Guy LeCharles Gonzalez (aka glecharles) (aka loudpoet)

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

Comical Stereotypes

SCENE: Midtown Comics, East-side. A half-block-long line of stereotypical geeks, mostly male, and a smattering of normal-looking geeks, all male. I like to believe I'm one of the latter. There was a time when I would have felt extremely self-conscious in a situation like that, standing on line outside a comic book store waiting to get in for an author's signing. Being one, I'm obviously not dissing geeks in general, but stereotypes don't come purely out of thin air and there were more than a fair share of red-blooded, blue-balled, never-going-to-be-kissed geeks there. Or is "dork" the more appropriate term?…

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

Making Connections

You’re not a poet,
you just slam a lot.

I should note that I tend to define slam poets in a very general sense, beyond the specifics of the actual competition. IMO, non-competing poets that read frequently at slam-affiliated open mics are also slam poets, looking for and benefitting from the audience the competition attracts and the energy it generates. To pretend otherwise is hypocritical. Or self-delusional.

While the question of the level of importance of the competition in the early days of slam is the subject of some debate, few will argue that Marc Smith’s original intent was to reach a wider audience. The competition was simply a gimmick to draw that wider audience in.

As such, I’ve always valued, and found much more intertesting, the non-poets’ opinions on poetry, especially in regards to slam and its periphery. In theory, they are the audience most slam poets are trying to reach, and yet, I’ve found that the more accepted a poet is into the scene, the more dismissive they tend to become of the non-poets’ opinions.

NEWS FLASH: Other poets are not the audience one should be primarily interested in reaching. Or impressing.

(more…)

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

Going Crazy

Blame it on Matt Ruff but there’s days I wish I suffered from Multiple Personality Disorder.

I am Jack’s raging spleen.

It’s not really a new feeling but it’s become more…defined (?) since I read his Set This House in Order: A Romance of Souls. And it’s not because he glorified things, or whitewashed the severe downside of the affliction. Quite the opposite, really.

I really want to knock the fucking daylights out of people and blow shit up.

There’s something to be said for having an outlet for the frenzied, manic portion of your brain to stretch its legs every now and then. Or the creative portion to breathe freely, unfettered by the constraints of the “real world.” Without the excuse of being drunk.

Why is philosophy a fucking luxury? Why can anybody make a decent living being a fucking corporate drone but not by doing something good for society? Why does anyone believe things will get better if we’re not doing anything to change the status quo?

Our society is so tightly wound that it’s a wonder more people don’t snap.

Keep your fucking right to vote. Give me guns and people willing to die for something.

(more…)

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

Pumpkin Seeds: Fortress of Solitude Edition

1. The list of things I didn't do this weekend that I wanted to do is annoyingly long and indicative of the mental rut I've been in lately. 2. On the positive side, I somehow got a little bit of writing done and any time we get to spend two full days relaxing at home without interruption is a good thing. 3. This coming Sunday is Father's Day, my fourth, and it's the closest I've ever felt to actually being a father. Not a sperm donor with screwed up priorities, but an actual "Father." 4. Being a "Father" is an…

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

FLATLAND: Prologue

SAMUEL FLETCHER Ought-Seven:UE (Unasian Era) By the age of thirty-seven, Samuel Fletcher had cheated death more times than he could recall, thanking Olidammara at every opportunity. Taken from his village and pressed into military service at 15 years old, he’d come of age during a violent and lawless time, spending his next fifteen years fighting in the Thousand Years War – first as a capable soldier defending the northern regions of Flatland, then an unprincipled spy for the highest bidder, as kingdoms fell and borders shifted and original disputes were long-forgotten. At 30 years old, the War finally ended when…

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