And so it goes...

...I'm tired. Real tired. This is not a sympathy plea, my fatigue is 100% my fault. Here's how my Monday turned out.

Up early as I am most days, sending out communication about Tuesday's Grand Slam at Writing Wrongs. Leah was feeling sick from the weekend (I blame the paint fumes, yo) so she stayed at home with me until I went to work at 5pm. Left work at 9 on a bullet train, came home for a few before one of my boys came over and we saddled up and rode to Gamestop around 11pm. For this:



Did I mention that I'm a gamer? Some would say Hardcore Gamer, though I know other would dispute that since I don't play any Massive Multiplayer Online (MMO) games such as World of Warcraft. That's fair, I still gets mines in whether it be on my PC or my Xbox 360 OR my PS3. Don't ask how much money has been spent on this ventures, it will only make your head leak reason

So anyways, after securing the package, four of us total converged on one house, got connected and played the campaign of Halo Reach together...till 9:30 am. Long Day's Night yo. And yes, I just evoked the Beatles while talking about a game where you use a shotgun. Deal with it.

After coming home, I did not gain the kind of sleep I wanted, more the kind of sleep that just makes sure your body doesn't shut down on you if you push it for another 12 hours. I had to make my way to work at 3pm, handled a boring 4 hours with some surprising zeal, then headed home to eat something before sprinting to the night. Oh yeah, we're on Tuesday now and its Grand Slam night. Ya know, I didn't enjoy this experience at all to be honest. Yeah, there's that "ooh, I'm 30 years old and its been so long since I stayed up all night for no good reason" euphoria to it, but for me...I like being functional. That is all. And I would like to be a 100% going into a Grand Slam (which hasn't happened since '09's Team Grand Slam).

By the time I get to the night, the people are starting to fill the room and there is that identifiable Grand Slam potency in the air...which did nothing to pick me up. Whatever adrenaline I had pumping thru me at work was starting to wind down and I probably could've fell asleep in the back of the room even w/ Krate Digga spinning and I would've have felt even bad about it. Not even a little. It wasn't till Jason Brazwell's third School Daze "WAKE UP!" reference to me and the infectious Barbara Fant showed up did I seem to be with it.

As for the slam, the long and short of it is that I won, which I appreciated doing with poems I've written pretty recently. I feel like they have the potential to do well at IWPS, so its back to the hack, chop and trim lab with these babies. And the slam was fun! Very fun. I give Spike a lot of shit about his effieciency at times, but truth is, he runs a fair and fun slam, so that's really all you can ask for.

My favorite poets in the slam last night were Izetta (who finished second) and Quartez. Both of them have grown so, so much as writers and performers and I'm proud to say that Writing Wrongs had something to do with that.

So, I got sleep last night, but I think a part II is on order before work tonight. By body is still unsettled gelatin right now and I'm trying really hard to keep it together. At any rate, I'll be seeing you in Charlotte. Werd (as my girl Zuni would say).

Writing Wrongs after Bout One at NPS

So, we pulled a 2. Pretty crazy, see-saw night. We we were last place after the first round, 3rd place after the second round, 2nd place after the third round, and we stayed there thru the end. Our bout included us, LionLike MindState (Chino, CA), Salt Lake City and Toronto:

LionLike MindState - 100.6
Columbus Writing Wrongs - 98.8
Salt Lake City - 98.6
Toronto - 97.8

I figure, there are going to be about 15 Oscar Grant poems at Nationals this year and we ran into one with some judges that were hungry for a current event, social commentary piece. It was two points higher than anything else in the bout and sealed up the 1 for them.

Barb got the highest individual score of the bout and every performed pretty well, except for me. I dropped my poem in the first 15 seconds, but recovered and still pulled off a decent score, though it could've been higher. Never again yo, never again. Our biggest issue moving forward is that we were in the lowest scoring bout of the night, so that could hurt us if we tie for a semi-final spot.

We go again tonight with a stacked ass bout against Milwaukee (pulled a 2 last night), Urbana (3) and Seattle (3).

On our way to St. Paul

(from Top, clockwise: Jason Brazwell, Barbara Fant, William Evans, Kim Brazwell, Rasul Elder)

So, I really like my 2010 Writing Wrongs National Poetry Slam Team. Here are a few reasons why

For starters, I actually think we're a good team
Sometimes, that means nothing. Its possible this year is no exception. But I like our chances for four rounds against anybody and that's a good feeling to have. Does that mean we're the favorite to win our bouts? No. Definitely not. But we're definitely not off the radar either. Last year, we had a mix of newbies and vets. But we were immature. And a little in over our heads. And we had the second best finish for a Columbus Team at Nationals ever. Call me a little more optimistic this year. Regardless, I feel like the teams coming out of Columbus this year have the best chance to make semis since the only time Columbus has made semis (2004 I believe). Fun.

We're versatile. Really versatile
Its nice to feel like we have five poets that are completely different from one another. I've also never been on a team that has had the abundance of funny. Actually, I've only had one teammate prior that had consistently funny work (Spike) and since funny poems are a big weakness for me, its beautiful knowing I have a couple of poets that are more than capable.

We're Old
...but we're hungry. This is bittersweet for me because I actually like having rookies go to Nationals and experiencing it for the first time. But there's also something comforting in knowing that there won't be much learning on the fly or that the nerves won't be peaked up for the moment. The least experienced person on the team has competed at 3 Nationals, 2 WOWPS and an IWPS. So we'll see if experience matters for anything.

Our Grand Slam Champ is one the most talented and humble poets that will be at Nationals
And that's how this team carries itself. We're all confident we're decent poets, because we all put the work in. We've all experienced enough slam success that we don't sweat the small stuff anymore. We don't brag about winning local slams. When we do slam, we always slam against each other, because we're more concerned with good competition than we are of having a week to week title. Did I mention we're hungry? Two of us have been on a National Finals stage as individuals. Only one of us was on that one Columbus semis team of forever ago. We all share some disdain for poets that trumpet superficial accomplishments that haven't actually done anything. This team is good on paper. As a team, we haven't done anything. I think we want more, we're capable of it and we're determined to do it.


All this may translate into a couple of 3rd place finishes in our bouts. Or maybe we kick butt...You can never really know at Nationals. I do know I'll have fun either way along with the fact that our team is focused on performing well and leaving lasting impressions on the audience, whatever they may be.


(and yes, the picture is actually a comic book depiction of the team courtesy of Freestyle Komics)

Perspective for Cleveland

My neighbors to the north, sister city of my hometown...I feel you. The shit hurts and most of your reactions are completely justified. You're kind of like the good, blue collar guy that got an Associates Degree and was in the right place at the right time that enabled you to hook up with a supermodel. It was good for a long time, you proposed, she rejected saying she wasn't ready for that commitment and you kept hoping she would change her mind, but you knew that was optimistic on your part. Then she started calling less. Your weekly movie night got cancelled three weeks in a row. You heard rumors of her flirting with Armando the Spaniard Model, but never see them in the same place at the same time. When the break up happens, it crushes you. Part of you hates her for leaving you, part of you thinks she deserves the best, so you walk away with your tail between your legs. Break ups happen everyday, so why is this one so egregious?

Because instead of her coming to you and telling you that it was over, she shows up on the red carpet at Armando's movie premier with a shiny rock on her finger as they make out every five minutes. Then, when a microphone is placed in front of her, she tells the correspondent that Armando just fucked her brains out in the limmo on the way over. And no, ABC did not bleep the *fuck* in time.

You deserve better. You just do. LeBron is a grown man. An intelligent man and well versed man. And obviously, a supremely talented one. But I'm not so sure how self-aware he is. His decision is his own and I can only fault him so much for leaving Cleveland before I see the reason in it. However, this could've been handled so much differently. The way he toyed with the fans can only be comparable to how Kobe Bryant did with Laker fans in 2007. Except, The Lakers already had a closet full of championship rings, Kobe's flirting with other teams only lasted a couple weeks instead of years and he ultimately returned to LA. Wow, I guess they don't compare at all, huh?

There are a couple people burning LeBron jerseys today (though news cameras enable that as much as anything else). As the Right would say, those are the 'fringe' people. There will be a lot more people that will throw their LeBron jerseys and Witness T-Shirts into the back of their closet never to be worn again. And I understand their sentiment.

Dan Gilbert (the Cavs owner) is a different animal altogether. His letter to his fanbase was over the top and emotional, but he also as an individual lost the most in all of this. Will he regret some of things he said? Absolutely. I also think some of the none-childish things he said were true as well.

Cleveland, it may not feel like it, but there is precedent for this type of thing. And if you're a big NBA fan, there are two eras/schools of thought that determines how you ultimately feel about this.

I'm 30 years old, so that means my NBA roots are in the 80s and early 90s. Magic and Bird. Players forever linked for their rivalry and competitiveness. However, they would always prefer to beat each other, than play together. Then we get to Michael Jordan. People forget how he used to get pummeled by the Pistons (physically and on the scoreboard). However, Jordan had the competitiveness to say, 'No, we will beat this team with OUR team.' Jordan never once would've considered joining the Pistons. Jordan never hit up his close friend Charles Barkley and said, "Yo, lets get together and get these rings." Actually, the year Barkley won the MVP, Jordan KILLED them in the Finals. That's what I prefer to see. Kobe vs LeBron in Finals is a lot more enticing than Kobe vs LeBron and Bosh and Wade. It just is.

However, there's a new perspective for the NBA player. Shaq was the most prized player in the league, got to the Finals (and beat down) and left for LA. Kevin Garnett (still one of my favorite players of all-time) was as loyal as they come and had nothing to show for it near the end of a Hall of Fame career in Minnesota before being traded to Boston and getting to the Finals twice in 3 years. These are the examples I'm sure LeBron leaned upon before making this decision.

So again, it really seems its more about the delivery of the news than it is about what the decision was. My current favorite player in the NBA, Kevin Durant, announced is contract extension with Oklahoma City thru a tweet. Not only, did it not take an hour (in addition to years of speculation) on National TV to say, but his early commitment also means that Oklahoma City can continue to operate with certainty in growing that team around him, unlike Cleveland with LeBron waffling for so long. But Kevin Durant is a throw back, including how he goes about his business. Maybe, that's the kind of behavior we want to Witness.

On the Real World, Cleveland and the boy that would be King

A few points of information here

I'm a die-hard sports fan, which includes the NBA. I'm a Day One Lakers fan. As in, my biggest sports heartbreak moment ever was when Magic announced his first retirement due to HIV (which would be ahead of #2 Dennis Eckersley giving up a home run to Kirk Gibson in the 1988 World Series and the Colorado hail mary touchdown against Michigan in 1994). However, I was born in Akron, OH, the shared origin of one LeBron James. That means, when the Cavs play anybody but the Lakers, I root for them.

All that being said, I've got LeBron fatigue like a muthafucka right now. I understand the business of it and that he needs to take care of his family and their interests. But this isn't about taking care of his family (which has become such a canned response any time someone wants more money). He's stated he wants to be a global icon and one imagines Cleveland is not the launch pad to make kids in China buy your sneakers. Still, we here all the loyalty talk that comes out of Team LeBron (and that's his team of managers and agents, not the Cavs mind you). He's been twisting and churning Cleveland fans like a corkscrew to the kidney thru this whole process. A town that's never won an NBA Championship. A town that hasn't won a title of any type since 1964. All of that wore on me. But now, after things have started to sort themselves out, Team LeBron has decided to do a 1 hr TV special on ESPN Thursday Night. A one hour primetime special in what takes 10 seconds to do...I think I'm done. If he leaves that is. If it takes him an extra hour to rip Cleveland's heart out, he probably jumps Art Modell as the most hated man in Cleveland. If he does all this to stay in Cleveland, he just becomes that asshole that took two years (and another hour for good measure) to hold a tortured sports town hostage. Unless he wins another 3 titles (my bad, lol, another, that would imply that he has won some already), I don't see this damage really being undone.

I personally won't be watching. I just can't support the machine anymore. It makes sense for ESPN, they'll get a ton of viewers for it. And supposedly, Team LeBron is selling sponsorships for the event and giving the money to the Boys and Girls Club of America. You hear that? That's the sound of my heart saying I could give a shit. Do I want to know where he goes? Absolutely. I'll be logging onto espn.go.com about 20 minutes after its started to get the news, then I'll probably go back to some homework. My weakness (or rather one of my weaknesses is having the capacity to deal with egos. LeBron is just killing me now. At some point, you have to put your foot down. Even if its a 'hero' from your hometown.

Part wonders if this just more than egomania. Don't get me wrong, this cat is completely inside his own head. But LeBron is 25 years old (despite looking like he's 34). That means he probably doesn't remember too much entertainment before The Real World was created. Reality TV is the new black and even though many of us loathe it (or call our favorite reality shows guilty pleasures), a hell of a lot more people watch Real Housewives of Orange County than they do the History Channels' special on Henry the VIII. So I get it, I just don't like it. I certainly hopes he stays though. I'm married to a woman, born and raised in Cleveland that owns two 'Witness' T-Shirts. LeBron, keep your ass at the crib...for my sake

Some random ish...

...been a while since I posted. I realized that I started a blog (livejournal) more so to see what others around me might have going on in their lives a lot more than I did to share with others. But I felt like updating, so here we are.

...marriage is pretty cool so far (read=very fucking cool). Though to spurn more writing activity from myself, I've contemplated doing at least a weekly 'Awesome and not-as-awesome things you discover when you get married' column within my blog. I'll start that next week.

...I'm pretty hyped to say that with Robbie Q's blessing, the first Encyclopedia Show-Columbus is going down on July 22nd. Sawheet! We've got some awesome poets contributing of course, with the lovely Kim Brazwell and myself hosting and Mr. President Scott Woods as the Fact-Checker. I know, you peed on yourself, just a little. Its ok. Our first subject is VILLAINS! Can't wait.

...Started back to school today. Been a minute yo. Trying to get back into the groove while trying to get into an MFA for Creative Writing. I'll keep you abreast of the progress.

...So, I am elated and frustrated to all hell with my slam team. Well, definitely more elated as the frustration may be a fix not far off the horizon. Lets just say I had a poet relocate here, make the squad, and then firmly plant a stake in back of my neck that he slowly taps with a mallet. I'm exaggerating, but its teaching me to embrace my inner-republican more and stop trying to be peace and love and hair grease with everybody.

...I did a show in Richmond, IN and get heckled for the first time since I started doing poetry. I don't even know if you can qualify it as heckled. Long story short, I did a feature. A new piece I have is entitled, 'Unsolicited Advice to a Drug Dealer' If you can't see the sarcasm dripping off of that title, lets just say its not the most flattering appraisal to a cocaine distributor. There might be a line in there suggesting that you wrap saran wrap around you own mothers face...maybe. So, well after my set, they are doing a second round of open mic and a guy calls me out from the mic and says, 'Hey man, that poem about the Drug Dealer you did really hurt me man because I used to deal to help my momma out man. You make your money however you can man, ain't no judgement in how a man makes his paper.' He gets applause for this. I knew the Klan was born in or around Richmond...seems strangely ironic I get push back about an anti-drug dealer poem.

...I kind of want to venture out and do features without venturing out. Is that possible yet, have we developed holographic Skype capabilities that allow me to do a show in Nebraska, then walk off stage go back to my man cave and watch Boondocks reruns on my HDTV? Guess not huh? Seriously though, I do want to hit a spot or two at the end of this year or beginning of 2011, but preferably spots I haven't been to yet. Like the plains area, south and southwest. We'll see.

...Did I mention I'm really excited for Nationals? It will be my last National team for a while. Since I started slamming, I've been on five consecutive slam teams and the talent of this team is good enough for me to put my slamming boots in the closet for a while no matter where we finish. I do plan on doing IWPS again this year though. Even though I have no tattoos, I'd imagine that making Finals stage is similar. I always wanted to make Finals stage, but it wasn't make or break for me. Then I did make Finals and now I just want the opportunity to get back. Over and over again. The fact that I had 3 new poems still in reserve when I made Finals last year (and didn't trust myself to kill the performances) and I'll have a pretty new set going into this year...I'd say I'm excited to see what happens in Philly

...So...who's been watching the Boondocks. I...I just don't know what to make of it this season. Good, very good, I'm enjoying it. But this is similar to Chappelle's second season with them pushing the envelope, except we didn't know about Chappelle's future (until he signed the ill-fated $50M contract) and we know Boondocks isn't coming back. My favorite episode so far? Probably a tie between The Fund-raiser (where Riley is dealing candy bars like the dope game) and the Tyler Perry episode. Seriously, I want my friends that are Tyler Perry fans to watch that episode and defend his productions after that. But as far as lore goes, something tells me we'll be talking about the Jimmy Rebel episode years after the fact. Its either genius or one of the most offensive 24 minutes of television that was allowed to be aired. I don't know yet.

...Some recommended viewing for you all: 1) Treme (HBO). If you like the Wire story telling (and if you don't, then what the hell are you doing on my journal, begone!), then you'll dig this show. 2) Breaking Bad (AMC). Seriously...its the best show on TV. Period. PERIOD. M. Night suspense, except the payoff doesn't suck balls

...speaking of which...if M. Night fucks up Avatar: The Last Airbender, its gonna be a problem. Like, if I find him, some furniture is gonna get moved around. That's his only warning. After the fraud that was Signs, he didn't get any money out of me for the Village or The Happening, so I can't be too mad at him now. But I'm spending some money for Avatar: TLA. In 3-D mind you. Don't fuck with me M. Night. I'm serious.

Rustbelt '10 Wrap-Up

A lot can happen in a years time.

I had 3 goals in mind for our Rustbelt Team this year:
1)Our Team make Finals
2) Barbara Fant make Indy Finals
3) Kim Brazwell make Indy Finals. We finished 1 for 3, but in retrospect weren't far away from accomplishing all 3.

As for our team, we all expected to do better. We suffered a pretty steep penalty on the first day and never truly recovered from it. I will say, we performed very well all weekend. I definitely feel like we left a huge impression on the rest of the tournament.

Even though I didn't experience the same competitive success this year that I did the year previous, I did have the same amount of fun. Being on a team with Barbara and the Brazwell's is a dream scenario and I would gladly duplicate it, no matter the situation. And for the record, Jason and I sitting next to each other at a slam is a bad idea for EVERYBODY involved. Just straight ignorance

My highlights and otherwise:

*I've gushed about Barb for a few years now, so I won't waste anybody's time repeating what I've been saying for eons. Just that she made me extremely proud this weekend (she finished 3rd overall at Rustbelt) and I'm happy that more people are getting to see what I've been talking about for so long
*T Miller was the single most impressive poet to me all weekend. She performed off her ass every round. Natasha has always been good, but now? Her combination of honesty, hard work and compassion make her something to behold on stages these days.
*Detroit's team OWNED Rustbelt from start to finish. No question. One of the few solaces I can take for my team competitively is that we gave them their closest bout all weekend (.8 differential), but that's about as close as anyone got). Much in the way St. Paul pretty much trampled everybody in West Palm Beach last year. This is poetry slam of course, so it wasn't without a little controversy in the Finals, but we'll get to that in a minute
*Cleveland and Minneapolis are the two teams I had the most fun watching. Tom Noy with his new and young crop of gunners and Wonder Dave imprinting his style and confidence all over his squad too.
*LOGIC did a damn good job. I know he feels like 'his' Rustbelt has some warts on it, but I thought it was pretty good overall. He also accomplished what I felt was a first since I started competing in Rustbelt ('06) in that he provided a very substantial crowd for the Saturday afternoon bouts, which I know is hard as all hell to make happen. There were some delays for bouts, but nothing unreasonable or typical for poetry shows regardless if they were big slams or not (well worth it to get the audiences that we did). Hey, no bouts were ever suspended midway thru and moved to another floor or to another day, so it was all good in my book. Doesn't mean it ran perfect, but he should be pretty proud of product he put on. Especially considering it was pretty just him and Monica putting it together.
**Bouts were ridiculously high scoring. I know, there's only so much you can do. Sometimes it takes ludicrous amount of prep work on a emcee's part to guard against a 30-fest (and even then the returns can be minimal), so I don't blame them. But when the lowest score in a bout is a 27.5 (and 90% of the scores are 28.2 and up), it really does take away from the jubilation of a poet completely destroying their poem when everyone is scoring high. For some perspective, Writing Wrongs got a 29.0, a 30, a 29.8 and another 30 in the second bout and we STILL finished 2nd. By almost a full point. Just one of those things we're kind of helpless to in slam I suppose. But I'm not a fan of 30-fest in the least bit. On Day 1, Barb had the only 30 (minus Jamaal who had a 30, but incurred a time penalty) for both bouts. On Day 2, there were four 30s. In the first bout alone (two of them perfect 50s). So everything seemed a little inflated.
**A little sloppier than I would've liked from the poets perspective. Time penalties EVERYWHERE. Again, Day 1 one was bad, Day 2 was much worst. If you subtract Kalamazoo (who didn't care on the second day and was trying to incur time penalties or rather did the poems they wanted to regardless of time), it seemed like a time penalty was happening every 3 or 4 poets. In Bout 2 of Day 2, I want to say 4 of the first 7 poets that hit the mic got a time penalty. I don't want to harp like TPs are the end of humanity and obviously an individual getting a time penalty isn't responsible for the other 12, but it felt a bit sloppy, like we weren't putting out the best quality product at times. I dunno, my two cents.

So, about that Finals and Detroit thing. I'll just say, first off, Attila the Hun wasn't going to stop Detroit from winning. Whether you call it fate or whatever, they were just steamrolling teams, period. With that being said, there was some chatter raised about a poem performed during Finals. Phenom (Miles) has a poem in which he reads off paper while the poem itself is about reading off paper. Well, he references the paper, several times throughout the poem. As I understand the rules, that's a prop. Again, I said as I understand them, which could be incorrect. El Presidente Woods is much better equipped to answer that as the Prez and a venerable page poet. But I'm pretty sure the combination of those actions make it a prop...by PSI standard. I guess, this is where things get tricky. Rustbelt always operates as a non PSI event obviously, but by 'typical PSI rules.' I have no idea where those technicalities should start and stop. All I know is, if someone actually were to protest, I would've have sided with the protester. But I'm glad no one did. And no was going to, but I guess I'm stating this for those that caught hell (like they were a sore loser or some shit) for pointing out that if protested, it would in deed have qualified as a prop, I think.

Overall, a very good time hanging with very good people and I'm proud of LOGIC for giving us another good reason to all hang with each other. Which makes it a hard act to follow when Rustbelt makes its way back to Columbus in 2011. Jhyea!

6/30 (My first Pantoum, what say sumptin!)

Poseiden

When the thunder claps in her chest
She will not break from the sky
Your voice is not cobweb enough to bind her ankles
Her arms squeezing freedom like a limp balloon

She will not break from the sky
The clouds are a mural of men she never needed
Her arms squeezing freedom like a limp balloon
The sound of chains groaning under her heavy

The clouds are a mural of men she never needed
Painted with a handgun, they were always hungry
The sound of chains groaning under her heavy
They break so easily, as if they were made of thawing lakes

Painted with a handgun, they were always hungry
Their stomachs lust for her obedience
They break so easily, as if they were made of thawing lakes
Drowning in her hair, a comb of collapsed lungs

Their stomachs lust for her obedience
Grown fat on submission and scissor fearing tongues
Drowning in her hair, a comb of collapsed lungs
Each plastic arm, flailing away in the monsoon of her scalp

Grown fat on submission and scissor fearing tongues
Her mouth is an ocean learning the rhythm of intrusion
Each plastic arm, flailing away in the monsoon of her scalp
Tell them, they were not made to swallow her depths

Her mouth is an ocean learning the rhythm of intrusion
The trespassers washing up on the embryonic shore of her palms
Tell them, they were not made to swallow her depths
Lungs collapsed under their hero complexes

Even of eight legs and venom, there is little solace in your volume
Your voice not cobweb enough to bind her ankles
You will pray a weaker lightning has struck you previous
When the thunder claps in her chest

5/30

The Unfortunate Gangbang of Deidra Thomas (or Shawnee State University circa 1997)

When I arrived on campus, my back heavy with short term survival
I made a list of don’ts the length of my hair
before the scissors
Don’t forget to call mother
Don’t engage in anything until the last book
is closed
Don’t bleed at the first cut
at least not when men are watching

Walter, however, is razor blade cute
he makes this girl forget she is legally beautiful on some days
and I wish his smile was more trash pickup
than Phoenix sunrise for my sake
But I smile
I just smile when he passes thru the gym
his roommates flanking him like wings on a fighter jet
Maybe more leg and less yellow dress
I wonder how many women math majors he knows
if he’s ever had a tutor worth staring at

I know, I don’t want my strapless heels to exceed
my gaze. I have a pocket watch in my stomach
the knobs have been fondled by many
but Walter seems like he could wind my insides with his eyes alone
we finally talked last night on the steps of the athlete house
if he owns a sickle, his words would sever all my inhibitions
but he took nothing
just the reluctant post it with my cell number on it
I thought it premature to preselect a ring tone
especially since he hasn’t called
I wonder what offended him more
that the small, two stop light town of Waverly, OH
could produce 16 men that I’ve slept with
or that none of them were black like us
I wonder
if he really cares about such things

There is a party at his house tonight
maybe a size up on the earrings
a size down on the blouse would be appropriate. I’ll have company
at least for the first couple of hours. Walter
is a gentlemen, I feel really good about this

The wicked hour has approached and Walter has not shown
the DJ has wrapped my hips in silk tonight
and this 4th drink is blowing bubbles under my skirt
the dance floor is a beehive and I am the linoleum’s queen
hands and fingers and breath are worker bees falling under my spell
by the time I see the bottom of my 6th bottle
I am a broken heel and a blouse that no longer buttons. I imagine this
to be Walter’s room, the walls covered in men graffiti and light
hoping he is among the collage
then rethinking it. I imagine Walter has seen me prettier than this
when the first one makes himself at home
I stop feeling sexy
I feel illegal, a violation against my own skin. There are centipedes
the size of tigers crawling my neck
I think
I said no
to somebody

I awake to a rough toweling from my roommate. There are bruises, fluid that doesn’t
belong to me. Thread the length of regret spills from my skirt. I wish that were the only drip
we scurry away from ground zero, the owner a mystery to me. Definitely not Walter
definitely not my intention to look like
a car accident when I spent two hours in the bathroom

I haven’t called my mother in 3 weeks. There is the fear that either my brother
or father will answer
and I will freeze like a Polaroid
I scarcely remember their faces, my brother’s Easter suit, my father’s funeral uniform
during his mother’s passing
its how I remember the men during my wake
a plaid shirt
the navy pullover
a yellow polo pulled up to the chest

Walter is a brown sweater when I run into him
he apologizes for being an athlete, a man, for not showing up the night I was buried
he tells me he no longer lives there, that he hopes he can transfer his credits
and not his memories for next quarter
I say nothing
to myself, I compliment his sweater

4/30

Killer

You are not often at peace when you birth a killer
The hands have drawn themselves into

Geisha fans, spread wide like surgery
You can see the life story in the wound

The breeze is not so much a comfort as a reminder
Of what gets toppled in the wind

You would invite the sky to cry moonshine
In the hours when he curses you thru a locked door

You may reserve prayer for the camera crews
The tire marks made in your driveway from the news van

You no longer have a favorite channel
The woman across your screen

Has tears you don’t want to believe in
She will blame the Playstation

She will blame the school and Michael Bay
She will blame the mother for not caring

You swallow the cactus in your throat
It does not go down without scarring

When you stare at his room
The silence and the bolt lock between you

You tidal wave back to the screen
And utter the words, “How dare you?”

3/30

Lies

The first time I lied to a woman was unintentional
my mother’s face a sunset over a dying playground

she found me pitiful, palms and knees searching streetlights
and arcade alibis at one in the morning

the second time was a rehearsed crossbow thru a young girls throat
my hands an earthquake inside her jeans preceded by exaggerated experience

lie seven wrapped its way around my freshman teacher’s neck
my writing assignment, still caught in the jaws of my father’s threats

before such threats had materialized, my happy home a detail
that never made it into my teacher’s view of my floundering work ethic

the seventh time was easy, as second nature as blood
my home has become an attack survived heart with a collapsed stint

there is blood on my collar, my Nike Airs, the book bag I stole
off a kid that used it to sell acid in the school parking lot

yet, I tell my guidance counselor, we are healthy pride in my home
lions that will never develop the taste for each other

number twelve cried for Noah, a flood of my adlib
could not wash away the scent of her classmate

the twentieth lie broke thru my teeth, its razors dripping down my lips
like rain water off an aging roof. Love is at its most vulgar when said in obligation

the truth bounced around her dorm room like an atom
never landing on anything she could hold in her weather torn palms

after succumbing to the weight of her eyes, I confessed to her stomach
her hands clasped behind my neck, a mercy breath away from smothering me against her

she told me to stop counting, the pressure of record keeping my imperfections
would ripen me to a practice I wouldn’t easily let go of

2/30 - From an old prompt, but a new poem

Execute. Command.

During the bloody sunset, my still-born twin told me I come from a sickle blade of executioners. Our hands, large and terminal. Two sets, one visible except to victims. We live in torsos, the hollowed out spines of men born of gallows and mischief. In the throats of liars, the railroad track wrists of thieves, their fingers sprawl out like fleshy firecrackers when bone is kissed by cleaver. The light we see in strangulation cannot be simulated, the growth of a knotted rope from the back of a husband slayer’s neck is a progress few can speak. My heart is a hornets’ nest of moans. A wild dog with a filthy coat, that has learned to forgo the carrot for the swing of the stick. When I speak, you can hear the scythe scraping the back of my teeth, the hardened glaciers in my gums, pinning spirits back onto my tongue. My apologies are always post-mortem, falling upon the ears of those that no longer need them.

NaPoWriMo Challenge 1/30

Cannon

The first time a man is shot out of a cannon, he will not remember the heat
the searing of his elbows against iron walls
He won’t recall the flash of daylight sprinting to his origin
He may not even remember the low end conversation
Of the bang itself. What will stay with him
Is the silence
The absence of anything before his explosion
The way the white sucked at his skin
Like his 9 year old forearms by the vacuum attachment

I never took you for cannon
your mouth a flash of opportunity and reconstruction. I pray the monuments of lesser
are never flattered by your explanations. At your best you are collapsed towers
and brick dust. A concert of open fire hydrants responding to your outburst
I hope to be the white between your words. My name an explosion when it leaves
your iron clad lips. Sing. Please sing me. I have never been chord or wrecking ball

Battle of Ohio II

***This was going to be a much more vibrant and detailed post, but word of Gabrielle's passing knocked the wind out of me***

To fulfill our obligation for the Win and You're In Slam system, the powers that be in Ohio put together the 2nd Annual Battle of Ohio Slam. The first one was hosted in Columbus by Writer's Block (1st place - Writer's Block, then Writing Wrongs, Cleveland & Dayton). This year, we brought it back to Columbus and Writing Wrongs hosted it. The night was very, very fun. I left all the hosting duties up to the staff, but was still running around with my head cut off. I thought I had most things ready to go (most things anyway), but learned some lessons for hosting a Win & You're in Bout (should I ever need to again). I do believe the night ran pretty smoothly from the Open Mic to the slam and Spike definitely deserves a lot of credit for that. To spare any suspense, here was the final tally of the night:

Writing Wrongs Poetry Slam - 118.8
Cleveland Poetry Slam - 116.9
Writer's Block Poetry Slam - 115.7
Dayton Poetry Slam - 107.2

I was pretty proud of my squad. I felt like everyone came out and performed really well, put their own stamp on the night by winning pretty handily. I was most happy/nervous for Jason Brazwell. Look, I love the guy, love the work and it was a joy slamming with him, hopefully beyond just the one night. He also had the most at stake slamming that night as well. Jason had never slammed in a team event that wasn't with Writer's Block before, so it was a departure for him regardless, let alone the fact he was taking this big step AGAINST Writer's Block. Isn't necessarily how I would've scripted it for him, but he was up for the challenge and he KILLED. Damn, he killed it...Lets hope this lit a fire under him for the Writing Wrongs Slam season. That would be spectacular.

Other highlights/notes: Besides anything my team did, Rachel Wiley's poem was my favorite of the night. She's tough, real tough.

I don't know who in Dayton broke a kicked a puppy when they were younger, but they have the worst luck/fortune. Like, the LA Clippers type of luck. Two team members either had car trouble or were MIA altogether. Luckily, they had some people (Link being one of them) just there to take in the festivities that could slam, otherwise they may not have been able to field a team. I enjoyed what they're team put up, but they were at a disadvantage just from the fact that they had a couple of team members unaware that they'd be slamming when they arrived. Kudos to that. Me, I'd be pulling my hair out over shit like that.

I thought Scott's poem should've scored better. Good piece.

O' Cleveland. What a good showing. A couple of vets, a couple of rookies...either way they did the damn thing. It was funny standing back there with Tom Noy watching him employ what he calls 'Will Evans' slam-tactics. Which is flattering until Cleveland ends up kicking our ass in the future. Hopefully he surpasses that manual. But I was really impressed by them all. And then there's Dave 'Muthafuckin' Nichols. I mean, after the nickname, is there anything else to say? That cat is electric and Tom placed him perfectly in the first round.

I decided to do a duet in the last round (or my slot in the slam) for the wow factor if nothing else. The poem, 'Curtain' is a piece Barbara and I adapted from a short poem I wrote during April last year and I'm really proud of it (which I don't profess out loud too much about my work I'm not realizing). But the language is kind of experimental, its intended to be just a storyboard of images and limited narrative and I was so excited when I saw what Barb had wrote to compliment what I had started previously. So we pulled it out, knowing most people in the room and had never heard it. Jason and I went back and forth over three new poems I had written while on tour for my slot previous to the slam, but doing the duet and getting Barb up on the Mic again (there were two 30s during the night, Barb had both of them) won out for me. I was just glad we could do it in front of the people we knew would like it.

Fun, fun times all the way around and it was nice to come out with a win. I'm looking forward to Episode III in Cleveland next year.

(Attempting to) Beast in the East: 1

If you're scoring at home on how to test a marriage four months after its union, this the second departure and cumulatively 3rd week I've been on the road in the last couple of months. This week, I was able to take Niobe (that would be my 1999 Acura 2.3 CL in case you weren't aware) on an almost non-stop drive to Providence, RI on Tuesday.

I don't want to write any preemptive eulogies here, but I was intent on doing my Tryst through the Tri-State with my Acura as opposed to taking Leah's Pontiac Vibe like I do on most road trips. I've had Niobe for a long time. But she is getting up there. And I was determined to let her have one more long road trip left in her before getting myself a younger, giggly, still can walk the run way model later on in the year. Its been a good trip so far for her. She's held up remarkably well and wants to prove to me that she's still capable of being my steady. We'll see.

Anyways, I started my mini run at Got Poetry Live which was a pretty nice treat. I don't think I've ever been that far north east before, so it was a treat before I even entered the venue. The reading is intimate, but extremely attentive and welcoming. I felt like I could really run the gauntlet of subject matter in the room and everything was being received well. And getting to hear some Tony Brown and Ryk McIntyre live is always a good thing.

Wednesday, I made my way up to Boston for my feature at the Cantab. Look, the Cantab is the muthafuckin Cantab. That's all there is to it. Far better poets than me have described what its like to rip a set there, so I won't bore you with my analogies. I'll just say it feels like home. The room was ridiculously stacked, standing room much of it. J.W. Baz had featured at Hampshire College the day before so he and some incredibly talented Hampshire kids made the trip down there to see this hack from Columbus feature. Mike McGee was also in the house which always makes the room three times more comfortable. My set felt good. Real good. I did everything I wanted as far as a set list and got rewarded with a standing 'O' for it. Aww shucks, Boston. I fuckin love this scene. It always stays with me a little after the night.

So the next day or so I spend hanging with Simone Beaubien. Simone and I can talk for HOURS (as we proved over the course of a couple days). Her unflinching honesty is infectious, her perspectives are completely unique, even within our poetry slam fam. She's like the anti-cliche. We must have spent two hours alone making fun of all the 'fem and esses' isms (as in her favorite title in the world, Fem-cee) that our community has created. At any rate, if Leah ever comes to her senses and realizes that she's way out of my league before dropping me like a kidney stone, I'd have to add the Boston Area to my short list of relocation spots (for those scoring at home, said list is Chicago, Boston, Phoenix, NYC & Charlotte, in that order).

Tonight I make my way to the NYC for my co feature at the Nuyorican with Brian Ellis. So, I'm geeking out a little bit because Brian is probably my favorite poet doing his thing right now. Period. So sharing a Nuyo stage with him should be pretty damn exciting. After that, I'm gonna make a non-emergency run home for the weekend. Cuz ya know, I wanna see my wife. I'm so anti-Tiger living son. I'll come back to NYC on Monday for a co-feature with Aricka Foreman at LouderArts, Urbana on Tuesday, deconstruction of poems with Roger on Wednesday, then Loser Slam on Thursday. Then the big boat ride home Friday morning.

Till then homies (and homie-esses)