07/26/01
The obsessive compulsive in me is silently self-flagellating because I neglected to re-mention it yesterday. Especially when I consider that I wrote about 6 long detailed lists.
Thought of the day.
When your foot or your butt falls asleep, the rest of your body should soon follow. Otherwise you will fall and twist your ankle. Hard.
Ouch dammit. Allow myself to throw myself from my desk to my bed and crawl under the covers using only my upper body strength.
Wee.
Some thoughts on APA Open Mike Poetry Slam Reading Thingamaroos
Eye,
I
Aiiiiiieeee.
I do not write
spoken
word
poetry.
I
lack
the
RAGE
the
volatile
cadence
of
urban
beats
the
shattered
glass
on
asphalt
streets
sharp
shiny
hard
and
black
like
my
eyes
obsidian
to
my
conflicted
soul cries
Eye,
I
Aiiiiiieeee.
I cannot
discern
the
piccolo
of memory
sung
and shadowed
in
drum
and
dance.
Sharp
and
shocking
like
ice
chewed
lips cut
while in a
fury
trance.
Eye,
I
Aiiiiiieeee.
I lack soul
and rap
and ghetto
slang.
My
ears
drip
from
bulleted
words
like
fuck
cunt
clit
shit
and
ching, chong, chang.
These
words
are clumsy
on
my tongue
Not
used to
sta – CA – To
expression
from
these
flat
chested
lungs.
With
whispers
that fall
in
still
crisp
pleats
Without
stereophonic
volume
are
my
words
so
weak?
Eye,
I
Aiiiiiieeee.
I
am
not
amused
by
words
that
fall
limp dicked
without
VOLUME.
without
gesture
of
shoulder
hip
and swivvle head jerk
Bad
performance
poetry
gives me
flashbacks
of
singing
Captain Kirk.
Eye,
I
Aiiiiiieeee.
I did not grow up
under
constant
oppression
and
conflict
skin scored
by gravel
Choking
on
rage
spitting
words
that
unravel
revealing
constant
distemper
revealing
constant
unease
revealing
frustration
revealing
locks
without
keys
Eye,
I
Aiiiiiieeee.
cannot
write such things
steel
tempered
in flame
while
giving
props to
my hood
I remember too well
from whence
I
came
My tongue trips
tangled
tedious
and trialed
But I
cannot
speak
in public
when so agitated.
So riled.
Especially
when
my
rhymes
lean
towards
tender
weary.
mild.
My
brother
my
sister
we
have
the
same
eyes
I don’t
deny
you
your
talent
wit
passion
and
rise
Keep
shrieking
and
singing
sha-do-wing
your
body cries
Your
words
are
hard
bullets
they
spray
and
they hit
I just
don’t
want
to read
into
a
mic
full
of
your
spit.