Rust Belt Musings
I don't know how to write this post except to just let it out stream-of-consciousness and leave it on the floor.
After doing theater, I think slam has a lot in common with it, scene wise. That's not a compliment. I heard some really well-written rants, and a bit of poetry. I designated myself the East German judge, and got flinched at by a poet that wasn't even competing. Yikes.
Delrica rocks. And poets whose names I see more often intimidate me. I gotta get over that.
Got several dirty looks from females this weekend. I guess you do remember me. I'm gonna keep being his friend, but I'm not gonna start slamming again all of a sudden (that's a lie- I promised Linc I would). OK, let the hate continue.
I think there are people out there who love to see folks fail, just so they can say "I told you so." Way to be, dickheads. Having said that, I think it's a lose-lose proposition to try to prove yourself to someone who can't love you because they fear you, and I think it's sad that students and teachers cannot surpass each other fluidly and regularly.
And I think Bob is a doomsdayer who's lost his will to subsist, much less thrive, in disgust. But that's back home.
I heard a lot of people whose work I respect this weekend. Some of them surprised me with how good they were. Good job.
Festival Latino rocks- poetry and Albita (with empanadas) all in the same weekend. Yesh!
Maybe it was me not competing, but I think Ed did a good job. A great job, if you look at it as Ed organizing and others helping here and there. I just chilled and let the atmosphere flow over me. I like poets' energy. And have you ever been to a Prince concert? It gives you perspective on time and delays.
Can't we all just get along? No, really.
I judged a crap-ton this weekend, and Toni got in on one bout, too. I guess being less affiliated than everyone else helps. This RustBelt reminded me a lot of the 2004 event in Cleveland, except there were more people. Mostly poets, but more people. But finals? It wasn't score creep. It was score-tastic. Where can you go from 9.8?
Judging clarified for me what I'm looking for in a poem I write. Tells me I'm near writing (poetry) again, but not quite yet.
I did not meet nearly enough folks this weekend. Did the heat turn folks off, or was I out of the loop since I wasn't competing?
Ambition can turn into pride, and we all know about pride and falls...
Wonder Dave- your pigtails bring me joy. Yup, they do.
Alvin Lau is the most honest cheater I know. I hope to forge some type of friendship with him- he cracks me up.
I know of JW Baz. And that's Bill Abbott! And that's Purity! And that's Donyell! It's nice to put faces with electronic personas.
Epiphany- yes, girl. Yes.
Mo Browne won my heart and made me too shy to meet her.
Scott Woods- Comfort Woman- uh-huh. Beauty.
Linc- me and you, forever babe. Thanks for always being there to remind me what it's about. Poetry. And family. Thanks.
Jason Braswell is back!!! Dude, you made me pee a little. Rose, man, forget you. You made me cry. I hate crying.
Where would I be if I hadn't stopped writing? Man, these cats have grown in three years. Shit. I suck.
I wanna develop a big old poetry group hug that eliminates egos. Or if Dave Nichols just smiled at everyone first. And then took their quickening. How can someone so nice do that to people? You're a bad man.
Columbus, watch out if I actually can move there. Watch.The.Fuck.Out.
The Cincinnati Kid
[edited to remove potentially pejorative question marks and replace with a-ha excalmation points]