Poetry Unplugged

Poetry Unplugged's cave

Poetry Unplugged is the only open mic I've read at in London. It's not because I like the room which is the tiny basement of the Poetry Cafe. Yes, it has a certain funky charm but it also gets very crowded, stuffy and extremely hot. And it's not because everything read at Poetry Unplugged, or any open mic, spoken word or slam event, is wonderful because it's not. It's because Poetry Unplugged is early enough, it's not held in a shitty, noisy bar and, for the most part, the people who show up to read there are not pretentious dicks who swagger through their own reading then leave.

The credit goes to the MC, poet Niall O'Sullivan. He does a wonderful job of keeping things interesting, fair, fun and moving. That said, included below is a review of the event which, to my delight and his credit, Niall posted on his own blog.

One of the worst evenings I’ve ever endured was at an event called Poetry Unplugged. About 50 people were crammed into a sweaty basement, all perched expectantly on orange plastic chairs. How nice, I thought, to see such an enthusiastic audience for poetry. As one figure after another leapt up to read their doggerel, the truth dawned. They were all here not to listen, but to perform. They would suffer each other's poetic rants, but only for their moment of glory. A woman in a red wig recited a poem about her vagina. A man in a blue jumper did a lengthy lament on lost love. It was a very long night.

Duh. Of course people are there to read but it's not the feeding frenzy this nube describes. Generally people are pretty open to each other at readings but come on! Why wouldn't that include a little quid pro quo? Yet, for all the years I've read at these things, I am still prone to what is sometimes breath stopping shyness. At the reading two weeks ago it hit me full force. By my second poem I basically caught up with my breath but that night I never fully got into the words.

Uncle Monkey, Ugly Bear and Clarence
discussing my NaNo manuscript

This week I was more at ease. The difference? Before reading I acknowledged my nervousness to the audience. Simple, right? No. When I got to the mic it was all I could do to glance at people and whisper, "I'm really nervous". Still it was enough to break the tension. It also helped I read Jazz which is more a performance piece than anything else.

I extracted it from the NaNoWriMo "novel" I wrote a few years ago. In fact, thus far these four paragraphs are all I have used from that entire 50,000 word manuscript. No worries. I may even write a second one some November. I loved banging through a month of crazy intensity, 2000 words a day, the world be damned, though no doubt it helped that I had zero expectations and no plot. I naturally share the NaNo point of view, "No plot? No Problem!". 

The cafe is now closed until the first of September. We leave London in about a week so that's it for me this time around.

FiveOWriteO

The term came out of one of those word jazz sessions Kristiana, M. Lee and I were having the other day, at my expense. At the time it was FiveOWriMo. Later I changed it to FiveOWriteO or its colloquial fiveowriteo. Of course, both are based on the now famous NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) which has, over the years, kicked a significant number of people off their duffs to take the plunge, resulting in huge gobs and boatloads of words getting launched during the month of November and some manuscripts actually becoming published works of whatever. Even I managed to assemble 50,000 words one November spurred on by the collective frenzy. Don't ask. The deal with FiveOWriteO is to write for five minutes everyday, one day at a time. Of course, a commitment to write five, f-i-v-e,  5 little minutes a day will only be of interest to individuals suffering from writer's block, which includes me. "Writers write, Owen" . Smirk all you like, writer's block is a drag. So, of course, the important thing about a FiveOWriteO is the word "write" because write is a verb.

And yes, I've been telling myself for years to set a daily time and write. I used to tell myself to write four hours a day. When I failed at that I lowered the time to two hours a day, that became one, then one half-hour, which worked until it didn't.

I've been doing my fiveowriteo for about a month now and have gotten quite attached to this little morning interlude. God, that must sound so pathetic. I am embarrassed to discuss it, even here, but now Roy at Blogorahma has upped the stakes and started occasionally posting his five minutes worth (thanks a lot, Roy). His, of course, are good. Mine are not and they are really short but, these days, I'm grateful to be writing at all so, in the spirit of fun and fair play, I am posting this morning's fiveowriteo.

It's hard to make a beginning without a starting point. I do not have one. I start over and over from the middle of nowhere. Is it some kind of twisted snobbery to forego a beginning? A foundation? An idea? The spiral continues its twist. Over and over, Billy (Collins) starts at his window. It is not his privilege alone, something he himself makes abundantly clear. "The poets are at their windows." And I am at mine only, for now, my window is the screen porch.

I am sitting in my screen porch. It is morning. The black birds are at work on the peanuts and seeds. It is 2:26 PM in Addis Ababa. I have never been to Addis Ababa but have wondered about it since I was a child. I leave the porch and wander the shade of its narrow, winding, packed-sand passageways which open occasionally onto bazaars filled with wares and food of every description. The whole scene is ablaze with color and swelters under makeshift canopies and tents and throbs with a cacophony of voices, braying, cawing, banging and music. People look down on the scene from tiny balconies attached to brightly painted buildings.

And then I am back on Alligator Creek with the dive-bombing black birds who, in the time it took to visit Addis Ababa and return, snatched all the peanuts from under Frida Kahlo the squirrel's memorial pineapple palm tree before the squirrels arrive.

References:
Friday by Roy deGregory
Monday by Billy Collins

How to avoid meaningful work and meaningless despair

In case you happen to be doing NaNoWriMo this year, Paula over at Lite Motifs has posted a list of things you can do to avoid working on your project. Her suggestions are very useful, not only for NaNoers, but for anyone wanting to distract themselves from pressing and important work. And, as distraction is my special area of expertise, I felt compelled to add a couple of ideas to her list. They work. I myself managed to waste today's precious last hour of daylight drudging them up and writing this post.

For starters, try this zippy but soothing video of guys getting left behind when the International Space Station reboosts. Then watch and re-watch it again and again and again for, you know, as many times as you can stand it.

And if you still need more, because if you're looking for more you've already watch an ungodly number of cat videos, there are always surfer dog videos. I include them as a special homage to dear little Bella the happy dog, recently departed. Surfer dog videos are like popcorn. You mindlessly want more, even during times of deep despair when life is slipping through your fingers and you are crushed by an overwhelming sense of meaningless tedium and you are least able to remember when you last had even one fleeting second of fun.

More surfer dog videos.

We just got back from Southern Oregon. We were there to attend a going away party for a longtime friend who is moving to Portland which is located far far away at the other end of the state. About 150 people showed up. It was very nice. Everybody loves him. He's a sweet guy. And we saw lots of old friends. After the slideshow, whoever wanted to shared at the mic and the event took a decided turn, becoming more a memorial than farewell roast. The fact is, he is dying. Everybody knows it. Nobody mentioned it but most of us realized we will probably never see him again. Life. We are now entering the part where, one by one, we begin leaving the stage.

And I got a rejection (with comments) from The Fine Line, one of the magazines to which I recently submitted poems. In case you're wondering, a rejection with comments is preferable to getting a rejection without one. I submitted two poems to this particular magazine. The other is still "in progress".

NaNo's end and holiday cheer

Virginia City, Nevada
Big happings around the Language Barrier. First off, my daughter and her very nice fiance came home for a Thanksgiving visit. We had a great time. Also, I finished NaNoWriMo while they were here. That's 50,000 words in one month, babeee! Naturally my ... uh... novel ... is crap, throat clearing, but I expected that. It was all about the word count. It is a beginning or not but at least I got out from under the boot of the bastard inner editor for a month. And like they say, you can't edit a blank page. Anyway, I hate to disappoint you but that's it for the What I did on Thanksgiving and My NaNoWriMo posts for now. I've got errands to finish before the snow hits. In the meantime, here's a little casino love to keep you going. I recorded this from the platform of the huge, crazy, indoor mining diorama at the Silver Legacy in Reno. Enjoy.




Silver Legacy casino, Reno, Nevada
00:58











nanowrimo

Life beyond NaNoWriMo?

Twilight.
Nevada State Legislature
from Comma Coffee

I didn't get any writing done today and less than a thousand yesterday so tomorrow it's back to Comma Coffee for a NaNoDay ... just me and the laptop, no editor, no plot, no problem. I'm doing okay, 38,008 words - 51 pages, but I have to keep at it. I would like to be done by the time my daughter and her finance arrive next week for Thanksgiving. Here's what's odd. At this point I have separation anxiety whenever I think about finishing this thing. I have grown very fond of NaNoWriMo.










NaNoWriMo

Litte Cat and Lucy

I spent the afternoon at the Comma again today working on my word count, aka NaNo novel. There was a bit of drama there the other day. Little Cat found Lucy the Snake after she had been missing and feared dead for over a week. Some kid let her out. It was a true Comma drama. As it turned out Lucy was hiding under the dresser where her terrarium sits and Little Cat, now local hero, sniffed her out.


I made of video of Lucy gulping water after returning home from her harrowing misadventure but unfortunately last night it "went away" while I was trying to edit it down. I don't exactly know what happened other than the fact that I shouldn't fiddle with shit when I'm already too tired to sleep.

Anyway, here's another video from the Comma....

LITTLE CAT & COFFEE STRAW
00:18

Don't shoot the piano player!

Piano serenade, Comma Coffee in the morning

Friday was a long day in NaNoWriMo land. I met some friends in the morning at the Comma for a NaNo write and stayed until 4:30. Susan did about 3500 words but I didn't even break a thousand. I don't work well mixing writing time with a social event. I didn't go to the Reno write yesterday for the same reason. Rasabhasa. In general though the Comma is a fine place to write, surf, read, meet friends, day dream, study, people watch, give a poetry reading, oh and get a cup of coffee or have a few drinks. It's directly across the street from the Nevada State Legislature and in the middle of the legal district, even the Governor lives a few blocks away so on any given day you might see politicians, skate boarders, lawyers, outlaws, old ladies playing Mahjong, the cat, or geeks on laptops wiling away the hours together. This morning some guy cranked out a couple of saloon tunes to nobody in particular on the tin-voiced piano. If you listen carefully to the video, you can hear snippets in the background of a conversation a couple of women are having with an 82 year old man about the politics of "messin' around." Nevada. Ya gotta love it.

NaNo9

So far the denizens of NaNoWriMo have churned out nearly 300 million word since the beginning of the month and just over 18,000 of them mine ... screamin', eyes closed, seat of the pants BAD writing but it's all about the word count, babee. It's madness but as I've gotten through the first week and am still on the word track I decided to dig in deeper by posting the NaNo participant badge in the sidebar. Now my neck is really on the block. Yikes! Okay. Gotta run. I'm going to a Reno write-in tonight and lots to do before then.

Carson City Friday nanowrite

I am meeting a couple of other people at Comma Coffee this Friday for a NaNo write-in. We'll be there from 10:30 in the morning until whenever. Join us if you can.


NaNoWriMo is madness and I love/hate it but whatever I think about it, I have currently written over 11,000 word because of it. I even wake up in the morning with the silly little NaNoWriMo song running through my head:

It's November. Here we go again.
NaNoWriMo. Here we go again.
I'll be writin' fifty thousand words.
I may go crazy before the end.

Mr. Lee is even infected with it. Hahaha!


Note to the Inner Critic: FUCK OFF! It's all about the word count babeee.

Chillin'

Things are pretty mellow around here right now. After his stunning Halloween performance last night Lucky Pete is basking in the whole troupe's admiration. In fact he has been hanging out with Monsieur La Chance all day, who has taken him under his wing and been trying to convince him to give up, as he says, that bastard version of his fine French name. It is his opinion, of course, that form is everything but we shall see. Lucky Pete, or Pierre as the case may be, is a proud fellow even in a clown suit and obviously not one to be controlled by other people's or cat's opinions.

As for me, I wrote 2955 words on this, the first day of NaNoWriMo. PURE CRAP! TERRIBLE STUFF! I'd rather throw myself off a cliff and into the thrashing sea than let anyone read it but hey, it's all about the word count. When I was done my head felt like a blob of sour, warm meat. Well that's it from this outpost border crossing. Now I'm off to Otherland. G'night.

Halloween and NaNoWriMo eve

Tonight marks two distinct, but not wholly dissimilar, events. Grito and Lucky Pete (as he calls himself these days) have been outside waiting since this afternoon but trick or treaters didn't appear until after dark.




After the children are gone and the streets are completely given over to the spirits of the underworld the second phase of the night begins. Then my friend Susan and I are going to meet at a nearby casino coffee shop to await the final stroke of midnight. Then the dead return to the nether regions. Then the mad soul of NaNoWriMo rises in the infernal dark. Then the writing begins.

Halloween

NaNoWriMo again?

As we're on the subject of no fee writing contests (this one accepts donations) it's worth mentioning that NaNoWriMo is upon us once again. It starts November 1st. Write 50,000 words next month and ... well ... you'll have a 175-page novel in your hands on midnight, November 30. Your own. I'm actually thinking about it myself this year. I'm in a rut. How about you?


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