So I'm posting here about two weeks after my last post. Really, I've been extremely busy with work and such. I've also been focused on writing poetry and really haven't had time to bother with a blog.
I went to the slam on Sunday, right after about a foot of snow had fallen. I entered, after not thinking I would enter. I scored two tens and still didn't make it to the second round. Ah, the piece I did about working in a corporate call centre and comparing it to rape and sodomy is a piece you either love or hate.
Something I've observed about Toronto. Many, many people love this city. They've all lived here at one time or another. Many people absolutely despise this city. They've never tried living here. Long live Toronto. To the detractors, we'll be fine without you.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Friday, December 7, 2007
Time Kills Everything
Blanks are fired from the mind's machine gun.
The gun is empty.
The holes in the bottom of the Uzi
kind of look like my brain,
though I've seen as much of it
as I have of God.
Both are thought-based representations.
My mind feels like a tree so decayed,
one can see through me.
Perhaps it's like that tree in South Africa.
There's a bar inside. Really. I read about it.
I've never been there.
Perhaps my head's like memories of Chuck E. Cheese.
Holes I could walk through and get lost in.
Everything seems so big when you're six.
I remember quarreling with a friend
over He-Man figures.
We vowed to never speak again.
Later that afternoon,
our excursion to Chuck E. Cheese came.
My first valuable lesson in life came at age six
and took 20 years to accept.
Good and bad.
Wellness and sickness.
Happiness and anger.
Time kills everything.
The gun is empty.
The holes in the bottom of the Uzi
kind of look like my brain,
though I've seen as much of it
as I have of God.
Both are thought-based representations.
My mind feels like a tree so decayed,
one can see through me.
Perhaps it's like that tree in South Africa.
There's a bar inside. Really. I read about it.
I've never been there.
Perhaps my head's like memories of Chuck E. Cheese.
Holes I could walk through and get lost in.
Everything seems so big when you're six.
I remember quarreling with a friend
over He-Man figures.
We vowed to never speak again.
Later that afternoon,
our excursion to Chuck E. Cheese came.
My first valuable lesson in life came at age six
and took 20 years to accept.
Good and bad.
Wellness and sickness.
Happiness and anger.
Time kills everything.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
A Ramble
So tonight I was sitting down and writing poetry. Microsoft Word did not recognize what I thought was a word (gover). I went to a few online sources and they pretty much told me I was nuts for thinking it was a real word, though I'm sure I'd heard it before. So I went to my ol' Oxford dictionary, which is quite old now and it confirmed gover is not a word. However, I stumbled across an interesting definition of goth (keep in mind this dictionary is from the late 80s). It's definition:
Uncivilized or ignorant person, comparable to Goths who invaded Roman Empire in 3rd-5th c.
Quite humorous. I imagine a newer version would be different. Which means perhaps I should pick up a newer version that's from the 90s, at least. But it reminds me of a book a friend once showed me which they picked up at a book sale. It was written in the early 60s by some psychologist and was about methods of curing homosexuality.
I was hearing good reviews of the film Control. I'm a Joy Division fan and finally did get to see this tonight. A friend and I have wanted to see this together for some time, but our schedules never matched. Overall, I wasn't too impressed. The cinematography was quite basic and the movie didn't really tell me anything I didn't already know about Ian Curtis or Joy Division and the performances were average and nothing to rave about.
Uncivilized or ignorant person, comparable to Goths who invaded Roman Empire in 3rd-5th c.
Quite humorous. I imagine a newer version would be different. Which means perhaps I should pick up a newer version that's from the 90s, at least. But it reminds me of a book a friend once showed me which they picked up at a book sale. It was written in the early 60s by some psychologist and was about methods of curing homosexuality.
I was hearing good reviews of the film Control. I'm a Joy Division fan and finally did get to see this tonight. A friend and I have wanted to see this together for some time, but our schedules never matched. Overall, I wasn't too impressed. The cinematography was quite basic and the movie didn't really tell me anything I didn't already know about Ian Curtis or Joy Division and the performances were average and nothing to rave about.
Monday, November 26, 2007
It's Been a Week
It's been six days since last Tuesday, which must mean it's Monday.
I have been meaning to rave for a week about the experience I had last week. On Tuesday I was at the Plasticine Poetry Series. Yes, there were good performances by Kate Marshall Flaherty, Phlip Arima and Myna Wallin. However, one performance stood out above all....my open-mic performance...was not it. It was the performance of Lara Bozabalian. She's a Toronto-area high school teacher. I've heard her read at various open mics and poetry slams. Now, I always thought her work was good, but could never say, until last Tuesday, I was blown away by her work. I was especially blown away by a piece called Eraser Marks, which deals with adults putting pressure on children, at least that's my interpretation. I've never been a fan of reviewing poetry in depth as there can be many interpretations and it's almost unfair to even attempt to deconstruct one's work when you're not even sure if you're going about it the right way. Sure, we can comment on the use of imagery, overall message, if there is a very clear one, and use of language, but to go in depth and discuss whether or not someone is "hitting the point" needs ability to read the mind of the poet. I know of one poet here in Toronto who is a professional tarot card reader, so that may count for something (Clara Blackwood. Go to her book launch for Subway Medusa next Wednesday at Bar Italia. Buy me a drink while you're at it as I'll be there. Kick some ass Clara.)
Let me get back to Lara. As I told her, she's no longer just pretty good, she's pretty great. Her reading style at first may lead you to believe she's either incredibly nervous or broken-hearted. I can't comment if either is true. All I know is it's her style, unique and she need not change it.
So I was in Peterborough this weekend visiting friends and family. On Saturday night I discover a couple of guys who occasionally busk outside the liquor store around the corner (a stone's throw away if you have a quarterback's arm) were actually from Peterborough and I walked into their gig at The Pig's Ear Tavern. They're a bluegrass band called The County Boys. They're quite good. Afterward at the Spill some garage rock band were playing who were quite good. I have no idea who they were and likely never will.
On Sunday I sat down with my father watching the Grey Cup. My father's drunken commentary as if he was an expert on the CFL was more entertaining than the game, and that wasn't saying much, though the game did pick up the pace toward the end. At one point I joked my dad should go apply for a coaching job in the CFL or to be a commentator. But afterward we watched the end of the Sunday night NFL game, which was much more exciting, to be honest.
I have been meaning to rave for a week about the experience I had last week. On Tuesday I was at the Plasticine Poetry Series. Yes, there were good performances by Kate Marshall Flaherty, Phlip Arima and Myna Wallin. However, one performance stood out above all....my open-mic performance...was not it. It was the performance of Lara Bozabalian. She's a Toronto-area high school teacher. I've heard her read at various open mics and poetry slams. Now, I always thought her work was good, but could never say, until last Tuesday, I was blown away by her work. I was especially blown away by a piece called Eraser Marks, which deals with adults putting pressure on children, at least that's my interpretation. I've never been a fan of reviewing poetry in depth as there can be many interpretations and it's almost unfair to even attempt to deconstruct one's work when you're not even sure if you're going about it the right way. Sure, we can comment on the use of imagery, overall message, if there is a very clear one, and use of language, but to go in depth and discuss whether or not someone is "hitting the point" needs ability to read the mind of the poet. I know of one poet here in Toronto who is a professional tarot card reader, so that may count for something (Clara Blackwood. Go to her book launch for Subway Medusa next Wednesday at Bar Italia. Buy me a drink while you're at it as I'll be there. Kick some ass Clara.)
Let me get back to Lara. As I told her, she's no longer just pretty good, she's pretty great. Her reading style at first may lead you to believe she's either incredibly nervous or broken-hearted. I can't comment if either is true. All I know is it's her style, unique and she need not change it.
So I was in Peterborough this weekend visiting friends and family. On Saturday night I discover a couple of guys who occasionally busk outside the liquor store around the corner (a stone's throw away if you have a quarterback's arm) were actually from Peterborough and I walked into their gig at The Pig's Ear Tavern. They're a bluegrass band called The County Boys. They're quite good. Afterward at the Spill some garage rock band were playing who were quite good. I have no idea who they were and likely never will.
On Sunday I sat down with my father watching the Grey Cup. My father's drunken commentary as if he was an expert on the CFL was more entertaining than the game, and that wasn't saying much, though the game did pick up the pace toward the end. At one point I joked my dad should go apply for a coaching job in the CFL or to be a commentator. But afterward we watched the end of the Sunday night NFL game, which was much more exciting, to be honest.
Monday, November 19, 2007
3 a.m. I Must be Lonely
And I'll say, no I'm not a Matchbox 20 fan.
I entered another smaller slam last night. I just got squeezed out of the second round, but did a helluva lot better than last time. I was drawn to go first. Poetry is a passion for me. I had a blast there last night at The Press Club. Gypsy Eyes won and deservedly so. It's rare when one wins the slam who I feel really deserved it. Often really good poets get knocked out of the early rounds, etc.
It is 3 a.m. I must sleep and will write more later. If you happen to read this, sorry for the short posting.
I entered another smaller slam last night. I just got squeezed out of the second round, but did a helluva lot better than last time. I was drawn to go first. Poetry is a passion for me. I had a blast there last night at The Press Club. Gypsy Eyes won and deservedly so. It's rare when one wins the slam who I feel really deserved it. Often really good poets get knocked out of the early rounds, etc.
It is 3 a.m. I must sleep and will write more later. If you happen to read this, sorry for the short posting.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Life
So I entered the Toronto Poetry Slam on Saturday. Walking back to my chair I heard all the scores and realized, even though I was the second reader, I was out. My score was 22.8, which is pretty lousy. It's hard to do well when you're reading early on, especially when the one who went right before you did a piece moreorless about the topic you had and was better than you. To me, it's the poetry that matters. It's the passion that matters. I don't care too much. Tonight I wrote a slam piece called "I finished last in the Toronto Poetry Slam." Really, I didn't finish last, but I came close.
Tonight I was at a pub I often go to in my neighbourhood. There are these two guys who are there almost every time drinking shots of tequila talking like Brooklyn mobsters. "Fuck, I bet a hundred bucks on da Niners and they're not doing shit." "So Kanye West's Mom died. It was a facelift or some shit like dat. Serves him right. He's an asshole. Always ranting about George Bush hating black people and how he can't win awards because he's black. Green Day's the only white band to win awards recently Fuck Kanye West." Then they pissed off the guy beside me who I thought was Mediterranean, but was actually East Indian. They kept referring to him as "de guy from Harold and Kumar." Yeah, that's pretty lame. If you're actually there to witness these guys, they're funny with they're obnoxiousness, mainly because they're silly. When they leave, the joint becomes quiet and everyone jokes about them in their best Brooklyn accents.
But I don't think I really need to say, racism ain't cool.
Tonight I was at a pub I often go to in my neighbourhood. There are these two guys who are there almost every time drinking shots of tequila talking like Brooklyn mobsters. "Fuck, I bet a hundred bucks on da Niners and they're not doing shit." "So Kanye West's Mom died. It was a facelift or some shit like dat. Serves him right. He's an asshole. Always ranting about George Bush hating black people and how he can't win awards because he's black. Green Day's the only white band to win awards recently Fuck Kanye West." Then they pissed off the guy beside me who I thought was Mediterranean, but was actually East Indian. They kept referring to him as "de guy from Harold and Kumar." Yeah, that's pretty lame. If you're actually there to witness these guys, they're funny with they're obnoxiousness, mainly because they're silly. When they leave, the joint becomes quiet and everyone jokes about them in their best Brooklyn accents.
But I don't think I really need to say, racism ain't cool.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
The Beginning
I guess this is my first post on Blogger. I had a Myspace blog way back when and technically I still do. Myspace got annoying as a Web site some time ago and I rarely log on. I'll probably end up posting a lot of poetry and the like whenever/if I start taking this blog seriously. I'll probably vent about pet peeves (people with full shopping carts in the express line, people who block escalators and stairways to subway tracks, etc.)
I'm mad about the Raptors losing three in a row. I hope they don't go back to being horrible. I just simply expect the Leafs to be horrible nowadays. They're run by an imbecile in JF Jr. who has great ideas like resigning the whole team he can't win with and trying to win with them the next year. I've virtually stopped paying attention to the Leafs. I only caught parts of both games last night as I was at the Art Bar Poetry Series for Shane Koyczan and Bob Snider. It was a great show.
I'm mad about the Raptors losing three in a row. I hope they don't go back to being horrible. I just simply expect the Leafs to be horrible nowadays. They're run by an imbecile in JF Jr. who has great ideas like resigning the whole team he can't win with and trying to win with them the next year. I've virtually stopped paying attention to the Leafs. I only caught parts of both games last night as I was at the Art Bar Poetry Series for Shane Koyczan and Bob Snider. It was a great show.