So I tried my hand at slam. Mouth rather.
“Crashed n’ burned on the first…it wasn’t pretty.”
As for the second, I don’t know if there will be a second, but the Top Gun quote isn’t entirely accurate. I mean, basically I fucked up the wrong piece in the second round and got beat out by some guy who got by telling the audience how he “loved all of them” in that incredible, universal “one-ness” of special unique-specialness and god and shit.
Anyway, I’m not as bitter as I may sound.
I was, after all, up against such poets as Der, the infamous, and Josh somethingorother. I felt dwarfed, but got a good response. Everyone was asking where mike was.
I blame the handle. If my name was something cooool like “Michael Molotov” I’d win with a name like that yeah I would. “Wicked McMegasweet” maybe. Nobody likes a joke slam name. I’m not a joke poet.
I feel a bit like a joke.
I shoulda done the serious one I intended to do.
shoulda shoulda
whatever
I still have to study. My impractical life.
Waste of time/tape/paint/words/breath/life.