The toilet that's been leaking for months, we've been waiting on someone to fix it because we'd rather give him the money than someone else.
The electric outlet below the toilet that recently went out, see above.
The starlings that are living under the eaves, I think there are squirrels in there now. Called a pest control service, they'll be here Monday.
My son's doctor called regarding the feeding clinic. She did not leave a return number. I called the number listed in the hospital and got the voice mail of another doctor. We already have an appointment with her next Thursday. Does she not know or remember this?
My son's in a messed up sleep pattern, again. He's a random noise generator which is rather uninspiring at 3AM. Also, getting him to listen to me and fall asleep is a futile effort.
The Mets suck. Their relief pitching is pathetic. Their ability to score runs is non-existant. I feel sorry for Matt Harvey, the next Jerry Koosman. I'd also feel bad for David Wright if the checks start bouncing.
The lawn mower was repaired nicely, but I put the wrong mixture of gas and oil in. Now it takes awhile to start and has little power when it does. The smoke is fun, too.
I have written very little this month, and what I have written is crap. The way to get out there is to do good work, it's not happening here.
Paging and notes for a special fiction collection.
My neighbor's tree is pushing against my fence, causing a disturbing gap. They also leave their puppy and other dogs out late. They bark. It is sad. I have no idea how many dogs they have, or if they, too, keep them chained up in the basement. Other tenants there have done this.
I do not feel like I exist. This is wrong, but it's a feeling I cannot shake as May begins.
Showing posts with label bad poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bad poetry. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Saturday, June 16, 2012
She laughs in her sleep. He transcends poetry
A couple of weeks ago a conversation about a film about slam poetry came up on Scott Woods' Facebook page. It did not sound like a good film, but I went to Amazon to check on its availability. Turns out, the DVD cost six bucks and change, which included shipping, so I bought it and thought we could invite a few people to the house, have a few beverages and razz the shit out of the movie. MST3K style.
It got a bit bigger than that, Scott booked a room for us, and a dozen people showed up for a screening of the film Street Poet.
Now, you may be confused by the title Fighting Words. That is because the film was originally released in 2007 with that title, then, for some unknown reason, perhaps to squeeze a few more pennies out of the turd, it was re-released with the new title.
I was intrigued because Fred Willard appeared as Longfellow, the host of the poetry slam. It also had Fred "The Hammer" Williamson as some sort of Mr. Miyagi type character. One of the stars is C. Thomas "Pony Boy" Howell, with an abusive soul patch. Plus, a character named Benny the Heckler. How can you not want to see a film that has a character named Benny the Heckler?
The poets gathered. There was pizza, Twizzlers and Swedish Fish. Minutes into the film, a poet mentioned the term "Third Eye." The DVD was paused so Slam Bingo Cards could be made.
There were so many poetry cliches mentioned, "The best poet always loses."Tomorrow, the days will talk backwards." "A heart the size of the ocean." But the poetry was not the worst part of the film. It was not very well acted, and the script and direction were poor. It was far from the worst film ever, but really, there's a reason few have heard of this nonsense.
Our young poet lived in a garage, was behind on his rent and read his landlord sexy poetry to get a delay in payment. This also implied that it was done before, successfully. Kind of creepy.
Our poet was trying to be success at his local scene, to poor results. Then, he was discovered by a woman at a publishing company. They were adversarial at first, but then they were about to have sex in his garage/home.
At a crucial moment, she revealed she was HI-V Positive. Poet goes to the store, presumably for condoms, but ends up adding a bottle of Jaegermeister to his order and roams around the neighborhood, drinking while watching a children's soccer match, leaving our hottie in bed with just a bra and panties on.
Somewhere in there the line, "Barebacking is only for horses."
Our hottie was in a relationship with a successful poet, played by Pony Boy, who sees the young poet as competition.
Soon, there will be a big slam. The Poetron Slam, with first prize as $25,000.
Before this though, is one of the most excruciating sex scenes ever committed to film; complete with the longest donning of the condom. Ever. This is the scene that inspired my poem Condom Kabuki.
Fred Willard is the host of the slam. He's no Marc Smith. Not even close. The slam goes down. The word "invomitation" is invented. Alexis won Slam Bingo. There is a comeuppance, but remember. The best poet always loses.
I've probably forgotten a few key points of the film, but its for the best. The condom scene though, cannot be unseen.
After the film, Scott had a thread going on Facebook that ripped it apart, then a person who actually worked on the movie had some comments - which steered the conversation back to the respectable. A film is like any job project, you go in with some positive expectation, then stuff goes horribly wrong, egos clash and the project bombs. So, I learned a little from the thread. The film still sucks though!
It got a bit bigger than that, Scott booked a room for us, and a dozen people showed up for a screening of the film Street Poet.
Now, you may be confused by the title Fighting Words. That is because the film was originally released in 2007 with that title, then, for some unknown reason, perhaps to squeeze a few more pennies out of the turd, it was re-released with the new title.
I was intrigued because Fred Willard appeared as Longfellow, the host of the poetry slam. It also had Fred "The Hammer" Williamson as some sort of Mr. Miyagi type character. One of the stars is C. Thomas "Pony Boy" Howell, with an abusive soul patch. Plus, a character named Benny the Heckler. How can you not want to see a film that has a character named Benny the Heckler?
The poets gathered. There was pizza, Twizzlers and Swedish Fish. Minutes into the film, a poet mentioned the term "Third Eye." The DVD was paused so Slam Bingo Cards could be made.
There were so many poetry cliches mentioned, "The best poet always loses."Tomorrow, the days will talk backwards." "A heart the size of the ocean." But the poetry was not the worst part of the film. It was not very well acted, and the script and direction were poor. It was far from the worst film ever, but really, there's a reason few have heard of this nonsense.
Our young poet lived in a garage, was behind on his rent and read his landlord sexy poetry to get a delay in payment. This also implied that it was done before, successfully. Kind of creepy.
Our poet was trying to be success at his local scene, to poor results. Then, he was discovered by a woman at a publishing company. They were adversarial at first, but then they were about to have sex in his garage/home.
At a crucial moment, she revealed she was HI-V Positive. Poet goes to the store, presumably for condoms, but ends up adding a bottle of Jaegermeister to his order and roams around the neighborhood, drinking while watching a children's soccer match, leaving our hottie in bed with just a bra and panties on.
Somewhere in there the line, "Barebacking is only for horses."
Our hottie was in a relationship with a successful poet, played by Pony Boy, who sees the young poet as competition.
Soon, there will be a big slam. The Poetron Slam, with first prize as $25,000.
Before this though, is one of the most excruciating sex scenes ever committed to film; complete with the longest donning of the condom. Ever. This is the scene that inspired my poem Condom Kabuki.
Fred Willard is the host of the slam. He's no Marc Smith. Not even close. The slam goes down. The word "invomitation" is invented. Alexis won Slam Bingo. There is a comeuppance, but remember. The best poet always loses.
I've probably forgotten a few key points of the film, but its for the best. The condom scene though, cannot be unseen.
After the film, Scott had a thread going on Facebook that ripped it apart, then a person who actually worked on the movie had some comments - which steered the conversation back to the respectable. A film is like any job project, you go in with some positive expectation, then stuff goes horribly wrong, egos clash and the project bombs. So, I learned a little from the thread. The film still sucks though!
Friday, July 29, 2011
Oh what the hell
What the Guide Dog Smelled
If it were possible to unsleep with you,
I’d give it careful consideration
To take back every forced smile, every coerced commiseration when your overwrought voice
told me another nut job cut you off in traffic
I want to put back thirteen years of every drink too many and turn them into cigar smoke, into poetry good or bad
Expensive alcohol was a waste, getting trashed a formality
Every hangover an unnecessary battle scar, a weapon of mass consumption too easily found
Once the humiliation was uncorked it became an unspoken disease
Untreated, and cured only by loss
All the cashiers who you said were stupid are filling up an arena, rising up from the past and calling you for what you were to them
For all the arguments you picked I’d turn into a mile of highway I should have traveled with you at my back
I wanted to run more but I was not capable of walking, let alone driving
The distance I put between us you put out there years too late
And when your own worst enemy is one person, alone in a bed
Regret is an energy best spent somewhere else
As much as I try though, memory will always remain
It’s impossible to kill something that ink never should have been put upon
If it were possible to unsleep with you,
I’d give it careful consideration
To take back every forced smile, every coerced commiseration when your overwrought voice
told me another nut job cut you off in traffic
I want to put back thirteen years of every drink too many and turn them into cigar smoke, into poetry good or bad
Expensive alcohol was a waste, getting trashed a formality
Every hangover an unnecessary battle scar, a weapon of mass consumption too easily found
Once the humiliation was uncorked it became an unspoken disease
Untreated, and cured only by loss
All the cashiers who you said were stupid are filling up an arena, rising up from the past and calling you for what you were to them
For all the arguments you picked I’d turn into a mile of highway I should have traveled with you at my back
I wanted to run more but I was not capable of walking, let alone driving
The distance I put between us you put out there years too late
And when your own worst enemy is one person, alone in a bed
Regret is an energy best spent somewhere else
As much as I try though, memory will always remain
It’s impossible to kill something that ink never should have been put upon
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