Discoveries: Slam Poetry

Poetry has always been a big deal to me. Growing up in my own personal dictatorship at home, it was my escape route to, you know... non shitty stuff. And so, I've recently taken interest in Slam poetry and boy oh boy am I having the best "night after failed math test" day of my life. I present thee with a few of my most promising findings. I've found my calling! (Apart from marrying Jon Snow from Game of Thrones of course).

This is how my road to Slam started today, thanks to Jezebel and Doug Barry. And though what Rachel Rostad may be flawed in some ways, as she mentions here, I think that she has a point. I'm tired of seeing "token" Black girls, token Asian girls, token Hispanic girls... I'm tired of over-simplified characters that I don't feel represent my voice. Maybe I should write my own stuff you say? Sure, but I think it's a valid point to bring up and no, its not being "over-sensitive" of causing "controversy" or whatnot. It's a valid point, because all these girls also use the media and read and see images and when those images don't reflect something that looks or feels even remotely the way you look and feel, you start asking questions. You think I'm crazy? When I was 8, I wanted to be white, thin, with blue eyes like that was the only thing that would solve all my problems. Now, that's crazy.

Kait Rokowski. Holy mother ****. You hit me straight in the gut. Like, wow. I've been down for a while now (parents' divorce, you know...happy times!) and I won't say "depressed" because I haven't had a formal diagnostic. But I've been down. Very low. Not wanting to breathe and live and all that jazz. So I feel so numb when I hear this poem. And, yeah. I've had an 11-year-old tell me "Well, depressed people don't like... have a problem, they're just like...really lazy and don't want to do anything". *HEAD EXPLODES* This girl is a neighbour, so I can't go screaming bloody murder but boy...that struck low. Anyhow, enjoy it!

This right here. I laughed sooo hard. Denice Frohman, ladies and gentleman. It's a hell of a piece and I'm glad I found it today. I've questioned my sexuality, even though my family isn't the best one for that sort of self-discovery... anyhow, back to the poem. It's brilliant. Just listen. SPOILER ALERT: the best part? "Dear straight people, you make me want to fucking rob you." Don't take the quote out of context. Just listen to what she has to say.

Only dude on this list but boy is Jear Singer a beast. Like, oohh boy. You took that literally, didn't you? I mean his skill to convey, in a funny way how he just wants to dance, and how he'll be mocked but he just wants to go out on the dance floor and leave his heart on it. And just the way he start. I won't spoil it for you. Do yourself a favor a see it yourself. If this isn't really your cup of tea, you can always listen to his ABC's.

Life: Going To Good Saturday Mass

Ahh yes... the joyful sounds of a congregation in unity with its God... quite a joyous event indeed, unless you are in what I would call a irritable disposition. Or as others would say, in a "bitch mood". And so at 7:30PM, I dolled myself all up to go join other unfortunate souls that would have to endure 3 hours worth of this. Anyhow, I'm not a total Catholic-hater, even though I've been an official member of the Roman Catholic Church for 17 years now. I was a bad mood, and it just happens that tonight's mass is getting all the shit for it. First and foremost, I would like to say that it wasn't that bad. Actually, the whole celebration was all in all uneventful. Except:

1. The woman behind me shamelessly engaging in social farting, burping and noise disturbance. Kind of reminds me of this. Like, we're in a church, lady.

2. The Little Gremlin shouting "I WANT MY CANDLE BACK" out of his wits during what is supposed to be a special endearing moment with like a thousand lights shinning bright at the same time. If I'm not mistaken, the Papa Gremlin also proceeded in taking pictures of said Little Gremlin (a few times) during mass. Once more, has it not occurred to people that they are celebrating the Death and Resurrection of a guy who'd like a little respect? No? You rather Instagram that shit? Ok then...

3. The choir members who, during their solos, thought it best to abandon all notion of musicality and breath mid-sentence, or not hold a note properly, or just say "SCREW PITCH" altogether. Ok, I'm being picky but come one. If I can't enjoy my Gregorian chants the way they should be, maybe Jesus won't come the way he should either. Like, with a missing leg or eye. Or maybe he'll be so thrown off balance thinking, "Haven't I given them enough time to prepare for all this?!!?!?" that he'll just walk by the door. So yeah.

4. The standing and sitting and standing and sitting. I know I can't make up my mind sometimes, but you're a priest for God's sake! Isn't your job in life to meditate on such important matter,s capable of keeping the last remaining sheep on board with all this shit? Also, I don't want to turn this into a political debate but... when the priest starts mentioning compassion and love, my skin cringes, my hairline recedes a few meters, my teeth and nails fall out and I literally turn to dust. It's kinda like, "Yo Bro, don't rap 'bout som'thin you kno nothin' 'bout, you kno what I'm sayin'?" with the bad grammar and all.

5. The smell of incense. Which hihi sounds a lot like incest. But please, let's us not make references to inappropriate behavior while talking about such serious matters. God, the smell. I had debate all the while walking to church whether or not to grill a cig before the mass murder of my numerous neurons. Upon entering the house of God, I realized that there would have been no issues, since the place stank of smoke. At which point I cursed for all my careful planning had been in vain. I guess the priests we're going all out: drunk and high, all in one night. What would Papa God/Jesus/Holy Spirit say? But the greater question is, how could these people, having vowed a life of chastity and poverty and stuff, be living it up way better than me? One of the great mysteries of life I guess.

HIGHTLIGHT OF MY NIGHT: What could beat the Vietnamese priest's accent. Nothing. Exactly. Also, why couldn't the Pope be Vietnamese. That would of been totally badass.

All in all, not a bad mass. I was able to regroup at home, watching re-runs of Criminal Minds while eating Candbery eggs. So, all this to say

HAPPY EASTER/PASSOVER/LONG WEEKEND

(For those still interested in the good stuff aka Gregorian chants)