My First Public Poetry Reading; November 30, 2005

113005

after perfecting for two hours at the summit, where my voice shifted to library levels every time a new tourist arrived, it was time. With the preparation for an expectation of a small group, i was ready to declare my voice.

i contemplated not going through with my endeavor, but i was extremely satisfied with my ability to not listen to my doubts. It had to have been that way since apollo is all about recovery and confidence. the things i need to hear are often capable of my own pen, but are not always in front of my eyes. the act of speaking aloud to myself and the rest of the world has no bounds of reach.

it was quite a lucid experience. i walked in while someone had started reading; a white fellow. later I would find out his affinity for something deeper within lyricist syntax. immediately Sun, the director of the gallery, recognized me and mentioned the signup list. I had never signed up on such list before, and my feigning heart balked for the first time tonight. I detoured to the crackers and cheese before sitting down pretending to concentrate on the reader's words. in truth, he might as well been an adult from Peanuts; my pulse was racing and it felt like ACA all over again. it took her bringing the board to me at the next intermission for me to oblige. odd that i wrote my whole name, because when i was called up, it soundd foreign. choy? who is choy?

i made sure everyone new at the end of the piece. i was twitching on my toes, legs firing off in uncontrollable mini seizures in reaction to adrenaline full head. my voice was shaky and yet i heard applause. ripe finger rippling applause. a good feeling for sure. i let a smile cross my face as i returned to the second row of seats, head down in avoidance of eye contact.

'wow that was an inspiring piece' said the asian woman Sun, who apparently loves black. She is a veteran painter recently profiled for a future review in asian art news. big time as she says, since AAN is a national publication. apparently, reviewers never say they're going to review. once a spy always a spy.

in the meantime i was already engulfing myself with recalling Olive (won't always be this way). i decided i wouldn't be reciting it. 90 minutes vs 30 minutes practice? Neit. Though apparently more practice didn't do me shite.

carolyn, the producer of the woodcut oakland wandering tale, with interesting pants, caught my attention the most with her urgent and warmly inviting tone. with stable delivery and few errors, she blew tobacco like a spitoon was rigged to her notepad. anti-war. "when --- and ---, this is an anti-war poem."

by the end of this second act, i had volunteered for next spot after intermission. I was going to drop a bomb and they didn't have a clue. Allowing myself to be teleprompted, Olive was more controlled and went over like a charm, especially with 7 of 10 as women. i'm a softee and its such a crowd pleaser i'm almost nauseated. but like an addicted hound, i gesture for another spot up.

third act, second piece. I've already established presence, so naturally Seven words was received well. but mainly through an introduction that already got them to agree with me. a rhetorical quesiton that some end up answering anyway, which acts as context and setup for input of my piece. Sun ended sidling next to me, letting me know that she missed parts of it. body language wasn't readable but distance was something. or not.

during the fourth intermission, after brownies and milk, sun came around and peddled for charity. "got anything? come on nows the time to contribute." I began to stammer that I didn't have anything, catching myself before denying her and rephrasing "i don't have..." to "well i do have something but i'm not prepared." which ended up "well, itll be short." "but i'm not prepared" doesn't set much expecation on their part. its casual of course so it doesn't matter but still. At this point I'm deciding between Monochrome which techncially wasn't fniished but could be read in abridged form, haagen daz which i was contemplating was too overtly sexual, even for me to present as coming from me, Camille piece, and the generational repitition pieces. seeing as how Camille was too specific and I didn't want show that explicitly longing, and the GR pieces didn't even have structure, it was a no brainer. The only difficulty is finding a seque. which was in the form of a suggestion everyone agrees with.

"sensual experience is good right?" i got their attention. "i recommend you do this with partner." curious smirks and naughty chuckles came in support, and so it was a go. I blew through that piece with the hustle and game at a peak level, and as i finished with a jubilant hallelujah signaled by my own half hail mary, the shouts were undenible with unexpected heat lighting fires under their prickly skin. i left the room still hot and attuned to my presence; "waylan are you leaving?!" i couldn't help but grin and walk with swagga. dropping sweetness on their minds with no preparation whatsoever left me feeling high.

I got some air on the catwalk and found a quartet of heads dancing to wutang aint nothing to fuck wit. bounding down the stairs to examine further, I did so consciously knowing i was a little more advanced. I didn't require recognition from them, but i was in the mood to capitalize on admiration; so sue me for preying. they were battling anyway. sucks that my shitty dancing was still praised. i especially hate that.

But truthfully, it confirmed what i already suspected. talent is boiling. my words have meaning regardless of how they are said. my alternating views and topics are subtly distinct but ultimately effective when as a group, with progression, mood change, and conduct of delivery. i perform well with confidence and knowledge of respect, but am cautious and prone to mistakes in unknown environments. i don't notice appreciation when i am self-absorbed with dissatisfactions, but i remember compliments when i receive them.

Most importantly, i find am most powerful when I am allowed to be honest.

Why Circle of Fire has the Best Dance Video

Says Ten:
"The Circle of Fire video is dope because not only did they have great dance, but they changed locale. But you know what made it the best? It was because they introduced each dancer individually; the video hung out with the dancer, you saw his hood, his personality. You got to know the person behind the dance."
...

And just for kicks while searching for Circle of Fire on the web (surprisingly difficult): Transformer Breakdance (Original and Remix) via The Last Minute.

DZ-JU Night 1

022505:: 0300AM:: Punch Gallery, 10th St.
...

Donning her light khaki jacket, olive wrap, and rusted pink hued brown tweed newsboy cap, Ms Camille lounged by the gateway to the gallery, looking relaxed, sociable, and even pensive. Allison stood away from the wall with her back to the fading streetlights of a post-2am SOMA district, talking about who knows what, but smiling her bright smile nontheless.

I crept with stealth behind the wall that Julie and Dzuy formed and made surprise my weapon of choice. Once I was within range, I pounced from behind my camouflage, snaked my fingers under her left jaw and ear and shot a kiss point blank at the soft corner of her lips.

With tranquilzed recognition she realized who had just landed upon her doorstep and made her prey.

"Heyyyyyy! Ohh I was waiting for you!"

I introduced her to Dzuy and Julie, whom took to her immediately.

"As soon as I started talking to her, I felt really comfortable," Dzuy commented later.

"Wow she is really cool," said Julie.

Inside Punch was a cornucopia of sensory experiences: funk on the decks, dancing in the gallery, paintings on the walls, faces and conversations to be met, stories to be told, a goodbye to remember. Somewhere Camille lost her jacket and revealed her colored canvas, fluttering over to the bass driven groove, the drink table, and all the friends in between. I was brought over to Raleigh and Allison where I began to energetically regail them with my excited night; the high was definitely apparent and I was all smiles.

I remember emphatically wanting to bring Camille to Remedy to enjoy house music and dance, mostly to show her dancing, but was summarily silenced by her commitment to her friends. But at her prodding, I got into it on the floor anyway, in company with Iron Monkey no less! Least I got to show her something of my styles, though not fully. I suppose there's a time and a place.

I connected with Prem for a bit on our way out, and stopping to lock eyes with Camille once more, I avoided a sneaky picture by Dzuy by bounding down the stairs and setting off for DNA Lounge.
...

330AM:: Remedy @ DNA Lounge
...

not too much dancing, I was feeling clunky on stage, but I managed to connect with the woman from Funk Festival who was bringin the old locking style. Fun would have it that this was Traci Barlow, the dancing accompaniment ("poetry in motion") for the opening piece of the Last Poets' visit to SFSU! I blabbered on for a bit about how I followed them for that weekend, and she made me stay while she found something with her contact info. She ended up giving me a small flyer for a bimonthly event she puts on in Oaktown. I didn't really look at it until Monday after, but the tagline says "For Dancers only!" Upcoming headlining nights include Housing Authority, Soul Sector!!! illlllllllll, I am thankful for making that connection!

Another connection with a DJ and I was informed of another event that combined music, dance, visual art and graphic design, featuring MGF, Soul Sector, and Headhunterz. SS crossing my eyes three times in the past month = something worth pursuing. You know me and my miniscule omens ;/.
...

I found DZ and Julie chillin on the couch. Apparently Julie was feeling down and I felt sorry that I was not attentive enough to catch it. Though Dzuy did comment on the joint:

"I've never seen this, where the dancers have their own space, their own stage for each other. Like, where its almost primarily for the dancers. That's pretty tight man."

Shweet. I felt I had accomplished my mission. I desired to show him exactly what I valued with this placed called Remedy/DNA Lounge: the dancers, the small intimate community, the music (despite not being his preference). And regardless of the superficial differences, he was attentive enough to sense the essential elements of what made this place unique and comforting for me and househeadz alike.
...

Around 4:15 I replied to a missed call and found that she was already on her way over.

"Don't move! I'm right there! Don't move!"

I have to admit, I was happy to see her :). So cute.. hahaha

We stood outside of DNA beside Raleigh's double parked maroon or dark colored late-80's Toyota (Corolla?) with Raleigh and Allison. Somehow she scored a pizza from next door.

"I love your friends! They are so sweet."

Still feeling euphoric and ultimately optimistic,
"My friends, they are my heart. I'm so glad you met them and they met you; The whole thing is that I wanted to share with them everything that is new and important in my life."

She let out a sigh of endearment and put her arms around my shoulders, prompting me to wrap my arms around her waist and lock my hands at the small of her back. The two faces on her belt buckle rapped with staccato against my Member's Only zipper as we lingered holding each other for a minor magical moment. I lost track of time at this point. Some words sometimes have special contexts for their use, reserved for uncanny experiences or perceptions; but for that moment, we gazed into each other like we could see Saturn's rings in reflection. Though for reference, maybe our individual substance abuses had intoxicated the other :).

She was so worried it touched me and made me feel guilty. It was probably mainly her maternal instinct, but I felt special anyway. We left each other unwillingly but necessarily, her with pizza in her face and myself with a tingling in my nethers (mwahaha). Peace to Raleigh and Allison. Peace to Dzuy and Julie. Airblown lovin to the Miss.
...

The creed for the night of music and dance:

Ruby Skye provided something for the mind...
Punch gave us something for the eyes
Remedy stimulated something in my soul.

Somehow the movement of our experience from Ruby Skye to Remedy was made superb by visiting Punch Gallery as somewhat of a transition.

Progressive house supported by laser visuals, themed gogo dancers, and stunning interior decor, whose audience clamored to drink and watch the DJ
moved into
an externally non-descript multimedia art gallery featuring punk photography, jazz oil painting, and abstract wall installations, where funk breakbeats were played liberally while party people danced to connect with each other. A couple bboys, including Iron Monkey, danced on the smooth concrete floor to preserve the waning 3am freestyle spirit.
From this we moved to
the house, where soul enriched house beats laid the foundation for all types of dancers to dialogue.

Even more interesting was how the progression of our night and venues was signalled by the gradual southward movement of our geography. Just an interesting thought. Reminds me of this great snapshot of us taken at Ruby Skye.

A day date? Interesting...

022205

Today I only thought that I would talk to Camille and find out about her performance, which I thought would be on Wednesday Evening. But after working on my sunrise poem from January 2004 and being super amped about its new incarnation, impulse would have it that I call her to share. This led to me driving and picking her up from City College with the intent of seeing Constantine at the DC20.

My immediate impulse is to kiss her deeply to hold her in my arms and not let go. But I hold back; I barely get my arms around her.

She makes fun of my height. Freakin a she's 5'10". That's just funny. so many stupid jokes come out of my mouth its pathetic. All I want to do is make her laugh, because I don't want to have to be profound and romantic all the time. seriously, its taxing to put all my energy into the deepest meanings and philosophies. I hope we'll be able to connect on different levels.

Throughout the movie we sneak glances at each other like little kids. Its cute really. But I think I get the upper hand on this one because I sneak the longest looks without her seeing me. The whole damn time, I want to rip that armrest out and sit close to her, feel her against me, sense her curvature under my fingers. Closest I get is a lean over kiss (three, progressively more sensual) which prompts her to put her head on my shoulder while i turn my arm up and stroke her forehead. Sadly, after about 7 seconds she sits back up again with her knees at her chest. [shrug]

Yes I'm trying hard to read her body language, to see if it tells me anything. Nothing during the movie except that kiss. Which is fine as far as contact is concerned, I know its there. But, you know, something more concrete please.

When we get to the car, I make a fool of myself (a little) by closing the door and immediate getting into her face for a smoochie.

"Thanks for coming to the movie."

she backs off in shock, I suppose. but says "Thanks for driving me to the movie" and smooches because I'm all waiting up close..

She asks what I am thinking when I pull away, and I actually manage to tell the truth, partially.

I tell her that I'm wondering if we're on the same page, wondering about the differences between how I see her and how she sees me.

And from there.. she tells me a lot about herself and clarifies what she meant when she said "I'm a lot up here." Girl's got a background that's for sure. She wants compromise.. and domestication haha.. someone to connect but really just a friend, a true friend. I did not find many differences between what she said and what I kind of am looking for right now.

I mean, I haven't really found a true friend up here have I? The last true friend I had was Lydia and that became defunct almost a year ago. Even now our relationship is a tarnished remnant of what it once was, though I'm working on it; it probably has much to do with me and how I am essentially selective with my friendship towards her.

I told her about my naivete and awareness of my sad inability to prevent everything, including unconscious acts of negligence (reference Lydia). I told her I didn't want to hurt her as well (reference Jenay), and that while deep in my thought and sensory experiencing I'm still conservative and shy when it comes to matters of the heart "or whatnot."

I read her three things. three of the most powerful things I've written in recent memory. one was empowering, one was emotionally draining, and the other was actually about her.

i was excited to read her the new incarnation, officially titled "Apollo." during her review of the written words, she came across "Seven Words" written about Lydia. I reminded her that this was the one that fucked me up emotionally on Friday and went ahead and read it to her.
"what am I doing in here?" she asked with surprise and curiousity.

I had told her earlier that it had been a while since I had fantasized about someone. "I wrote something about you..."

"is it sexual?"

what an odd question! I didn't know how to answer necessarily because it kind of was, but what if it was? would she be offended? I kind of skirted around the issue because I wasn't truly ready to read that thing to her. Blasphemy! I've never done that. She is really going to kick some shit out of me that's for sure :).

It was weird, reading an account about someone to that someone, but I only did so when she commented that "no one's written anything about me before." No one's bothered to share it you mean.. haha.. she's dope how could no one use her as a subject?

I hesitantly read her what I wrote about my observations from Saturday night. I actually felt scared to tear my eyes away from my Palm to watch her reaction, though I knew she had one. I managed to omit saying that "smooth red undies and luscious breasts part" because you know, I don't know if that's cool yet.

but.. with a light touch on my knee, I knew she was moved.

"thanks for paying attention" she said meekly with trepidated affection.

"thanks for giving me something to observe. that's what i meant when I said I loved your room. there was a lot there for me to take in, to figure out who you are from.

"thanks for letting me share" I pleaded, hinting at my vulnerability to exposure.

I truly felt shy after that bit of sharing; she understood of course, it was me exposing myself. she knows much about that I suppose. she loves intensely, which while I am not so different, I am also not so familiar when it comes to someone else doing that. I mean, yes Lydia was an intense lover, but something about this is different. I know a bit more about Camille's past and its almost intimidating, though I was not as curious about it as I am now.

what does she mean by 'huge crush'?
what happened with her former relationships?
tell her about your nonexisting friendships. true friendships. you don't have as many as you think you have and probably no more than she does.
tell her that you wallow in her mystery.
drugs?
dildos?
what did she say about "infatuation?"
ask her if she is afraid to love freely because you feel the same way.
ask her how much of this is lust? because you know you lust for her. don't lie; you know you do, you dog you. [nod]
tell her you think about her a lot and that you would be around her always, if you could. right now that's what i'd like, but.. this is most probably a (fortunate) exercise in self control and discipline. for both of us. can it keep going? that's probably the issue. I think the pace sets the tone.

24 hours later...

022005

So there's this girl. and I met her. and this is what I wrote one day after seeing her. If its necessarily what I feel, I'm not sure; but I'm slightly infatuated...
...

[Camille]

she came (almost... no jk, start over)

she came wrapped in dark olive and shimmering in wrinkled aqua satin and black lace flowers, outlined by pinstripes and gold foil. i was taken by her warmth and her frosted spectacles. and so relieved that i didn't look no fool.

"snazzy" she said, as she looked me up and down.

for a second, i couldn't find my voice; my initial alarm lingered like a mouthful of peanut butter until I managed to squeak out that she looked great, which she did.

as she turned to climb the stairs, i caught a glimpse of her gradient colored wings; a sprite with Niagara-dammed vibrancy, no wonder she could fly; no wonder she was fly. I was immediately enamored with her carefully decorated body, her slightly nervous but infectious laugh. she smiles when i smile.

her room is warm. it smells of burnt musk, cocoabutter, and papaya. a small thigh high bookshelf contains poetry, inspiration, cultural criticism, and classic literature. her gallery glows from two red candles in the corner, staged atop a tv adjusted for a disciplinary timeout. photos of nudity, friends, and former homes adorn the left of a window overlooking a roof alley, while a mixed media piece by Yoshi hangs on the right. A poem brushed in gold marks the head wall, ending in "between our hearts."
...

there she stands, her cute smile staring pensively into a wardrobe, hunting for comfort amidst visual delight. she carefully wraps her head with two loops and four knots and slips into flannel pjs and a tanktop. i peek and dig what i see: smooth red undies, mocha skin, luscious breasts. [shrug...]

we adjourn to the crispness of her duve and explore our senses. sounds of serenity escape through loose bloodrushed lips and short breaths as she becomes a canvas for my palate. painting earth-sized calligraphy with the brushing of her earth-toned flesh, my lips graze the darkened depths of her rounded valleys, the stillness of her smooth open plains. navigating through stormy currents and ebbing desert sand we shivver with the aftershocks of thunderclaps as lightning sparks between our sweaty contact.

bashfully honest, "I haven't let anyone touch me in.. months and months and months..."

...

24 hours later, my sweater has locked the scent of her bed in its knit; her smell has bonded with my skin, pervading my nervousness.
24 hours later, i feel her piercings between my lips. i see her painted body floating above my face like a geometric muse, her permanently inked curves embedded on my eyes - every stroke, every inch.
24 hours later
24 hours later
i want just one more hour later,
just once more

[Tangential] 020305-now

...
Divergent doo wop.

Mutterings of a midas touch mark clock driven masses of forgotten vernacular
echoed in archaic verbatim.

Using common sense most definitely sequestered from
the soul-ridden, ragged rhythms developed from
native tongues arrested from the far side of one such digital planet
-- a third bass jumping rakim of gibraltar,
r-o-c-k-r-s-t-l-n-e-p-m-diamond devoted to the hustle of its
gangrenous son --
an ivory mansion,
haunted and silver spooked from wigged head to foot-bound toes,
revolutionizing its
parliamentary solar system and its
prime ministry of sound,
made republican enemies out of
philosophers
lost in space,
muttering sweetbackwater songs in
lost poetic unity.

...

[Tangential] 021005

...

I am not
I am not
I am not the "yellowed belly" of your rednecked frontier forefathers.
I am not the bastard son of a woman who done gone and made herself the arbiter of colonial goodwill and demonic cleansing.

.
.
.

Because I am the true, the immaculate, the wholly consequential;
I am a person who believes that what he believes is irreversibly monumental,
that one man cannot do the work of a million,
but that same man who
uses his voice, who
voices his feelings, who
feels the weight of his brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, peers, and predecessors
and waits for the right time to incite the force of a million,
that one man can be worth more than a million
worth more than a million,
worth more than a million other men.

if only he valued his own word,
he could give birth to more than a million men with words more valuable than his.

but tragically,
emphatically,
we live in a day in an age where Roe v Wade has lain the foundations for choice to be made.
to make possible the abortion of an unborn idea,
to make plausible the uprooting of the seeds of our mind before they have been delivered back to their earthened makers, before they may grow into Amazonian forces of knowledge, before its branches may fill libraries upon libraries and become living proof of the will of a million.

I believe that an avalanche begins with a snowball,
that an inferno originates from a spark,
that the eye of a perfect storm always sheds but a single tear whose puddled end echoes with waves of unrestrained fury.

I am one in a million.
I am one of a million.
I am one for a million.

...