Show Mommy Where the Poet Touched You

There's something to be said about a sex poem. When it's good it can inspire, titillate and engage the listener or reader.

Then there's the opposite.

A poet introduced his poem as Mountain Love, a Poetic Fantasy. It started pleasant enough, with images of storms along with the consumption of wine and dark chocolate.

Quickly after those words were spoken, the descent into the dark beyond began. Orifices had things inserted into them, the phrase 'hairy hole' had the crowd squirming in their seats as one.

All that was missing was a "Name and Address Withheld by Request" coda. I think it was not a coincidence that Bob Guccione passed away, possibly while that poem was being read.

Something in many of us died after hearing that poem last night. My poetic open mic innocence was shed long ago, but I cannot imagine what it was like for the fifteen year old in the audience who was attending her first poetry reading.

There was also a Women of the World qualifier slam that Vernell won. I got myself one nasty sore throat today by yelling at the judges. Karmic payback.

You never know what's going to happen at an open mic. Last weeks breastfest was rather tame in comparison to last night's Letter to Penthouse. Next week is the Halloween show. Will there be Elvira costumes, or torture porn?

More than 140

So I did the unthinkable and got a twitter account. Hey, Steve Martin's funny! If you want to rag on me after all my diatribes about it, go right ahead I deserve them.

I'll give it at least a week then see about whether or not I want to continue.

Friday night I'm going to see Roger Waters recreate The Wall. Never been much of a Pink Floyd fan, but do like Waters. For the record, my favorite Pink Floyd album is The Final Cut. Spoke to a local reviewer about the concert months ago. He went off, calling Waters a guy who uses his high school diaries for material. Guess that makes him the James Cameron of rock and roll.

Still waiting for the Macbook to be repaired.

In the midst of all this, I have been writing. Whether or not it's any good is part of the answer.

Put Snow White in the DVD player to see if my son would show interest. He sat all the way through Dumbo, which is a short feature. After about half an hour, he switched chairs. Fifteen minutes later, he lost interest completely. This is not a bad thing, he did try for half the film. What's more important is that he pooped in the toilet. Comet sighting celebration. When's the next one?

As a Karate Expert...

If you want to marry a shoe, he'll marry you two!

If I still lived in New York, he could get my vote. Because the rent, is too damn high.

This Artifact Belongs in a Museum

This could be the week the Macbook returns. New hard drive is being installed.

Watched an interesting documentary called The Art of the Steal over the weekend. Dr. Barnes assembled a massive collection of post-impressionist art in the early 20th century and built a home in a Philadelphia suburb to display the work. There was never any intent to house the work in a museum like atmosphere but to use the facility as a learning institution.



Barnes and the Philadelphia elite and arts community were often at odds. When Barnes died, he left no heirs. Barnes will specifically stated that the collection not be loaned, moved, or sold. The Barnes Foundation was run successfully as a school with very limited public access until the 1980's. Soon after the endowment ran out of funds and the Barnes Foundation neared bankruptcy. The years to follow brought a long struggle between Barnes' wishes and those of political and moneyed institutions who fought for the collection.

It's a rather shocking story and I have very mixed feelings about the conclusion. The collection should be preserved in the conditions of Barnes' will. But how do you fund it in this day and age without a bunch of so called do-gooders and yoo-hoos with deep pockets and political influence getting in the way?

Brand Extension

Picked this up on cd yesterday. Yoko is now officially scraping the bottom of the barrel with all the remasters and compliations that have been released in the thirty years since John's death. This one though, a Stripped Down version of Double Fantasy, is worth seeking out. Lennon's voice is brought up way up in the mix and a lot of the extraneous noise (choirs, for example) has been taken out. This works well on a few of the songs with a major difference on Woman and turns the rest of side two into a naked mess. I like Starting Over most and Yoko's Give Me Something works with this raw polishing.

You also get a remastered version of the original included. A decent twofer.

Next Week: Jennifer Beals' Goobers

In all my years of attending Writers' Block I do not think I have ever heard so many breast references in one night.

Perhaps it was because Scott Woods went to Detroit for a reading and was deeply affected by one poet's take on the anatomy. He brought something from their night back with him to share with the rest of the class.

It's going to take a Silkwood Shower for my mind to erase the imagery of Irene Cara's raisinets.

Did you know that one poet has yellow titty tater tots? Now you do.

It's a given to not fuck with one's tank top twins.

Yes, there was also a great deal of alliteration last night.

I was so consumed by the breast that I thought the mention of a poet's Grandmother's great wall was about her rack. I was mistaken.

And poor Travis, coming all the way from Lima was overshadowed by the others with a heartfelt poem about breast cancer awareness. He got the photograph though.

A door prize ticket was picked, not out of a poet's bra, and I won admission to First Draft Friday night.

All of this breast mentioning, and the slam had not even started yet!



It was another qualifier for the Women of the World Poetry Slam and nine women, eighteen breasts, were ready.

In round one, no breasts were mentioned. There was not even any dong knocking.

In round two though, some puppies were released.

There was an alchemy of breasts and asses past.

However, the taste of #68's nipple is unknown.

Paula wrote succinctly about "These." And when I say these, I mean, those. Yes, them.

Not sure of my use of commas there, perhaps Louise can correct my punctuation. Heaven knows she can use an exclamation point or two.

When the smoke cleared Rose Smith won a very close slam.

I'd been away for a month. Yes, I missed it.

Tell Me Something New

Been mining the moleskine the past few days. Got a couple of poems out of it and found a few others I have not read anywhere. Some are better than others. What's newer is better, including the one I started at the writing group on Sunday.

Been also doing some online research about another poem I'm working on. Searched for a few dozen articles, interviews and other credible sources. Trying not to come off half assed. Looking for facts amid the poetic license. Wrote up a draft while my son had vision therapy. Had a pile of lines that had no shape, found a beginning and an end. It's a bit different than what I usually do. Not related to autism either, a bit of history and fist shaking.

Going to shake some rust off tomorrow night at open mic and Friday at First Draft.

The macbook is in the shop, should have it back in less than a week with a new hard drive. The old drive is dead and I doubt anything can be saved from it. The backup was a pain to use so I have no idea if there's anything to retrieve. Not sure it's hit me yet.