slammin'.

Last night we went to a poetry slam at the Alternative Café. That's me reading. :)

Val did a montage improv poem but we arrived too late to hear it all, but I know it was amazing because she is amazing.

I read two poems:

"i've never really done a poetry slam before or
spoken a poem i was proud of out loud
before but
i figure i could start now.
and i'm dedicating this one to you.
cos i know you've had it hard
and i know you're stuck in quicksand
and your eyes are ringed like planets from
spending nights being older than you are
and these problems weigh more than
this earth we live on that Atlas is busy holding up
so i don't know how you're still standing.
this poem is for you.
it's for you, and her, and him, and them.
this poem is for everyone, no secrets
or privatizing of art
this poem was written on red paper.
this poem is for a rainy day
when your body's too tired to jump in puddles
when your mind's too tired to think like Thoreau
and the only beauty in a thunderstorm is it looks like your heart.
this poem is for raccoon eyes,
for bad hair days,
for empty wallets and worn-out soles.
this poem is for when you feel like you've walked 500 miles
and haven't wound up at any door
but the night is
darkest before dawn
so chin up and out
eyes wide open
heart ready to strike
do it for me
for she
for him
for us
for you
for you
for
you."

and

"and the skyscrapers, the towers, the city

will crumble, will fall
the wave of a thousand sighs of
nostalgia, hope, tragedy,
fear and some loathing (but not in, no, never in Las Vegas)
crashes over the post-traumatic stress
disorganization of the masses
and what was false is false
and what was true is true, always true
the gods of fire rain down on the gods
of ego who plead with the goddesses of objectification
and they continue to play scrabble.
a not quite eerie calm is pulled out from
the roots of buildings and the basements of trees,
is trailed along the i-beams
and latticework that assisted in
mutually assured construction of
anything but love and all other abstract
ideas - but what ideas are concrete? - that
poems such as this
conveniently and normally end with."

It sounds silly I guess, but I was so ridiculously nervous. You think I'd be all right after acting for several years, but it's different when the words are your own and not someone else's.

And I can't wait to do it again.

Then we café hopped. Hot damn I love indie kids.