Honesty, Batman and “I”, and Moving Forward

  Jason Carney After reading Tony Brown's latest Zero Point Zero column, "Kicking an Addiction", a couple of things jumped out at me about my own writing that I've always known but kept buried in one of the more remote closets in my brain. Much like the speaker in Buddy Wakefield's poem "Convenience Stores," I'm addicted to novelty. If I can't be unique, can't take a unique tack on a subject, I don't see it as worth tackling. For me, that idea of "novelty" always manifested itself in my tendency to write from my own perspective, distilling my own experiences into…

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WGUY in Cincinnati

WKRP Talk about a one-two punch!  I was out in Cincinnati yesterday for my job and, as I'm heading into my first meeting, I get a text message from Salomé that India didn't make it into the NEST program. BODY BLOW! I wasn't completely surprised, though I'd been holding on to the slimmest of hopes that maybe she'd snag their final spot in a last-second decision by the board to push the boundaries of the program by accepting a less-than-perfect applicant, spurred on by an impassioned speech by the social worker who was initially convinced she was a shoo-in. (Too much Boston Public…

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Shaking off the rust

Nuyorican Performing your poetry onstage isn't like riding a bike at all, unless you're talking about the part where your foot keeps slipping off the pedal and it bloodies your shin. I used to hate that! When I decided last week to hit the Nuyorican for last night's slam, I figured it'd be a fun, low-pressure show where I'd be able to comfortably continue my slow return to writing and performing. When a wave of nausea and jangling nerves hit me around 5:15pm, I was tempted to change my mind and go have a drink instead. Nevertheless, I stuck to my plan, walking…

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Old New York Love Story

Old New York Love Story I like the vibe in this place The bartender, my mother-in-law if she were a bartender, dresses for the crowd in a shiny black bustier and tight black polyester capris long copper-dyed hair pulled back into a poofy ponytail she flirts like Pollock attacking a canvas, seemingly random until the end of the night when she counts her tips her artistic genius revealed. She's an undegreed psychiatrist dispensing advice and self-medication ethical enough to ensure no one overdoses, savvy enough to ensure their return. She sings along to Shakira hips shimmying to 50 Cent, her…

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Objectivity is for cowards…

Countdown Keith Olbermann Special Comment on Libby Pardon Keith Olbermann on Bush, Cheney: "Which is the ventriloquist and which is the dummy is now irrelevant." As cable news talking heads go, Olbermann's always been one of the more interesting ones, but in a time where the Daily Show typically offers the most incisive news coverage on TV, his "Special Comment" here is a refreshingly impassioned but level-headed statement that is as much a call for Bush and Cheney to resign as it is a "wake the fuck up, people" call to Americans of all political persuasions, including the apolitical. Objective…

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Poetry Slam, Ratatouille and Flashbacks

Talk To Me Poetry Slam Roger and I were joking on Monday about his first chapbook (Of Revolutionaries and Romance I believe it was called), the existence of which he denies and if Lynne ever wanted to really get at him, she'd pull from the vault and sell reprints on Ebay. Preparing for tomorrow night's slam at the Nuyorican, I opened my old poetry archive folder that has stuff of mine from 1997-1998, my first season on the slam scene, a lot of which was read once or twice and retired, deservedly so. Most of it didn't even make my own first chapbook,…

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Flashback: Why I Slam…

[Going through the archives trying to figure out what to read tomorrow at the Nuyorican and I came across this little ditty, a typically belligerent, sophomoric effort from that crazy Summer of 1998! Backstory here.] Why I Slam... Hi my name is Guy and I’m not an alcoholic I just drink a lot. Can you spare some change? Drinking is an expensive habit that poetry just doesn’t support begging the question...Why? Why poetry? I pondered over this one humid summer night halfway through my second draft of a cold pint of inspiration reflecting on that first poem way back when…

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