Hot Damn!

As a member of an esteemed panel of judges – Lizzie Violet, David Bateman, Cate McKim & random audience members, I finally got to try out my best JLo frowns at Hot Damn! It’s a Queer Slam, Wednesday night at Supermarket in Kensington. Whew, now that’s a long sentence.

All too often I find myself the only gay guy at a poetry event. There are some trans, queer women who I see around but the guys are rare. I’ve blogged about this before so won’t go it it again. At Hot Damn! there were other queer men in the room & I wasn’t the only one over 50. Sweet.

toys love the Disney dildo and other colourful sex toys

The event is hosted by the potty-mouthed Cathy Petch (who would rather be pussy-mouthed, if you get her drift). Free of her pervious host duties she was more free-wheeling and out there than ever & was clearly happy to have the chance to just be herself with a like minded audience. She and Brock Hessel are the organizers of this much needed slam.

Hot Damn! is sponsored by LBGTOut and Get Screened, both of whom made brief presentations. LBGTOut reminded us about World AIDS day. David Bateman read a portion of his piece about being diagnosed ‘How Does it Feel’ – ‘it’s like getting a whole new lease of life, but a very short term’ – funny, emotional and surreal.

blackhat head shot

The slammers were excellent, all very different in approach to queer, bi themes. It’s hard to make notes & score at the same time but some lines I caught ‘we are close/single bed close,’ ‘the rough draft of my body,’ ‘I alway fall for straight women,’ ‘my body is not scared, but its not a ruin either.’ Sorry if I didn’t get exact wording (drop me a note & I’ll correct.)

I’ve heard Regie Cabico a few times and his ease on stage is a joy to watch. He’s funny, emotionally real, direct, surreal and compelling plus is a hot Philippine stud. ‘Harriet Tubman was my slam coach,’ ‘I was never Asian enough for the roles I was auditioning for,’ ‘your fucking is foreshadowing,’ ‘Trojan as heavenly host.’ He’s made me seriously consider going to Catching Fire – not the movie but the international gathering of queer slam poets this June in Washington (maybe I’ll crowd fund my trip there.)

doors try door number 3

Check out https://www.facebook.com/groups/1504753909765085/ 🙂 A vibrant night of energetic, emotionally connected & connecting poetry that I’ll make a regular monthly (when it is in Toronto) show not to be missed.

lifewithmorecowbell on the same show, with pics: http://lifewithmorecowbell.wordpress.com/2014/12/04/hot-damn-that-was-one-fine-queer-slam/

 

soon

December 14 – special guest spot – Lizzie Violet’s Cabaret Noirnoirmas

https://www.facebook.com/events/743240899058830/?notif_t=plan_edited

samples

I  hit the open stage with this, Moonbelly http://wp.me/p1RtxU-Yp & Last Will & Testament http://wp.me/p1RtxU-Kf

Art Abstracted

what do you do when art stops working

when the frame is the attraction

the word becomes conclusion

even when there is no way back

you wouldn’t go back even if you could

memory can’t be changed

filtered scribbled over tattered torn

art gives it less than it needs

without the image

would there be reason to look

if the TV was a black blank

that didn’t reflect our fevered faces

as we peer into it scrying for an answer

when the answer isn’t art but industry

when the artist becomes the freak

the curio that uses a pencil paper

how pretentious it is to dip a brush

use actual language

instead of breaking things into relics

that at the right distance

form an impression of misty bitterness

at not being as famous an artist as …

well I can’t name a famous artist

because it takes one to know one

which is what happens when

art doesn’t work anymore

if a starlet falls in a club

and there are no cameras present

did she make a noise

that sort of glib patina of cynical flash

is the art that works today

shoots off at the lip

in an attempt to distract

long enough for something real to happen

fast for a moment blur then gone

as we don’t want it to be remembered

history is for dead people

death is art that has stopped working

snowpurses purses in the snow

Like my pictures? I post lots on Tumblr

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/topoet

Dildettes Finger-Bangers Delight

The Dildettes played to a packed-to-the-rafters crowd at Buddies. It’s been a few years since I last had the opportunity to hit the stage at Buddies and when this opportunity presented itself I was quick to take it. Plus the Dildettes requested raunch – a stretch for me I know but I did pull something out of my pants to satisfy the audience.

chairass chilling casino

The Dildettes Cathy Petch, David Bateman and Regie Cabico offered comedy sketches, puppetry, poetry, singing, bad dancing, drag, musical saw and flashy costumes. The show opened with a the diary of a dildo in its owner dresser drawer (made me glad I resisted writing something from the dill’s pov) followed by modern dance poetry or perhaps poetry vogueing? The stars moving to music, striking a pose to recite a short piece.

crackdildo this crack

They took the stage separately, using the space fully – coming down the stairs, moving through the audience. Too many strong moments to list, harder to pick out a favourite: “I love unicorns because they have dildos built into their heads,” “the sexual tension between his cock and his brassiere,” “shoving sex toys up my ass till it felt like an Ikea project.”

redIkea red

Great lighting, music, costume changes elevated the poetry making strong work even more powerful. We saw Tina Turner, Elvis, Snow White channelled on stage at different points. Loved the zit popping tango, I want a casino rant and the truth behind emoticons :-O. There wasn’t a dry seat in the house by the time the show was over.

 

samples

I opened the show with my guest spot & started it with this to set the tone for the rest of the show:

Watch

I like to watch

I like to see my cock going into a mouth

I like to have the lights on

to look them in the eye

as my cock goes into a mouth

though I have never seen the reverse

a cock going into my mouth

I tried a few times with a mirror

but it took too much attention

too much focus from the action

I wanted to be in the action

not observing it

as if I was watching porn

though the cocks I suck aren’t porn cocks

neither is mine

but when I see it going into a mouth

a hand holding the root

the mouth happily eagerly

working a tongue around the the head

my dick looks like a porn dick

I fuck that mouth

hold that head

or grasp those biceps

as he going down to the root

gagging for a second

happy to gag

eager to gag

I like to watch

I also did Born to Be Blown and The Future of Sex (both in recent blogs)

not getting into my drawers

get into my drawers

Shark Attack at Plasticine Poetry !!!

Freely offering the audience manual sexual gratification Cathy Petch hosted another wild night at Plasticine Poetry. After a rapid-fire onslaught of open stagers (I got into that initial rush with my shark week piece) we were ready for the first feature.

bench loves bows
bench loves bows

John Oughton (who recently took a picture of me undressing at Lizzie’s birthday) is a poet I’ve never heard before. He read some great short fiction from his recent chap book. One story was of an artist’s dream in which  ‘lonely she sketches a dog’ which comes to life – she wakes to find a broken pencil on the pillow beside her. His fluid writing takes simple, direct images and skews them ever so slightly: ‘she wanted him, but didn’t want to talk to him’ ‘a friend becomes a lover but not yours.’

He was followed by Lizzie Violet, a poet I have heard many times and each time I enjoy her macabre story-telling poetry that takes us into the minds of zombies and vampires and makes those creatures seem probable. I liked her new gypsy pieces – ‘well worn cards of the future’ ‘one kiss, a story begins.’ Her voodoo fascination melds her romantic leanings with her eerie vision ‘a love bound in a red ribbon dipped in blood.’

bench loves chocolate
bench loves chocolate

After the break we were treated to Aisha Sasha John, another poet I’ve never heard before – check out her blog. Her first piece, from Thou, was a stream of conscious monologue that piled details of food, clothes and images into a sense of a person lost in minutia hoping the things will add up to a conclusion ‘all these conversations with these various yous’ ‘the color of the sky slaps me in a sexual way.’ Even though the lights weren’t dimmed she ‘put out her best for us.’

bench loves hoo
bench loves hoo

Final feature was Regie Cabico, whom I heard this past January at the Damned and was happy to have another opportunity hear him. He did a dynamic set of short comic pieces, slipping into stand up, then into a long refection on his Filipino family and childhood in Baltimore. He tackles sex directly yet playfully: ‘your fucking is foreshadowing.’ And takes a potent stand on race and sex in the gay world: ‘I am not a teriyaki toy.’

writing sample
writing sample

The piece I read at Plasticine:

Thirteen Ways of Looking At Escape

1/ I want to leave this island

but can’t swim

don’t want to cast my blood on water

the drops attract sharks

2/     to escape

first you have to have

something      to escape from

3/ have a clear definition

of what you are escaping

if you are at all ambiguous

you will remain a captive

4/ you must leave

if you do not leave

it is not escape

5/ take nothing

you must leave everything behind

travel light

6/ remember when you are escaping

part of you is left behind

do not go back for it

it is gone forever

it is the cost of freedom

7/ leaving where you are

for where you once were

is not escape

it is another trap

8/don’t worry about the needs of others

they will hold you back

to become your new captors

just get the fuck out of there

9/ do not have a place to escape to

it will become another captor

10/ you must be willing to flee

without direction

your purpose is to be free

that is enough

11/ when you go

have no pity

for your captor

12/ do not carry memory

let others remember you

so they become

captive

of that memory

while you are without history

a gull swooping over clear blue seas

13/ sharks have no memory

their brains are so small

they don’t even know they are sharks

they have escaped self-definition

something you can never do

tea time submarine
tea time submarine

Spoonful of Beautiful

orange you glad

BuDa kicked off 2013 with a dynamic January show, hosted by Philip Cairns, with three features who left me wanting more – sadly time restraints at Glad Day force us to wrap the show by 9:40 or all of them would have been called on for encores.

First feature Faye Guenther read Hostage Spaces – a short story told from the ‘You’ point of view. It opens  with an almost clinical description of a building’s white marble lobby: “smooth dove-coloured leather couches that never hold a body, standing in illuminated pools of white on white” The descriptions move into a more personalized sense of the space, of the You addressed, “the soreness begins to explore your face”; of the life You lives, then brings other people into that life – a lover, a coworker: “you lifted your head and recognized someone….Her eyes were the color of trees this time of year, you thought, reaching for sun.” A naked woman appear to You offering, perhaps, a release from the space that hold You hostage as you are “smoking into the soft precision of a spring night.”

don't be shy

Next up was Regie Cabico – who captivated us with his well-honed slam skills & structures. He sang (nicely), made us laugh – men meeting and exchange cell phone pics of their cocks  and place those cell phones together to rub in the safest sex possible – ‘he smelled like a thousand likes on Facebook’ A raunchy, queer set of the highest order ‘my mouth is perpetually the year of the cock’ – more please – he closed with, what I regard as a slam staple – how deep is my love, in this instance two poets in love: ‘your poetry is so lonely Orpheus wants you to be his lyricist.

Joshua Jlatte Lopez – the music feature was sheer joy. He did an amazing set of blues standards: Spoonful, St. James Infirmary etc and some originals. His guitar playing is tasty without being flashy even when it was throwing off sparks in effortless runs and solos. Spirits of Robert Johnson, Canned Heat, Roy Buchanan flowed though his hands and vocals. One Spoonful – not enough.

put your hat on

Other news – the clean up of Valleys has been moving along well. I had to ‘translate’ my original file from appleworks to the latest Pages by importing it first into simple text – that process seeded it with a lot of small code inserts that I have to delete. I was hoping to do lots of cuts but so far that hasn’t happened. It flows better than I thought. I’ll have a PDF version ready to sell in a week or so for those you who find the excerpts too slow.

I’ve also been plugging away at my Bradbury story-a-week challenge but failing – I’ve been working on the same story since the first of the year – it grows but characters, as I hope, take over and don’t want to be done with so quickly – so perhaps I’ll aim for a story a month instead – I’m at about 2000 words for this one so far.

@TorPoet
@TorPoet
festive gutter ball
festive gutter ball