Guy LeCharles Gonzalez (aka glecharles) (aka loudpoet)

An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

Luis Cartagena's feature last night was...interesting. He's an acquired taste and what I love about him most is his desire to push the boundaries of so-called performance poetry. He's willing to take risks most of us wouldn't go anywhere near and is always eager for feedback. I spent as much time watching his performance as I did scanning the faces of the audience, variously enthralled, confused and discomfited, sometimes all at once. Using costumes, music and movement - including a bizarre Britney Spears-backed dance interlude - he threw stuff out there that the average poetry audience rarely if ever sees,…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

Throughout most of my twenties, I went through a few self-created "mid-life crises," unsure of what the hell I was doing and what I wanted to do next. The common thread running through that decade was avoidance. Avoid responsibility, avoid maturity, and avoid anything that might inadvertantly lead to either of those outcomes. "Act first, deal with the consequences later." My first "crisis" actually came at 19, a few months after I'd snuck out of my mother's house in the middle of the night, leaving my family and the Jehovah's Witnesses behind. Having been given three weeks notice of being…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

Pumpkin Seeds: Randomonia Edition

1. Salomé doesn't want her own blog because she hates those that are of the self-absorbed, "Today, I went to..." variety. Between that and her complete disdain for politics, I'm starting to believe she really does only use my blog for the links to other people's blogs. That's what she tells me, at least! Meanwhile, she's bugging me to post my To-Do For 35 List. [Which is coming as soon as I figure it out!] 2. Five days into my 35th year and I'm sleepy, still recovering from the open bar and late night out on Tuesday. Between the two-day…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

Happy birthday to me! Great weekend, great party, great presents, including... Batman pajamas! Best birthday ever? Perhaps. Pretty damn close, that's for sure! PS: I couldn't care less about the Olympics but the no-name Puerto Rico basketball team dismantling the egotistical, overhyped and overpaid USA Dream Team IV was a beautiful thing. Punks!

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

Pumpkin Seeds: Wizard of Oz Edition

1. I have no problem with anonymous comments – not everybody wants/needs to sign up for a Blogger account – but to do so maliciously, purposely hiding your identity so you can make hurtful or inflammatory statements is just cowardly, petty bullshit. To go so far as to create a fake Blogger account for the express purpose of tormenting someone you have issues with is even worse. Have the courage to own up to your shit or shut the hell up. 2. This has nothing to do with me directly as I couldn’t care less what an anonymous commenter has…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

Weddings

When Salomé and I got married back in 1998, it was a step into completely foreign territory as none of our close friends were married, few even in serious relationships. Not counting my father’s shotgun second marriage at town hall 18 years earlier, I’d never even been to a wedding before! Our wedding was a relatively simple affair, with 90 or so family and friends attending a no-frills, non-denominational ceremony, and a well-catered reception with a DJ. We avoided as much of the traditional stuff as we could get away with – one friend jokingly called Sal's father the "wedding…

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An arm with a tattoo: "I was made for the library, not the classroom."

John Rodriguez was a breath of fresh air at last night’s Acentos, dropping a solid mix of old and new work, as well as a nice little slam on half of the unusually weak open mic. "Hey, Guy, remember when I used to yell all my shit? Waving my hands like I was conducting the orchestra?" It felt like the slam had invaded the Blue Ox at times with some of the worst "love" poems and history lessons I’ve ever endured, too many of which were delivered at maximum decibel levels. The history lesson, in particular, had me leaning over…

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