monkeypuddingpeople
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| Wednesday, July 15th, 2009 | | 11:45 am |
Subconscious/Unconscious Behaviour Inheritance or Eat My Face Syndrome
I don't have a lot of memories of childhood. At least accessible ones. Not really until around puberty. I don't recall the type of relationship my mother and father had. And my mom doesn't like to talk much about my dad now that he is dead. However when I prod her about how they get along she occasionally reluctantly reveals a secret or two. Backtracking a bit...my dad lost one of his legs in a farming accident when I was around 12 (I do remember that day) and she has told me about his depression and suicidal tendencies dealing with it. She has told me that he used to threaten her with "if you leave me you'll find me hanging in the barn" anytime I guess they were fighting or she was close to leaving. I was quite shocked and saddened by that. However I have no recollection of any of that. Fast track to my adult hood. Guess what? My first reaction following a break up is to injure myself. Somehow I've had the mind set that if you aren't going to love me then I will prove to you and the world that I am not worth loving. I will kill myself in an attempt to hurt you. Good logic working there. I have a poem about it called "Eat My Face." I never clued in to the connection. Right there in front of me. Over the years this tendency has lessened and during this recent split I had far better control and restraint with it overall. There were still a few moments of drunken misadventure but nowhere near as severe as in the past. And I have to say over the last 2 1/2 years following each successive break up I have been getting more cognizant of what I'm doing and less reactionary. And this time around it dawned on me when I had the thoughts of suicide as punishment that this is exactly what my dad used to do with my mom. That realization opened a window of forgiveness and has helped to soften things up. Which makes me wonder even more what traits I have picked up unconsciously. I know which ones I have worked to adopt in conscious response to my perceptions of his behaviour. But I want to explore the ones that I have picked up through osmosis. He and I spent a lot of time together alone, working, camping, in the wild and I want to look at the things he passed along to me. I think it's the only way to go. At least I find this fascinating :) Current Music: Peter Gabriel | | Tuesday, July 14th, 2009 | | 9:12 am |
Attempts at perception
For me a lack of grounding seems to be the key. They key as to why I seem to slip easily into disarray when some sort of emotional stresses and traumas occur. So, I've been working on perception and projection and attempting to see things as how they are rather than how I perceive them. Looking at things as factually as possible and limiting the assumptions. Especially in regards to self worth and the motivations of others. I lost religion a long time ago. I lost my love of "god" even longer still. It seems like many of my belief systems have crumbled, shattered and been shaken to their foundations in the past 20 years or so and especially in the past 8-10 years. I feel sometimes like the only thing that was driving me was a basic biological I can't let the system crash kind of thing along with some twisted notion that I had to suffer and be punished and so must continue on so that could happen. I think I have managed to eradicate that perception for the most part...the suffering being the personal vendetta of some outside force or forces. Ridiculous. However I feel like I was also driven to survive by a faint but irritating voice deep inside me. A voice that I didn't want to listen to but also wanted desperately to believe in. A voice of support and power and as cliched as it might sound, love. A voice I hated but desired to believe in more than anything. This is the voice that gave me the courage to write, to get up on stage, to go to acting school, to study clown and so on. It's the voice that told me to believe in art, to believe in the creative life as a way out of the darkness. Those two powers have clashed and fought for supremacy in me for a long time. Somewhere along the way I realized I have some say in the matter. It's not just something that happens to me but that I am participating in as well. And that might be the grounding that I am looking for. Accepting the idea and quite possibly the truth that I am allowed to be an active participant with some modicum of control and responsibility and I'm not just at the mercy of outside forces. I have the ability to distinguish which energies are useful and which ones set me in reverse and which ones I want to play with in a positive way. Duh, of course. Now I have to work on strengthening that notion. Maintaining it as practice so when the carpet gets pulled away again I can levitate and not go tumbling. Funny how the impulses of negation pop up. After writing all this I want to wipe it all away and apologize for going on about this, apologize for being self indulgent with all this twaddle. Ah, but I won't. To quote Todd Betuzzi, "it is what it is." Current Music: bif naked | | Friday, July 3rd, 2009 | | 9:37 am |
Articulating
This may seem obvious but I think voicing aloud your trauma/drama/muck is a good thing, a necessary thing. Even if you are just talking to yourself aloud in a park. Walking in to work I was vocalizing to myself in almost tourettes like grunts and ha's and ho's and huh's wha's and then it occurred to me what I think one of the patterns I engage in following a rather emotional experience. My voice shuts down. I stop talking. I wrap myself up in silence. This harkens back to my childhood when everything needed to be a secret and nothing was to be talked about. Never say anything for fear of death (at least that's what it felt like) Because of that pattern for a long time the only way I knew how to express what was going on was by acting out in dangerous and irresponsible ways. Fortunately along the way I found poetry and clown and learnt ways to tap into the well of loneliness even if it was just simple grunts to begin with. I can remember during my clown training it took me until my fifth mask to be able to vocalize anything. And then you couldn't shut me up. The other 4 didn't speak and were quite animal like. Then I went upright. Ha. And again I know this might all seem obvious and it now seems obvious to me but it's fascninating to me that I couldn't see it while stuck in it again, recently. Keeping it quiet keeps it precious and untouchable. What are you waiting for? Why wait? Put it out in the world and let it get bruised and beautiful. | | Wednesday, June 24th, 2009 | | 9:20 am |
Potent Energies
I don't talk too much here or in my non vitrual world about shit that's going on in my life. It is difficult for me to do. Occasionally I stumble across someone or they stumble into me and we connect and attach and I slowly reveal and peel and let the scarecrow out. Inevitably (so it seems) that relationship comes to an end and then all those energies and emotions that were released feel like they have no where to go and so they circle round in me and I feel like I cannot control them, I cannot control myself. It's interesting and weird watching the patterns unfold once again. Especially when it seemed like I felt like I had a handle on them. And granted things are being processed more quickly this time but it is still so internal and overwhelming sometimes all I can do is "act out" in some stupid and public way in an attempt to curb, crush, and contain everything. Cauterize the wound in some pathetically self centred and dramatic act. I feel like I don't know what to do. But upon pondering it also feels like I do. The answers are in my poems. I go back to them and look at them and get in touch with the energies that first forced them out of me into the world. It seems like I am constantly dealing with potent energies that I am not entirely equipped to deal with but I keep diving into them. I have played with them unawares mostly but sometimes consciously but pretty much all the time I don't think I have given them the respect they deserve. Sometimes I go after the scars willingly, sometimes not. It feels like I am dealing with all sorts of magiks and mojos that I have been scared to face and stand with. I feel like I realllllllly need to do that. I feel like I need to write some spells and incantations that confront these energies head on...with respect. I do believe in guardian angels. I believe in guardian demons too. I believe in integrating them rather than conquering and casting them out. I don't think they go too far away anyway when it feels like we have rid them from ourselves. I don't know how to explain the weird shit I have seen in my dreams and in "real life." But hopefully these new poems will begin to bring these worlds together. I need to do something. Staying on the same path as I have feels dangerous. Writing about it a little bit here is hopefully just the beginning. | | Thursday, June 18th, 2009 | | 12:37 pm |
Leo
You have cosmic permission (even encouragement) to live on the edge for the next 28 days as long as you follow these guidelines: 1. Don't live on the edge to impress anyone; do it because you love it, or else don't do it. 2. Don't complain and worry about it. Enjoy it completely. 3. Don't expect anyone else to join you on the edge. If they choose to do so with enthusiasm, fine. But don't manipulate them. 4. Don't imitate the way other people live on the edge. Establish your own unique style. 5. Don't live on the edge for more than 28 days. Much longer than that and you'll start sabotaging the benefits. | | Monday, June 15th, 2009 | | 11:00 am |
Love Dump
Love Dump I was the one lost shoe On the side of the highway You were the amputated foot That fit me I thought we had found each other At the end of the road at The Love Dump Where the Garbage Eating Bear Takes us all in We danced inside of refrigerators Dropped from third storey windows We played catch with soup cans We found inside bras But somewhere Underneath the radioactive ashtrays You found a jar filled with Broken dolls eyes And the drunken sledgehammer You forgot to recycle Came back to stroke you Now Our love Is just a used condom In the belly of a dead unicorn I don’t know where you went But I lost you I still live at the dump And occasionally I fuck the bear Current Mood: blah | | Monday, June 1st, 2009 | | 3:17 pm |
No Rustbelt in Canada stories?
It was this past weekend was it not? Nothing? What's the scoop? Or did everyone get trapped in Ontario with the new VISA/Passport regs in effect? | | Thursday, May 28th, 2009 | | 9:28 am |
Who is the lice cauldron nymphomaniac...inspired by Paranoid
All day long I think of things nothing seems to satisfy Who is the lice cauldron nymphomaniac? Anne Rice with a handgun? Momma wants me to scratch and sniff her kitchen But I can’t stop staring at the sky Brad Pitt wants to adopt me. He WANTS TO! If I lose 50 pounds in 50 minutes I can be Anne Murray’s lesbian lover Help me, help me, help me, help me, help me, help me, help me, help me, help me Help me, help me, help me, help me, to calm down I don’t want to be a cartoon. I don’t want to be someone’s punch line. I want to be like Dorothy in the Blizzard of Oz A little girl who loves animals Naively Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy-cat The dodo went extinct because it trusted Because it failed to see the New World’s truncheon Ivory hunters spitting DDT into the face of wonder Love is, love is, love is, love is, love is, love is, love is, love is, love is, love is, Love is, love is, love is, love is, love is dead I sitll belive in God but God doesn't believe in me So what? You got to fight. You gotta fight. Every one who’s ever had an empty pocket knows The primary purpose of the police is to protect the fucks with money But so what? You gotta fight like a viper. You gotta love like a dodo. You gotta take your pants off And go for it. Suffering, suffering, suffering, suffering, suffering, suffering, suffering, suffering, Suffering, suffering, suffering, suffering, suffering, guaranteed | | Tuesday, May 26th, 2009 | | 12:02 pm |
Mashed Poetics #1....this Thursday at the Cottage Bistro
MASHED POETICS PRESENTS A NIGHT OF MUSIC AND SPOKEN WORD FEATURING BLACK SABBATH COVER BAND: RAT SALAD PERFORMING BLACK SABBATH'S "PARANOID" ALBUM IN ITS ENTIRETY & 7 VANCOUVER SPOKEN WORD POETS WRITING AND PERFORMING NEW WORK IN RESPSONSE TO THE SONGS INCLUDING ANGELO RENAI: WAR PIGS RC WESLOWSKI: PARANOID JULIE PARRELL: PLANET CARAVAN DANIEL WOOD: IRON MAN ELECTRIC FUNERAL (THE POET HAD TO DROP OUT BUT WE WILL STILL HEAR THE SONG) MARTIN VANSTEINBURG: HAND OF DOOM SHANNON RAYNE: RAT SALAD THE SVELTE MS. SPELT: FAERIES WEAR BOOTS PLUS CHRIS GILPIN PERFORMING HIS ACCORDION EPIC--ADULT MAN IT'S ALL HAPPENING AT THE COTTAGE BISTRO ON MAIN STREET--(MAIN AND 29TH) ON THURSDAY MAY 28TH. SHOW STARTS AT 9PM $5-10 SLIDING SCALE ALL AGES VENUE | | Thursday, May 21st, 2009 | | 9:30 am |
Happy Birthday, Warren
A lovely friend of mine, Warren Dean Fulton, turns 40 years old today. He is a poet, a publisher, a father, a pooka and a wonderful guy. He's putting together a chapbook of poems about his 40th birthday. Here's the one I wrote for him... Olive the Dove: For Warren Upon turning 40 humans often fractilize, spreading wings like caramel nightingales diffusing their history with the vengeance of a puritanical laidl. They explode like dandelion hymen over a nostalgic valley facing their face in a jigsaw townsend that posits the pick up stick of we are what we think we are snot just google yourself to find you are about 3,833,000 kaleidescopic diamonds in a world wide net of gems where the dead wood of your family tree replants itself in an arborealis of glittering dna and soon you are Sacramento studio apartment for $599 a month and pet friendly you know Oliver Stone's Kennedy fetish secrets, his Fidelio arias and CIA lullabyes you are on a first name basis with every hunger striker in the Nabisco gulags, you become new shoe shopper murder victim, black holes in the back of your head leaving a mall full of cauterized hearts in your wake you are jellybean absinthe, argyle ju jujitsu you are sushi nunchuks won at a hot dog eating contest and hanging on the wall of a main street law firm in Fulton, Kentucky and in the heart of a rattle snake garden you receive atheist visions and too many questions with passions beliefs and opinions melting like wax icons on the outskirts of the Las Vegas strip--no longer air conditioned manicurated or a member of the Entomological Society of America the ink fading on Volume 33, number 2, June 1940 but the cockroach paparazzi is sedated their rampage has been unable to diminish "The Growth of the Head Capsule of the Japanese Larva" it all boils down to a steam bath egg charmer a rick shaw torpedo a brass handle mirror juggler with one hand tied behind their back asking you to choose a) limitless mutiny b) power candles c) wish box shoe driver d) macaroni tampon deluxe e) olive the dove | | Wednesday, May 20th, 2009 | | 5:26 pm |
| | 1:06 pm |
Awesome Face this Saturday!!!!
Awesome Face is a kids show for adults, a kindergarten class for grown ups. This Saturday May 24th Awesome Face goes to the Future for: 3002 A Face Odyssey. Songs about dinosaurs, show and tell, cheerleaders, sing a longs, nap time, special guests, magic 8 ball predictions and much more! It's interactive. It's multi media. It's fun and weird. It happens at Cafe Deux Soleils: 2096 Commercial Drive...doors at 8pm. show at 9:05. If you wear tinfoil on your head or dress up in a futuristic costume you get for for the discounted price of $7. Awesome Face is made up of 2009 Van Slam Grand Slam Champ: RC Weslowski, 2005 Van Slam Grand Champ, Brendan McLeod and 2 time Van Slam Team Member, Chris Gilpin. RC ya there $7-$10 | | Monday, May 11th, 2009 | | 12:35 pm |
Continuing a thread from the PSI Forums
A question was asked over there as to who you feel are the top 5 most influential poets in the last 20 years within Poetry Slam. Either to the genre or yourself or both...here are mine. 1) Basalt the Olympian...she blew my mind in 99 with a poem about being allergic to peanuts...she read it at the prop slam where she performed it after eating half a jar of peanut butter...death defying. 2) Tantric Sax...this cat got up on stage and PROMISED every seat in the house would be wet when he was done..he's the first poet I ever saw to a Saxaphone beat box in every poem...as far as every seat being wet...use your imagination 3) The poet Orange...always made sure to remind the audience...no poet can ever rhyme with me...mostly influential in what NOT to do when performing 4) Fun Da Mentalist...she was a hilarious performer out of the Christian Stand Up Comedy scene...her Tower of Babel--Oral Sex poem is genre defining 5) Flipper...I actually have a degree in Oceanography (minoring in 13th century catapulting) where we did 2 years focusing on dolphin linguistics...having a chance to study the nuances of the dialect I am blown away by the depth--Flipper brings it. Not only in the pool but on the mic! Current Mood: confusedCurrent Music: REM | | Friday, May 8th, 2009 | | 12:15 pm |
The Story of Lightning and Sky
This is the story of lightning and sky. Back when everything above was nothing but blue. Sky watched over everyone. Sky contained Sun and Sky contained Moon. The stars belonged to some place ever other distant but every night they loved to come visit. All of this was all of this plus sky had the gift of lightning. When sky and sun rolled over one another lightning would dance upon the earth. Lightning struck rocks and Lightning struck water and every time Lightning struck it was followed by Thunder’s laughter. It sounded like a mountain belching. Every day Lightning danced and Thunder laughed and each night the Moon was invited out to love. Clear Sky, blue Sky, night Sky filled with stars, pure as a wish. There was only one rule to this world of perfection. Lightning was not allowed to ever dance at night. Lightning was a child of the sun. However the dark side of the moon was an envious one and the moon grew jealous of the sun. Moon wanted lightning to strike in the dark to help light up its world of cool and shallow. So one night Moon spoke to Ocean and asked Ocean to tell lightning that Moon adored. “Tell lightning—you know how much I love owl? I love you more. You know how much I love the stars? I love you more. You know how much I love sky? I love you more. And to prove to you my love here’s what I will do. For three nights in a row I will remain full. On the third night I will remain in the sky five hours past morning and allow sun to burn part of me away. I will be whole no more. Just for the chance to see you play with rock and thunder, I will sacrifice myself for you.” Ocean agreed and the next day Ocean told Lightning of Moon’s offer. Little did Lightning know that Moon did this trick each month and so of course lightning felt flattered. Lightning then told Ocean to tell Moon the offer was accepted and at midnight of the following night Lightning would dance in the darkness. And so it happened as it happened and at the mid point of night the next evening lightning showed itself to the moon. Lightning struck rock and lightning struck water and every time lightning struck it was followed by Thunder’s laughter. After the third strike Sky awoke with a fury and demanded an explanation for this betrayal. Moon remained silent in the darkness, Ocean played with the whales, and Thunder laughed, angering Sky even more. Sky grew so angry it took control of Lightning and threw Lightning down into the heart of a golden forest and Sky set the world ablaze. The fire burned so bright and grew so large that night resembled day. Sky shouted at Moon “Is this what you wanted? To see the world as it is? To witness this life outside of the darkness all fire, all destruction and all flame!” Then sky collected the smoke that was rising from the fire and sky turned the smoke into clouds. The clouds rolled and turned and thickened into one another until the clouds covered sky from one horizon to the other. When dawn started arriving Sky took the clouds and smashed them all together and the clouds began all at once to rain. It rained and it poured until the fire was extinguished. Steam rose from the ashes into the air thickening and moistening the clouds even more. When it was all done Sky declared—because Lightning disobeyed and Moon did conspire the clouds will now forever keep them apart. The clouds will remain guardians of the sky and allow Moon to shine on the Earth only when they deem it. This is how clouds came to the Sky and why now when Lightning strikes, Thunder roars. | | Tuesday, April 28th, 2009 | | 10:15 am |
Our 2009 Youth Slam Team
Congratulations to Isabelle Ram, Reiley Murray, Jasleen Powar and our Youth Slam Grand Champ, Francis Arevalo. We had out Youth Slam Finals last night. I thought it was pretty sweet night overall. There were a few technical issues with the feature's set up but he went acapella and did a nice job. The room was full and we had them go three rounds. 8 poets in the first round: random draw 8 poets in the second round: reverse order top 4 in the final round, scores wiped clean: random draw Apparently Francis was on the verge of not making it through after the first round. I think he was sixth. But he did a great job with his second poem and vaulted himself onto the team. And then the last round was a crap shoot. I think he beat out Jasleen by only .3 for the crown. Jasleen was amazing. Very confident, engaging, and a variety of different themes if not entirely different styles. It was impressive and exciting to see. It was exciting to see all them really come out with strong performances. They all owned their space up there and stood in it honourably. Kelsey was close I think but time penalties knocked her out. Ed did a hilarious second piece about having to learn to be a senior citizen on a cruise ship but he was too far behind after the first round to make it through. Mac aka Appleseed brought an excellent intensity that stood out to me. But going 5 minutes and 4 seconds won't help you. I liked that enough of poets risked losing points to make their points. And we got to yell near, Shannon :) Natalie brought her unique and eccentric point of view and did it shamelessly with a joy that said "I know what I'm doing, I know where I'm going, do you want to come along for the ride?" It was great to see. Reiley brought a new level to her performance that I hadn't seen before. And she was tentative about going out for the team. I had to tell her to get her butt up on that stage. She belonged there. And Isabelle was Isabelle...quiet, intense, at times unsettling and always really well crafted poems. It's a very diverse team in terms of style and background. 3 women, 1 man. I'm going to encourage them to work together over the summer to see what they can come up with. The most exciting and impressive thing to me is how diverse all 8 of the poets voices were/are. Quiet, funny, confessional, rants, heartbreak, politics, abstact weirdness, and a confidence to stand in their own personal points of view. It really is inspiring. The new season begins next month on May 25th with our feature Mighty Mike Mcgee. | | Monday, April 27th, 2009 | | 1:19 pm |
If I didn't have to work I could get stuff done
Or maybe I would just wander around in the sunshine saying, "I can do that later." Who knows for sure? I have to really schedule my time in the next little while. I have to try and fit in Awesome Face rehersals, Slam Team rehearsals, workshop writing, preparing for gigs I'm in (Maybe I should say no to some of these), softball games and spending time with special friends. Maybe I stop going to concerts and shows for a while. That might work. Right. | | Tuesday, April 21st, 2009 | | 3:50 pm |
Thanks
We had our Vancouver Poetry Slam Finals last night at the RIO Theatre. We sold the place out so THANK YOU to all the people who support the Vancouver Poetry Slam with such enthusiasm and dedication. You are fantastic. (Thanks to all the poets who I had a chance to "compete" against and share poetic bread with...Spillious the Ridiculous One, Steve Miller, Lisa Slater, Duncan Shields, Nora, Chris and Johnny. All the poets over the last 12 years or so since I decided to hit my first open mic at the Sugar Refinery. For those who have gone on, Zeechilla, T-Paul, David Morgan, Shulamit Joffre and more...thanks for the chance to read with you or for you...in front of just ourselves or a packed room full of people. Thanks to Sean, Lisa and Angus who all work so hard to keep this slam thing breathing in all its capacities. Thanks to Sue McIntyre who selflessly works behind the scenes coordinating all the volunteers. And thanks to ALL the volunteers who step up each week to help us put on a show.) By night's end I was fortunate enough to come out on top and become the 2009 Vancouver Poetry Slam Grand Slam Champion. What that means is I finished first last night but I am also part of a wonderful new Van Slam Poetry Slam Team. The others on the team include Chris Gilpin, Nora Smithhisler and Johnny Macrae along with our alternate, Steve Miller. I think it's going to be fun working with them all summer long as we get ready for NPS. I just wanted to thank everyone who has ever said a kind word to me about what I do because I really do appreciate it even if I am horrible at accepting compliments. I wanted to thank all those who think what I do is crap because I keep trying harder becaues of you as well. I try not to take any of this for granted. Considering how shy I was as a kid I find it quite remarkable that I am able to get up in front of so many wild, weird and wonderful people so often and manage to move them with my words and performance in some fashion. Whether it's irate tampon throwing or a standing ovation it's quite unbelievable. Like Steve Earle, "I ain't ever satisfied" and so while I will cherish this accomplishment and the well wishes it has received I know I am not done. I know it is something wonderfull and I also know it's not going to change the world. So I keep moving. There are more poems to write, more performances to give, more people to piss off and inspire. I don't believe in retirment. I'm going to go until I'm dead. I just wanted to stop by and say thank you. | | 9:56 am |
I guess I'm going to Florida
The Van Slam Team Finals were last night. We held the show at the RIO Theatre (where so many of you rocked the house for IWPS in 07) and we sold the damn thing out. WHAT? Crazy. About 500 people attended...probably 450 paid after volunteers and poets and what not. We had a round of 3 minute poems, then 1 minute poems, a break, our feature (SHANE KOYCZAN--for real) and then a final round of 3 minute poems. Everyone reading in every round. This is the second year we've had the 1 minute poem round. We brought it in last year at my suggestion as I wanted to provide an extra challenge for the poets. And while I like the idea of it I don't think it works in the context of the competition. It feels like the momentum from the first round kind of stalls with the 1 minute round. Perhaps a 2 minute round or just 3 rounds of 3 minute poems. Don't know. Anyhow our team this year is ragingvalkyrie, Chris Gilpin, Johnny Macrae and Me. I was fortunate enough to win the overall title, too, so this year I get to be the so called Van Slam Grand Slam Champ as well. I have to say I wanted to win that. I never have and this year many chips were falling my way and I thought I should go for it and thing worked out. And now I'm back at work. Ha. Thanks to Sean and Lisa for organizing this thing all year long and putting up with all the poetic idiosyncracies we bring to make their lives hell. Current Mood: cranky | | Friday, April 17th, 2009 | | 5:57 pm |
Sister Iowa
Sister Iowa you have sacrificed. You have worn the catheter blemish. You gave the tarmac your pancake breakfast. You slit the furry saints In your wisdom teeth Some goat breathed apostates consider you a martyred deodorant, a Greasy bowl of rice: some dream your tidepool is made of plastic Others are content to believe in your weasel. But Sister Iowa I know bitter. I know you milked the drivel out of parliament. I know you have Steamed shuttlecock ass. I know your tongue has licked the Architecture of pleasure, the Sistine Chapel is in your eye. I would balance a mud pie in my nostril for you. I would build you a lighthouse of meat (although depending on the Bison I’m sure it would weigh more than 40 kilos) However your enema is my razor blade and my tea kettle Is full of lactating piss blisters. Your unwillingness to bend over and play badminton naked Has made the faceless capes feel symptomatic. All the cities Have sworn a vow of silence. Your secrets have become A thesaurus of torture. You should have kept your toe nails Polished. All that was once wild is now a motto. Current Mood: shockedCurrent Music: Mastodon | | Thursday, April 16th, 2009 | | 2:04 pm |
For all you slam a lama ding dongs...choosing a coach
As we near our Vancouver Poetry Slam Finals there has been rumour and discussion that this year some poets might actually want to have a coach for the slam team. As far as I know we have never had a coach. At least none of the teams I have been on ever did. We did the self coaching thing. This means that there is no set process in place for choosing a coach. For those of you in other cities who have utilized coaches how did you choose them? Are they poets who aren't slamming any more? Theatre directors? Poets that didn't make the finals stage? How do you negotiate poets who some people might respect and some people might not? Do you need consensus by the team or is the person chosen independently by the slammaster? Do you shy away from the coach and slammaster being the same person? And so on. Any insight would be appreciated. Again, I don't know for sure that this is what's going to happen and of course I am not on any team right now but I'm curious as to how you do it within YOUR scene. Thanks |
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