In which I see a poetry slam

Posted: 03/31/2011 in Uncategorized

At my little cousin’s school there’s a bully who goes around with a little voice recorder hidden up his sleeve, taped to his wrist. He records himself making fun of other kids. The saddest part is how goddamn smart that little asshole is.

If I had a voice recorder hidden up my sleeve I would be taping this fantastically, wonderfully ugly-ass poetry open mic with all these college kids pouring their hearts into their novice work. They wouldn’t know they were being recorded so I’d get all the spikes in the sound system, all the nervous mispronounced words and tongue-trips. These kids care so damn much. If this place did tabs I’d let them all put a drink on mine. Hidden voice recorder: best idea ever.

No, really, there actually are some fully decent poets here too.

I was at a slam last night. The guy who won did it with a poem about how much he hates listening to amateurs read poetry. The judges held up their 9.5’s and I went what? That shit was pure hate. The dude was just waving his dick around at the least threatening people in the room. It’s the kind of poem that only other poets can appreciate, and that only to snicker and whisper omg it’s so true amirite. Nobody’s going to remember it tomorrow. His first poem was better, too bad I forgot it due to hate.

Lady up front said “M. do you want to be judge?”

I said “What are the qualifications?”

She said “You know what you like, you’re fair and consistent.”

I said “I know what I like but I’m not fair and I’m definitely not consistent.”

I didn’t get to be a judge.

Afterwards I went to the corporate-ass grocery store to get some ice motherfuckin cream and I started freaking out. Last time this happened I quit eating meat. I listen to my freakouts; they’re usually right. I listened last night, I said “What do you want me to do freakout?” but my freakout didn’t say anything that made sense.

On the weekend I was dozing in the sun, watching a bug crawl across a door jamb. Now it’s snowing.

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