Shadow Prison

This was the best Halloween, in several years. It felt like Halloween was on the decline for the past few, but it was good to see it bouncing back.

The house on the corner of my street used to have an elaborate display. Smoking Electric Chair and all that kind of fun stuff. It was good enough to have people from a local church come by and hassle the guy who lived there. They even brought police one time! (as if there was anything the police would do about it...they ended up being necessary, though. They had to restrain the bitter old woman because she was getting so worked up about this "unholy" house).

Anyway, he stopped decorating a few years back (I wonder if he got tired of dealing with their harassment) and a local church would put on these anti-halloween festivals (kids could come for games and rides, but costumes were prohibited). So it seemed like there were less houses decorating and less kids trick or treating around the neighborhood and it made me sad. I was like, "Damn, the haters are winning."

But this year was much more encouraging. Lots of houses had cool displays and there were plenty of trick or treaters in the streets. It was nice.


By the way, my neighbor is a physics professor so he carved a cool pumpkin pi geek-o-lantern. If you notice, I somehow managed to accidentally frame approximately 3.14159 pumpkins in this photograph! Righteous.




My kids were smooth witch criminals:




Although my friend says Zerrick looks more like Jack White than Michael Jackson.
I am fine with that.

Sometimes, there are stretches where I am scheduled for a cluster of features, so I try to make sure that there will be something unique happening at each one, in case anybody decides to see me more than once. I appreciated that Crystal, Nikki, Dani and Gary were all at my last three readings, so hopefully they got a sense of that.

I have had some memorable stage moments, but last night was absolutely the best. I was reading with, and to, some of the people who inspire me most. Most of these people have seen and heard plenty of poetry in their lives, so its a great challenge to try to surprise or impress a room like that. I was honored and really looking forward to being part of the best lineup I have ever been included in.

I said that I was very sorry that I wasn't dressed in disguise, since it was so close to Halloween... but some of my poems were like costumes. Then, I got to the heart of my set which was this series of poems:


Poem Yet To Be Written By David Chorlton
Poem Yet To Be Written By Cat Klotsche
Poem Yet To Be Written By Bill Campana
Poem Yet To Be Written By Jack Evans
Poem Yet To Be Written By Patrick Hare


I started with Chorlton's because I knew he wouldnt be there, so everyone was able to have a comfortable laugh, but when I followed it up with Cat's poem (who was in the audience) the room began to buzz. Since the last three were poets who were also featuring that same night, everything turned electric. Fortunately, they are all popular and frequent performers and the audience knew them well, so every verbal nuance, every favorite theme, every recurring image, gesture, inflection and manerism that I injected into these poems was greeted with howls of recognition. It was thrilling.

In the end, I think it was evident that I wasn't merely mocking anyone. I approached these pieces with the utmost sincerity and tried to convey the spirit of each of those poets. I was only able to do this, because I liked these poets enough to be familiar with their poetic tendencies. Okay, maybe some of the gestures seemed like mockery! haHA.

I am so glad that some of you were there to experience that, in person. I may read those pieces again, but the suspense and surprise that shot through the crowd last night (everyone wondering/fearing who might be my next impression) can never be recreated.


Jack, Bill, and Patrick were in top form last night, so I had such a great time just listening to them. You rarely get a chance to hear Jeff Falk do readings like this, but he is amazing and authentic. If you ever have the chance to see any of them, you will not be disappointed.

Here is a little video about CONSPIRE.

There is even a brief shot from my recent feature at that place.

FRIDAY -

Caffeine Corridor Poetry Series open mic
returns to Mama Javas Coffeehouse on Friday night!

We have two great features: Patrick Hare & Lynda Mae
for the low low one-time introductory rate of FREE

Looking at the calendar, this might be the last Caffeine Corridor event for awhile, so you don't want to miss it!

open mic starts at 7pm

Mama Javas Coffeehouse
3619 E. Indian School Rd.
Phx




SATURDAY -

All three of your beloved MamaJavas hosts will also be part of this amazing lineup!

-----------------------
SATURDAY OCTOBER 24, 2009 at 8PM

An evening of poetry/spoken word on the subjects of
*LOVE AND DEATH*
Second in a series by *The Poetry Industrial Complex*

October brings so much to Phoenix. Cooler temps.
The death of summer. The promise of the coming holiday season.
Halloween and Dio De Los Muertos. Good times.

For centuries writers have grappled with subjects near and dear to
the human condition. Have any themes of humanity been more
examined than those of romance and mortality? Doubt it.
And so DEUS EX MACHINA presents an evening of poetry and
spoken word by some of the Valley's most prominent wordsmiths.

The night is sure to be thought provoking, entertaining and more than a
little bit edgy. After all, this ain't your momma's poetry reading.

Featuring these fantabulous writers:
Jeff Falk
Jack Evans
Patrick Hare
Bill Campana
Myself
and others.....




*LOVE AND DEATH*
An evening of poetry and spoken word.
Admission $5.00 at the door.
For Mature Audiences

presented by

DEUS EX MACHINA
1023 NW Grand Avenue
Phoenix, AZ 85007
602.487.0669
http://improbable.art.googlepages.com

So earlier this week I had a cool feature at Conspire. It was on an outdoor stage and it was absolutely beautiful weather!
It was a lot of fun and I had Rocky adding all kinds of sound to my set. He had all kinds of "instruments" that he used for different pieces, ranging from ones you might expect (like drums, guitar, cello, some kind of stringed Vietnamese thingamajig) to chains, bic lighters, and typewriters.


On Friday, I stopped by Bragg's Pie Factory to see a piece that he made, for their Trash Art show (all pieces had to be made from recycled materials). I thought his piece was one of the best in the exhibit. Check it out:





He stretched out the tape from the cassette, to create the image. I thought that was so cool.
I told him that he needs to create a whole series of those. He wants to try some with VHS tapes, too.



.

I just got back from a late-nite walk and it was actually chilly. It was awesome!
I also inspired a police car to pull over and interrogate me.
Apparently, I look suspicious. That was not so awesome.

Reminded me to post these pics that I've gathered from my recent walks.



Top Four Cellphone Roadkill Pics:
















I only put that together, because of pic #3.
I saw that pizza in the road and it looked so gruesome, that I decided
to hunt down some "traditional" roadkill images, just to put it into context.


Where is MY First Friday gallery exhibit?

So I will be the featured poet, this Wednesday night at the Conspire open mic.





It's an eclectic event under the stars, that welcomes open mic sign-ups from readers and acoustic musicians.
So I thought I would put together a set with my musician friend Rocky (from the band Skinwalkers)
adding some sounds to my words.
It could either be glorious or a disaster...so it would be worth witnessing, either way!

Conspire Coffee/Boutique is located at 5th St. & Garfield (one block South of Roosevelt)
in downtown Phoenix.

We had a great night with the Caffeine Corridor reading. We had two strong rounds of open mic, a very good crowd, and Jessica and Klute were excellent! I loved the way the pairing turned out. Their stylistic contrasts really complimented each other. Jessica closed with a haunting piece about her father's death. There were some tears in some of the eyes, after that one. Klute followed with some hysterical pieces about the absurdity of this desert we call home and Girl Scout armies, when we were all in need of a good laugh.

This weekend, I rented The Last Word.



Wes Bentley stars as a poet, who makes a living by writing suicide notes for people who would like their final goodbyes to be memorable. He develops a relationship with the sister of one of his clients (Winona Ryder), but doesn't want to admit how he knows her deceased brother. 

It was a straight to DVD movie, but it certainly deserved some sort of theatrical run. I enjoyed every minute of it.




First, I forgot how gorgeous Winona Ryder was and still is.

Second, it had me thinking of other depictions of poets in film.
A few that came to my mind:


Blood Of A Poet
French Poet Jean Cocteau's surrealist classic is where I got my cool little icon.

I Heart Huckabees
The pretentious poet in the opening scene cracked me up.

Tom & Viv:
I thought Willem Dafoe made a good TS Eliot.

Il Postino
The lonely postman befriends the exiled Pablo Neruda, but there is nothing more poetic than the actor/writer who starred in the film, postponing heart surgery to complete the movie and suffering a fatal heart attack, the day after filming ended.



What good or bad examples come to your mind?

I was among the large crowd who squeezed into a small auditorium to hear Stephen Dobyns Thursday night and he immediately became one of my favorites.
His work seemed effortlessly hilarious or thoughtful...or a skillful combination of both. He closed with some beautiful long poems from an upcoming book. One explored the imagined relation between Basho and the current "demand-side economics of poetry." It was amazing.

I saw Tufik and Kylie's friend Hannah there, but I didn't get a chance to say hi.



One of the poems that left a vivid image:


Tenderly
by Stephen Dobyns
(originally found in the Ploughshares archives)


It’s not a fancy restaurant, nor is it
a dump and it’s packed this Saturday night
when suddenly a man leaps onto his tabletop,
whips out his prick and begins sawing at it


with a butter knife. I can’t stand it
anymore! he shouts. The waiters grab him
before he draws blood and hustle him
out the back. Soon the other diners return


to their fillets and slices of duck. How
peculiar, each, in some fashion, articulates.
Consider how the world implants a picture
in our brains. Maybe thirty people watched


this nut attack his member with a dull knife
and for each, forever after, the image pops up
a thousand times. I once saw the oddest thing—
how often does each announce this fact?


In the distant future, several at death’s door
once more recollect this guy hacking at himself
and die shaking their heads. So they are linked
as a family is linked—through a single portrait.


The man’s wobbly perch on the white tablecloth,
his open pants and strangled red chunk of flesh
become for each a symbol of having had precisely
enough, of slipping over the edge, of being whipped


about the chops by the finicky world, and of reacting
with a rash mutiny against the tyranny of desire.
As for the lunatic who was tossed out the back
and left to rethink his case among the trash cans,

who knows what happened to him? A short life,
most likely, additional humiliation and defeat.
But the thirty patrons wish him well. They all
have burdens to shoulder in this world and whenever


one feels the strap begin to slip, he or she thinks
of the nut dancing with his dick on the tabletop
and trudges on. At least life has spared me this,
they think. And one—a retired banker—represents


the rest when he hopes against hope that the lunatic
is parked on a topless foreign beach with a beauty
clasped in his loving arms, breathing heavily, Oh,
darling, touch me there, tenderly, one more time!

Mostly for my own records (so I can be sure to do something a little different, next time I feature),
setlist from my recent feature for the Phoenix Poetry Series:


opened with a cover of Nin Andrews' "Poets On Poets" (with Bryan and Rosemarie sharing lines on this one)
Dedication
September Issue
Do Androids Dream of Electronically-Deposited Unemployment Checks?
Unable To Surface for Air During Shark Week
Form Of Rejection (which Bill Campana really enjoyed, when he finally got to hear it)
Bookcase Inventory
Upon Impact
Celestial Bodies
Notes on a Kurosawa Film Festival
Ash to Ash to Dust to Stone
Uninvited Guest
haiku medley (swine flu, TS Eliot, Dear Gay People, Stephanie Meyer, and Hogwarts)
Avoiding Aphids
Beekeeping
Geometry of Truth
The Sacrifice
Why Poetry Readings Are Better Than Sex

I will be doing a half-hour poetry feature at Mama Javas Coffeehouse Thursday night.
Hosted by David Chorlton and Rosemarie Dombrowski.
There isn't any open mic, so it probably won't run too late.

Still deciding what to include in my set, but I plan to begin with a Nin Andrews cover and I'm going to make Rosemarie and Bryan Hall (he's the other feature for the night) help me read it. I'll have the three of us trade lines.

I've got an Akira Kurosawa piece that I'm becoming happy about. I tried to use references that are specific to a bunch of his films, but explore them in ways that can be appreciated, even if you havent seen Ikiru, Rashomon, etc. It's tricky.

I've also been saving a poem for this particular show. It's just something little, but I've been looking forward to reading it, finally. I have shown it to cksterling  and scottwoods  because they both have posted about the subject in the past.


Last night, Bakeem's feature in Glendale was awesome. I love his work.
Side note: I am always so good about putting my cell phone on SILENT when I am at readings, EXCEPT for this time!
So, of course I get a call AS I AM READING during the open mic. I happened to be reading a poem about phones, too! 
It must have appeared like I had that choreographed. bahaha!

Since I'll be doing a 30 minute feature at Mama Javas in a week and a half  (Thursday Aug 20th),
I didn't want to read much of my own poetry, last night. So I read several pieces from Denise Duhamel's book "KINKY." It's a collection of Barbie poems. I read:

Differently-Abled Barbies

"Barbie's hand melts into a finger-less fist
a nob, when someone leaves her on top of a stove"


Beatnik Barbie 

"Barbie couldn't snap
her fingers, venetian blinds
that refused to spread"


Antichrist Barbie

"She could turn her head all the way around
like Linda Blair, in The Exorcist..."


and I finished with Buddhist Barbie

In the 5th century B.C.
an Indian philosopher
Gautama teaches "All is emptiness" 
and "There is no self." 
In the 20th century A.D.
Barbie agrees, but wonders how a man 
with such a belly could pose, 
smiling, and without a shirt.

Wow, another great night at Mama Javas.
We had about 40 people, so there weren't enough seats to go around. That's always a good problem to have to deal with.
It was awesome that Jack was able to twist Annie's arm into featuring for us. I've never heard her read and it was well worth the wait.
Every week, we seem to luck into these unbelievable moments that add to our ever-expanding collective inside joke consciousness
and this was no exception! I can't get over a few of the things that happened, last night. Bahahaha!

A few leftover pics from the 4th of July.
Our friend is conducting an experiment that involved a steel wool pad, a wire coathanger, and a 9-volt battery.

Here are some of the fireworks from Saturday
in case you missed all of the Monday night fireworks at Sound Effects:

I read a new piece called Third of July, a revised account of last week's infamous feature, several Hal Sirowitz covers and some other random pieces. 









( thirteen more under the cut )

I am so glad I was at the Mama Javas open mic on Monday.

It's not very often that you get to see one person violate every one of your poetic precepts, in one half hour.



Arrive late enough to not only make an entrance, but to miss hearing what kind of poetry you are up against?? Check!

Bring a traveling entourage that consists only of your mom, just to project an awkward vibe from the very start? Check!

Give yourself an obnoxious stage name? Check!

Unfurl a gigantic banner displaying a graphics school dropout conceived logo? Check!

Undermine your own words, by reciting them over gimmicky music from your iPod? Check!

Unleash a non-stop barrage of well-worn cliches? Check!

Announce that you are in the process of ditching your obnoxious stage name, for a new stage name that promises to be even more obnoxious? Check!

Force people at the back of the room to begin giggling uncontrollably, as if they are trying in vain to be quiet during a church sermon? Check!

Allow the flimsy imagery of your writing to be upstaged by the vivid imagery of your tattoos? Check!

Confess that your ambition is to sell out your self-published chapbooks, not so you can get started on a new one, but so you can re-print those old ones with your updated stage name? Check!

Clear the room of half of the people who were hoping to hear some poetry? Check!

Manage to avoid stumbling onto one single line or phrase that resonates enough to be remembered the next day? Check!

as read at Mama Javas last night:


Dear Gay People haiku:


thanks for ruining
sanctity of governor
Mark Sanford's marriage