnson - 88.6
3rd Christopher Lane - 88.0
4th Logan Phillips - 87.6
----------------------------------------
5th Justin Powell - 87.1
6th Rebekah Crisp - 86.4
7th John Kofonow - 86.0
8th Dom Flemons - 72.1
The top four from each slam face off at:
Hosted by Bill Campana
Featuring Josh Fleming
Tickets are $10, students are $7.
Orpheum Theater
.NORAZ Poets
Flagstaff Poetry
.
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
When I Am Ancient
For the Sedona Semi-final Poetry Slam on March 26
when I am ancient
and these fingers curl so arthritically
they can no longer hold a pen
when my memory has bled Popsicle into the carpet
and sounds like origami paper
when I do not know my grandchildren
or recall drunk peppermint nights
sweating naked in dark youth
I promise you I will collect all the postcards
I sent to strangers about you
I’ve lost track of the number of postcards I’ve sent
so I’ve negotiated a truce:
Death will not collect me
until I am finished collecting them
they will bring you back
because memory does not live in sequence
but as a collection of moments we selectively remember
this boy will save the best of you
for the old man I will become
when I am ancient
I will shuffle from door to door,
and reincarnate you:
here, your painted toenails dance while you sip iced mocha
here, you say, "let's grow big bushy tails and become foxes"
here, your kiss sucks skin from my bones
here, you call me silly
here, your salsa hips seduce me again
here, I stop lying to you
forever
here, I write another poem that fails to capture your beauty
here, is the fear of your heart collapsing in your chest
here, I drown in your wetness
here, you swallow the sun to tease the moon
here, your kiss sucks breath from my lungs
here, I write another poem that fails
here, I write another poem that fails
here, I say “this is what being my wife would feel like”
this boy I am
will not let that man I will become
forget you
and here,
the day I left you
and I stand in my empty closet
with the door closed
and for that moment that stretched for days
the four walls supported the universe
of our breath,
our heartbeat
and our skins
you held me so tight
we could have shared the same apricot liver
I would have surrendered
my raspberry blood to share yours
i would have given you flower arrangements
scented back rubs
and sticky hazelnut butter sandwiches
until these young hands grew too old
and too ancient
and too useless to do anything
but stroke your cinnamon hair
we whispered things then
prophets should have written down
when i am ancient,
this boy’s last postcard
will make that old man smile himself into a boy again
and feel your peach kiss
on his lips again
when he whispers to death:
[exhale into mic]
when I am ancient
and these fingers curl so arthritically
they can no longer hold a pen
when my memory has bled Popsicle into the carpet
and sounds like origami paper
when I do not know my grandchildren
or recall drunk peppermint nights
sweating naked in dark youth
I promise you I will collect all the postcards
I sent to strangers about you
I’ve lost track of the number of postcards I’ve sent
so I’ve negotiated a truce:
Death will not collect me
until I am finished collecting them
they will bring you back
because memory does not live in sequence
but as a collection of moments we selectively remember
this boy will save the best of you
for the old man I will become
when I am ancient
I will shuffle from door to door,
and reincarnate you:
here, your painted toenails dance while you sip iced mocha
here, you say, "let's grow big bushy tails and become foxes"
here, your kiss sucks skin from my bones
here, you call me silly
here, your salsa hips seduce me again
here, I stop lying to you
forever
here, I write another poem that fails to capture your beauty
here, is the fear of your heart collapsing in your chest
here, I drown in your wetness
here, you swallow the sun to tease the moon
here, your kiss sucks breath from my lungs
here, I write another poem that fails
here, I write another poem that fails
here, I say “this is what being my wife would feel like”
this boy I am
will not let that man I will become
forget you
and here,
the day I left you
and I stand in my empty closet
with the door closed
and for that moment that stretched for days
the four walls supported the universe
of our breath,
our heartbeat
and our skins
you held me so tight
we could have shared the same apricot liver
I would have surrendered
my raspberry blood to share yours
i would have given you flower arrangements
scented back rubs
and sticky hazelnut butter sandwiches
until these young hands grew too old
and too ancient
and too useless to do anything
but stroke your cinnamon hair
we whispered things then
prophets should have written down
when i am ancient,
this boy’s last postcard
will make that old man smile himself into a boy again
and feel your peach kiss
on his lips again
when he whispers to death:
[exhale into mic]
Tuesday, March 9, 2004
I quit my job today
I worked for the Safeway/Vons Call Center until today. I sent this email to the 100+ people in my office. Tarah is my immediate supervisor, Ron covers the other have of the staff, and Teresa is their boss.
Subject: Adios
Adios. I move tomorrow for better poetry and a more diverse and rich art scene in a new city. As I bounce:
Tarah - You are perhaps the best boss I've ever had. Your fierce loyalty, professionalism, and compassion for those under your command is the trait better witnessed in military generals, not bosses. Both personally and professionally, you amaze me.
Ron Bigler – You made the weekends fun and i greatly respect you personally. If every weekday was like the weekends that we had in HS, I could have worked here with you and the team for decades. I wish you well.
Skip this next part.
Teresa - Your ineptitude, deceit, latent racism and reliance of others to think for you will hound you till your end and doom you to a life in middle management, mediocrity, and insignificance. Vacations and fake smiles won't cure the flaws in your character. The only reason I didn't quit at least a dozen times is because of my respect for Tarah and Ron. From baseline incompetence to ineffectual leadership, your management style is best described as a train wreck. I've worked for severe drug addicts and alcoholics who've had more reliability. You don't promote an environment wherein intelligence or innovation would improve the workings, but rather you want to maintain the status quo, because, quite honesty, you're not intelligent nor adaptive enough to handle a mental challenge and you're terrified that your coworkers and employees will discover this, as many of us have. Mike Gillette and Ron Jones are either innocently oblivious, don't care, or are taking your gossiping, chatting, revisions, email forwarding, and inter-office politicking as real work.
You and the other supervisors have promoted and maintained a racist working environment by your systematic firing and transfers of Black and Hispanic employees while promoting, time and again, young Anglos into management positions, especially those who gossip, act subservient, or who strive more nothing greater than being the next lap dog; Richard's harassments were ignored for months and he was even given an interim lead position by you because he learned your game. I wonder what would have happened had complaints about his bigotry and treatment not been circumvented around you to Human Resources. Would you even have reported them, or just let them slide? Additionally, I was not the only one to notice that the only four temps fired on Christmas eve were two Black women and two Black men. The statistical possibly that they were fired based completely on job performance is ridiculously infinitesimal. The marginalization and eventual expulsion from HS of Ken Williams and John Brackens, both intelligent Black men who somehow raised your ire though White employees with more issues remained. Only an investigation by Human Resources or a lawsuit by the ACLU would reveal the systematic purge of minority employees and systematic discrimination during your tenure, but I don't really care that much to pursue it. The shame is that you'll run from office to office in flurry of helplessness and meaningless meetings after you read this, then force Ron and Tarah to work damage control with the staff rather than fixing your flaws of management.
My deepest apologies to Ron and Tarah for any inconvenience, but my grievances are hardly my own, and some I am forwarding some as I leave so that the parties most affected can remain anonymous. Ron and Tarah, please don't be angry with me for long.
With that bit of bitterness purged, I feel better. But the shame of this adios is that I had to include it at all and that I'm leaving with a bad taste in my mouth. Better a bang than a whimper.
To everyone in HS - I wish you well. The past year or so has been great, if it wasn't for the work. So many hungover mornings I've catalogued. Do what you do, be pleasant, and remember that they're using the parades, stuffed animals, and shiny buttons to pacify your resistance. The day you can't quit because you feel obligated to the corporate machine is the day you should quit.
I'm easy to find; Google my name.
-Christopher Fox Graham
What? I'm a Slam Poet. You expected me to quit quietly?
Subject: Adios
Adios. I move tomorrow for better poetry and a more diverse and rich art scene in a new city. As I bounce:
Tarah - You are perhaps the best boss I've ever had. Your fierce loyalty, professionalism, and compassion for those under your command is the trait better witnessed in military generals, not bosses. Both personally and professionally, you amaze me.
Ron Bigler – You made the weekends fun and i greatly respect you personally. If every weekday was like the weekends that we had in HS, I could have worked here with you and the team for decades. I wish you well.
Skip this next part.
Teresa - Your ineptitude, deceit, latent racism and reliance of others to think for you will hound you till your end and doom you to a life in middle management, mediocrity, and insignificance. Vacations and fake smiles won't cure the flaws in your character. The only reason I didn't quit at least a dozen times is because of my respect for Tarah and Ron. From baseline incompetence to ineffectual leadership, your management style is best described as a train wreck. I've worked for severe drug addicts and alcoholics who've had more reliability. You don't promote an environment wherein intelligence or innovation would improve the workings, but rather you want to maintain the status quo, because, quite honesty, you're not intelligent nor adaptive enough to handle a mental challenge and you're terrified that your coworkers and employees will discover this, as many of us have. Mike Gillette and Ron Jones are either innocently oblivious, don't care, or are taking your gossiping, chatting, revisions, email forwarding, and inter-office politicking as real work.
You and the other supervisors have promoted and maintained a racist working environment by your systematic firing and transfers of Black and Hispanic employees while promoting, time and again, young Anglos into management positions, especially those who gossip, act subservient, or who strive more nothing greater than being the next lap dog; Richard's harassments were ignored for months and he was even given an interim lead position by you because he learned your game. I wonder what would have happened had complaints about his bigotry and treatment not been circumvented around you to Human Resources. Would you even have reported them, or just let them slide? Additionally, I was not the only one to notice that the only four temps fired on Christmas eve were two Black women and two Black men. The statistical possibly that they were fired based completely on job performance is ridiculously infinitesimal. The marginalization and eventual expulsion from HS of Ken Williams and John Brackens, both intelligent Black men who somehow raised your ire though White employees with more issues remained. Only an investigation by Human Resources or a lawsuit by the ACLU would reveal the systematic purge of minority employees and systematic discrimination during your tenure, but I don't really care that much to pursue it. The shame is that you'll run from office to office in flurry of helplessness and meaningless meetings after you read this, then force Ron and Tarah to work damage control with the staff rather than fixing your flaws of management.
My deepest apologies to Ron and Tarah for any inconvenience, but my grievances are hardly my own, and some I am forwarding some as I leave so that the parties most affected can remain anonymous. Ron and Tarah, please don't be angry with me for long.
With that bit of bitterness purged, I feel better. But the shame of this adios is that I had to include it at all and that I'm leaving with a bad taste in my mouth. Better a bang than a whimper.
To everyone in HS - I wish you well. The past year or so has been great, if it wasn't for the work. So many hungover mornings I've catalogued. Do what you do, be pleasant, and remember that they're using the parades, stuffed animals, and shiny buttons to pacify your resistance. The day you can't quit because you feel obligated to the corporate machine is the day you should quit.
I'm easy to find; Google my name.
-Christopher Fox Graham
What? I'm a Slam Poet. You expected me to quit quietly?
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