Guy stuff.

Pumpkin Seeds: Anti-Corporate America Edition

1. In a bizarre turn of events in the Yummy Sandwich saga, I bumped into its President/Owner, Avi, on Tuesday afternoon as I was heading out for lunch and a walk in the park. He was standing out in front of my office building, wearing a Yummy Sandwich t-shirt, and stopped me, asking my name with a gleam in his eye. It took a second for my brain to process everything as I answered, "Guy. Why? Are you kidnapping me?" He laughed and we talked and he apologized for the infamous Powerpoint presentation, "We’re a new company and we’re making…

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eBay is evil! Like the internet that shelters it, it is one of the roots of all evil and people with addictive or competitive personalities should stay far, far away from it. People like me, for example. It all started so innocently this morning, when I found myself searching the internet for my favorite Yankee ever, Graig Nettles. I'm not even sure why but perhaps it was destiny? I came across an interesting site, Baseball Almanac, that had some great stats for him as well as links to other sites. One of the featured Google Ads linked over to the…

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Pumpkin Seeds: Butterflies in my Stomach Edition

1. Tonight is another louder than words and yes, it's true, it could very well be the last one. That's my attitude going into it, at least. A lot of it is riding on how I feel by the end of the show. 2. Right this minute, I feel like it could go either way. But I'm a cynic, so that's not really saying anything. 3. The major tweak for tonight will be me stepping more fully into the center ring and taking charge from beginning to end. I'm going to treat it like it's MY show this time and…

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FLATLAND: The Village Gar’tor

By St. Cuthbert's beard, I signed up for the military to kill Orcs! Kobolds and half-orcs and the ignorant humans willing to deal with them were not what I'd expected. Never mind the undead! If I wasn't disappointed when they split Leoroar and I into different units, I certainly was when I fell beneath the claws of that damned skeleton. Two days after we'd arrived at Fort Greene, T'ohthin, grumpy old troll that he is, sent me and two others into the Blood Forest to deal with a "marauder" that was waylaying caravans leaving the Village Gar'tor, a small settlement…

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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.

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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.

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