Crime and Punishment (10-8-14)

I wasn’t a model child. I was always rebellious, always curious, often to a fault. Sometimes my need to know resulted in a need to be punished. I got into trouble occasionally but if you looked around the neighborhood, in comparison to others around my age, I was thought of as a good kid. Back then, I’d see bad kids doing bad things all the time and their parents didn’t care. For a time I thought they were cool. Those kids had it made. On the other side of it I was held to a higher standard. When some of the neighborhood kids stayed out a few hours late, they’d waltz in to no repercussions, no consequences. Their punishment was that maybe they missed dinner. When I did the same, I would be in “big trouble”. Now don’t get me wrong, I didn’t do these things often and that probably heightened the seriousness of when I did, but at the same I didn’t think it was fair. I would get in trouble and others wouldn’t. When I acted the right way and followed the rules, I didn’t get anything extra for it. No rewards! What was the point? I didn’t realize I was doing what I should have been doing all along and didn’t deserve anything extra for it. But when I saw other kids getting $20 for straight C’s and I’d bring home straight A’s to no response whatsoever, I’d get jealous. I wanted to have as much fun as the other kids, live under the same rules, or lack thereof. Sometimes I’d hear sitcom dads on television say “You don’t understand why I’m doing this now, but someday you will”. My dad never really told me that but I did know he was disappointed and upset every time I gave him a reason to punish me. I could almost feel the “this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you” in his eyes, despite the fact that in those moments, it hurt me a whole lot… more on that later. The point is, sometimes I followed the crowd and did some very dumb things… all part of an effort to fit in.

Once in a while I got away with it. I learned to get better at hiding things from him, it wasn’t hard. My dad wasn’t what you’d call an attentive guy. He generally gave off a “leave me alone” vibe. I don’t think he was cold, but with him being a month short of 50 when I was born there were several generations between us. We often had trouble communicating. We didn’t understand each other. I don’t know if we ever could. On top of that he was a disciplined military guy. He loved boxing, baseball and fishing. He was very manly, very traditional. He didn’t talk about feelings, explore the philosophy behind things or talk about dreams. I thought boxing was stupid, baseball was boring (sometimes) and I was disgusted just trying to bait a hook. I cried routinely at beautiful things, openly talked about how I felt and asked questions… just not around him. He was tough and I was tender. We had some similarities but our differences were vast. We were just from different times.

One thing any parents who cared in my neighborhood did was whip their kids when needed. I saw some kids get beaten with a switch, a yard stick and I even saw one kid get beaten with a broom. Whenever it was my turn my father would take off his leather belt. When I saw him reaching for it I would sometimes start to cry preemptively. I knew I was about to feel some pain. I don’t remember ever bleeding from a “whoopin” but many times I would have red welts on my legs, my back or my behind. Whenever I was on the verge of doing something stupid a thought would always enter my mind; “is this worth a whoopin?” It certainly became a deterrent on many occasions especially if I thought there was even a small chance of getting caught. Did that fear keep me away from the drugs, the gangs and unplanned pregnancies that swept through my neighborhood? It’s possible it was a contributing factor but it wasn’t the only one, remember deep down I was a good kid. But was their another way? When you’re little and you’re in trouble you aren’t exactly thinking about suggesting alternate methods of punishment, especially if you don’t know any. I just assumed every parental figure whooped their kids. Whenever we encountered the rare kid whose parents utilized a “time out” or something we considered “soft”, we thought their parents were hippies, new age weirdos or maybe just super rich… because rich people didn’t beat their kids. It always seemed to us that in poor and working class neighborhoods kids got their asses whipped when needed. It built character. This was all I knew.

As I went through my teen years something happened. My relationship with my father evolved. First my father was getting pretty old. I was also getting pretty big. Sometimes in my rebellious mind I wondered if he tried to whoop me for something, would I just instinctively, emotionally decide to fight back. It wouldn’t have been hard to turn the tide on a 60-something year old guy with emphysema, even if he was mean and tough. But thankfully it never reached that point. I don’t know if the whooping stopped because he got old or I got right. I still did stupid things during my high school years but nothing that deserved major punishment. I was learning the basis for what would be my moral code and I think I had also developed a respect for my father. Behind all the rebellion and modern slang I think I started to respect what he tried to do for me. I was still grounded every once in a while but thankfully the belt no longer came off. Perhaps we both learned something.

When I hit my college years and he was reaching the end I began to understand what those sitcom dads were talking about. I deserved to be punished. It showed that my dad cared unlike many of the other parents in the neighborhood who didn’t. The punishments and the fear of a whoopin’ caused me to rethink some decisions and led me towards doing the right thing. Not every time, but enough times. Fear in the absence of wisdom. It did the trick. So with that said, I wouldn’t change anything about those days. It doesn’t mean I agree though. I understood the end results but as I became a man I began to question the methods. Grounding was fair, depriving me of things I liked would have been fair as well. But whipping my behind until I was crying uncontrollably, that’s something I cannot abide.

I deserved to be punished those times I lied, stole or cheated and I wouldn’t change it but I have to tell you, that I would never strike my child. Just because it worked for me, or I think that it did, it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have learned right and wrong through other means. It also doesn’t mean I should do the same thing he did. Much like the generation gap I felt between he and I, these are different times today. If that weren’t enough of a reason, I also know I’m a different person than him. We’re both emotional and hot tempered, but unlike him I am very sensitive and affectionate. I often consider the meaning in my actions, the effect they may have on others. I don’t think he did. Maybe he just did what he did because that’s all he knew. It’s not an excuse but it is a reason. I still hear about people whipping their kids but it’s definitely not as popular as it used to be. Why are less people doing it? We aren’t getting softer, we’re getting smarter. Spanking, beating, whoopin kids, no matter what you call it is a form of child abuse. We can talk matter of degrees in terms how much is enough to qualify for that distinction but I feel like one belt, one switch, one broom to a kid is one too many. It’s my personal belief that if you feel you have no recourse but to beat your child, you are not doing a good enough job as a parent. Of course, I’m not trying to tell you how to raise/treat your kids, I’m just telling you my story… the story of a good kid who was beaten with a belt when he was bad, but would never treat my child the same way. This is the story of a man who understands tradition and why it’s sometimes important to change it. This is the story of a man who has learned to love without fear… who won’t back down from what he believes. In a strange way, I think my dad wouldn’t want it any other way.  

  

Addiction / Temptation (8-19-14)

It’s been 11 days since I’ve had a Pepsi or really any caffeine for that matter. Every day has been hard, sometimes for different reasons. I used to think I had cravings before but man, these cravings lately have been intense. I think about various forms of addiction and I wonder if this is what it’s like for people addicted to alcohol, drugs, sex, etc. I’m not trying to belittle any of those things or those people and I don’t think my “coke” problem (which is really Pepsi) is any worse than someone’s serious coke problem but Pepsi has been a huge part of my life since I was a teenager and caffeine has a been a significant part longer than that. I'm frequently uncomfortable and there are many temptations. I also have a tendency to overthink and a slightly obsessive mind. It can cause a moment of thought to last a whole day, or worse. Just last night my roommate opened up a brand new 2-liter of ginger ale and that sound took me to a place where I could almost taste a fresh, ice cold Pepsi. For about 10 minutes there I wanted one more than anything. I really could almost taste it. I’m still trying to get used to dinnertime without that big glass of sweet cola goodness to wash everything down. It was like a treat I gave myself when I made it to the end of another day. Now I'm redefining what the word "treat" means to me. I'm proud of how far I've come but I'm not going to think for one second that this is over yet.

When I see other people drinking one, a bottle on the street or a Pepsi commercial on TV I feel sad for a little bit at my loss until I force myself to consider what I gain by not having it. I have to make myself see the positive. It’s not automatic yet. What is automatic is the feeling of loss and of want. Hopefully in a few weeks those feelings will fade and I won’t have to constantly have to make an effort to remind myself of the positive, I’ll just know it. This is why I can’t waver. If I can go several weeks without touching the stuff, a new pattern will emerge and the old routines will fade further into the rear view. It is never easy to consciously begin a new habit, especially when part of you wants to cling to the old one.

I’m not there yet. Every day is hard. I’m also trying to keep my calorie count to a certain level so in some ways these cravings can be like a double whammy. My caffeine withdrawal seems to be over but my sugar withdrawal, my sugar cravings continue… even as I type this. A co-worker has brought in really good donuts today. He brought in a dozen but there’s only 4 of us here! He says, help yourself and I think, I’m trying.   

So I haven’t touched them. I’m afraid to even go near the box in fear I might smell them and trigger a whole new level of craving. I must be strong. I keep telling myself, reminding myself that food’s primary purpose is for fuel, for giving the body what it needs. For too many years of my life, actually more like all of them, I’ve been misguided and thought of food’s primary purpose was for taste or for fun. I mean, I’ve always known what the right path was but I chose to avoid it. I’d let my emotions dictate my appetite. I’d let my inner child run amok. When it came to food I would often choose fun over responsibility. Even yesterday, all I had to drink for the ENTIRE day was spring water and at one point I thought, what a boring way to live. But what an awful thing to think! We live in a society where so many awful foods and drinks are pitched to us for being tasty, for being cool, for being fun as if they are perfectly safe to consume but they are not. Sure you could have a bottle of Pepsi today and it would probably do absolutely nothing to you. But if you have a bottle every day, sometimes 2 or 3 and continue to do that for 20 years you might become aware of how powerful an effect it has on you chemically, psychologically and physically. I am aware… every minute, every hour and every day of distance I create from it.

I am still trying to lose the weight I gained when I started college. I’m still running from the shadow of an addiction so “trite” I never even considering quitting it until only a week before I did. I thought, Pepsi isn’t great for you, but it’s no worse than most of the other things I put in my body… well guess what? I’ve put a lot of bad things in my body. I’m dealing with the repercussions now. When you’re younger you take so many things for granted, especially your health. I have a line in one of my poems about needing my diet to grow up but the truth is, it’s time I did.   

Ten years of mixtapes! (7-14-14)

For those of you who don't know, a hobby of mine going back to 2004 is making "best of" mixtapes. It's a passion that was born back during my college radio days. Back then I was Crazy Eddie. Once I moved on from WBNY/Buffalo State, the bug was still there. I still wanted to be on the cutting edge of music. I still cared about the newest and best stuff coming out, especially in the indie/alternative/college radio realm of things. It's with that motivation these mixtapes were born. And I know what you are thinking, no one makes mixTAPES anymore. That's true but I still can't get used to saying mixCDs even though I've been making them now for 10 years! Anyway. I recently finished by Best of 2014, Vol. 1 and here is both the cover art and the track listing. I make a batch of them and give them away to eager ears. Maybe if you catch me out the next few weeks, you could find yourself going home with one.

Crazy Eddie's Best of 2014,Vol. 1:

available for FREE at an Eddie near you. :)

  

Responsibility (6-27-14)

If you’ve known me for any period of time you know that I can’t stand cars. I’ve often railed against them and what they turn us into but I think I’m wrong about them. Don’t get me wrong, cars have plenty of bad qualities but I think the thing that is most wrong about cars, are the people who drive them. With some people, it’s a case of distraction either inside the car or out that causes them to have slow or no reaction time and it’s getting worse with the number of toys that are available. With others it’s a selfishness where they couldn’t care less about what goes on outside of their vehicle. They notice things but they don’t care. Worst of all, there are a lot of stupid people out there. I hate to be so blunt, but it’s true. There are a lot of stupid people out there operating these machines that could not only kill themselves but others. There are moments on the road where common sense and intelligence can help and these people lack it. The ultimate flaw that binds these 3 types of offenders is the lack of responsibility they exhibit when operating their cars. That’s the bottom line. Owning and operating a car is a responsibility many drivers are not up for, and it’s astonishing to me considering how frequently we use them.

Anything we do daily we tend to take for granted. We get up, we shower, brush our teeth, use the bathroom, eat and we drive. People do it on auto-pilot more often than not while they listen to music, talk to passengers or simply find themselves deep in thought. Back when I drove I’d zone out sometimes too, but I tried as hard as I could to pay attention to the road. I’d only put music on up to a certain volume. I always drove with both hands and I followed the rules of the road. I’d usually drive the speed limit, I’d stop at stop signs and I always signaled, whether it was turns or lane changes. I tried to drive in a “textbook” manner because I felt like this was the safest way to be. It turns out all this did was anger other drivers. People were constantly getting upset with me for doing things by the book. I’d constantly get beeped at for going too slow, being too deliberate and for basically trying to do the right thing. It poisoned my experience. I started to get mad at people who got mad at me… I mean, how dare you!

To make a long story short, I really began to detest driving and I worked my life in such a way that I hardly would ever have to. I thought that turning in my keys would relieve me of the anxiety and anger my car had given me but it really didn’t. I still had to deal with other drivers whether I was walking, biking or taking the Metro. In some ways it was worse because I felt like when I was in my old car I at least had some level of protection against other cars but once outside of it, I had little to none- a fact I learned the hard way on December 7^th 2007 when I was struck crossing the street (at a red light) where I suffered numerous injuries including the one that’s been the hardest to shake, the mental one.   

Soon it’s going to be 7 years since that terrible day but the images are still fresh in my mind. In fact so are the sounds, the smells and the fear. I laid on the street less than 10 minutes before I was inside an ambulance but it felt like an hour. Everything about the ordeal is fresh in my memory, the car striking me, flying through the air, the thud on the street, the cold wet Delaware Avenue, the painfully bumpy ride to the hospital, the wait in line while strapped to the stretcher, the sounds of the doctors losing a gunshot victim nearby in the ER, the pain when I tried to stand, the pain of having a broken leg and a purple butt for several weeks, the sweat of rehabbing my leg in time for spring football season- it’s still very clear. But more than anything else I took from that day, I developed a deep paranoia of other drivers. It has stayed with me and driven me to do some illogical and overly cautious things- things like crossing a street before the corner so I only had to be aware of 2 directions instead of 4. You’ll rarely see anyone take longer crossing a street longer than I. I really wait until absolutely no cars are close, and if it’s a light I will wait until every car is completely stopped before I take a step across. Just because it’s red doesn’t mean I will trust you to stop. This paranoia, while occasionally bordering on silliness, does serve me well from time to time. Today I think it served someone else well.  

I was walking into work this morning as I have been doing of late with the beautiful weather and my increased energy. I usually take Linwood Avenue most of the way. Linwood is clean and pretty quiet with many beautiful brick homes that really appeal to me. I had headphones on because, like I said it’s a quiet street so I just tune out and enjoy some music and I march my way through a half hour walk.

As I approached West Utica I was lost in the sweet sounds of Whitney Houston and was enjoying the air and sunshine. My spider-sense started to tingle as I approached the clinic on the corner. The parking lot for the clinic is behind it and the entrance/exit is a long driveway to the side of it that cuts through the sidewalk and onto Linwood Avenue. All that is well and good but what complicates matters is that along the entire side of the driveway is a very tall and very dense line of bushes that leads right up to the sidewalk. So if someone or something was travelling down that driveway they wouldn’t be able to see if any traffic (foot, bike or car) was approaching until they got just past the sidewalk. I’ve always thought that was a potentially dangerous situation but who comes speeding out of a parking lot blind like that?

As I came within a few steps of that shrouded driveway I slowed down. Even though I had headphones on the music was not loud enough to prevent me from hearing a very fast moving vehicle recklessly tearing down that driveway. I stopped in my tracks right before the sidewalk meets that driveway and began to wait for this car to fly through. I was going to give them a “look” as they passed for sure.  I could hear the vehicle was only a few feet away when something unfortunate happened. Out the corner of my eye from my semi-turned head I could see a jogger fast approaching and within a second of passing me and running right into the path of this fast moving car. Neither could see the other. The jogger, like me, listening to music but not like me, was running at full speed. The car obviously coming down the driveway too fast and with that wall of bushes blocking their sight, they would not see this guy until after impact. I had no time. Instinctively almost as quickly as I saw him I threw my left arm out to attempt to stop this man as I yelled WATCH OUT! With this man running at full speed my suddenly extended arm did little to stop him. He ran through my arm but I did slow him down a little. A little but unfortunately it wasn’t enough as the next thing I knew, just 3 feet in front of me, the car, now revealed as an SUV struck this man with a glancing blow but a blow strong enough to send him right to the ground. For as fast and as reckless the driver had been, he did hit his brakes as fast as he could. The jogger took quite a shot, basically taking the right headlight and corner bumper right into his ribs. Miraculously, he hopped right up and just stared at the driver. The driver looked back at him.

There was a man driving with what I assumed to be his wife in the passenger side and a few kids in the back. The jogger started shaking his head at the driver, almost in disbelief and I stared at everyone waiting to see what was going to happen. The jogger didn’t appear to be hurt. He picked up his phone which was shot about 6 feet away by the blast. No words were said. The car just drove away. The jogger was making sure his gear was still functional and in place. I shook my head. I asked; “Are you alright?” The jogger replied; “Yeah, I’m good.” I couldn’t believe what I had just seen. “I’m sorry I threw my arm out at you like that. I tried to stop you. ” I said with all sincerity. “Don’t be” he said with a shake of his head; “If you didn’t slow me down he might have really got me.  One more step and it could have been really bad, so thanks. ” And with that the jogger took off. I stood there in disbelief.  

He was right, one more step and instead of catching the front corner of the SUV he would have been hit dead center. I was hit dead center by that Oldsmobile in 07. Thankfully two things worked for me on that day. The first was I never saw it coming so my body was limp and rubbery when I was struck- that might have saved a few bones. The second was when she barreled into me since she was driving a car and not a vehicle with a tall front like a truck, van or SUV, my body just went right onto her hood which despite getting through off of it when she slammed on her brakes was probably better than having my body from the waist up slamming into something hard as well. One more step. The thought gave me shivers. One more step and that guy could have been killed.  The car drove away like nothing happened. The man jogged away like nothing happened. I finally crossed the street, looking both ways several times overwhelmed by what just happened.

Mind on a diet (2-10-14)

I’ve always been an emotional person. When I get happy, I get really happy. When I get sad, I get really sad. It’s who I am. I am the farthest thing from a robot. I’m too hot to handle and too cold to hold, you know like Bobby Brown except without the drug problem. Nearly everything can make me laugh… or cry. It depends on where my mind is. When I think about when I am happy versus when I am sad it really is very simple. It boils down to one thing: When I’m happy I’m usually living in the moment, when sad I’m usually living in the past.

When I am living in the now, I am carefree, light hearted and light on my feet. It’s easy for me to move and to go in any direction I want. My confidence is good and I feel like I can accomplish nearly anything. When I am living in the past I am burdened by the pain of things that happened, that didn’t happen and all the regrets. My heart is heavy, my mind is heavy and it is not easy for me to move or go in any direction at all. My confidence falters and I feel useless. I get stuck. It can happen to anyone, weigh them down with enough baggage and they aren’t going to be moving very fast, or at all. They’ll get stuck too. That’s what baggage does, it slows you down, it limits you and after a while, it makes you want to stop trying to move in any direction. You get tired of carrying it. You know it’s a hindrance but you also think you NEED to carry it all. It's yours. My mind has grown very heavy and very weary of carrying all this baggage around. My mind needs to get leaner. My mind has to go on a diet.

I need to think of my mind as a zombie survival kit. If there was a zombie apocalypse I would grab a backpack and fill it with things I need. If I took everything I found, the pack would get very heavy, fill up and I’d move a lot slower. It might even jeopardize my chances for survival. The point is, I’d have to prioritize. If I only have so much space and I can only bring certain things, wouldn’t I want to bring the things I truly need with me. Why would I want to bring along regret when I could bring hope instead? Why would I want to lug around the heavy burden of failure when I could pack something lighter, like courage? The old me would carry every mistake, every failure, every burden and all the pain. He’d choose to carry it and then whine about carrying it. He’d focus on all the people who are no longer in his life and all the love lost than all the wonderful people and the love he has right now. The new me is going to choose not to carry anything more than I need going forward. I need to live the life I write about in my poems… and not look back.

Whenever I start down a new path the past always calls to me. I stop and look over my shoulder and acknowledge it. The past never stops talking and if I never stop listening what ends up happening is I don’t go anywhere. I need to move so far down the path that the voices of the past can no longer be heard. This requires not listening when the past calls to me. This requires moving on. There’s a difference between honoring the past and humoring it. I’m not laughing anymore.

It’s a journey I’ve tried to make many times… a journey to be free of the doubt, the negativity and my worst insecurities. Why do I think I can succeed this time? I’m trying new ideas, new methods that I’ve never tried before. I’m not talking about fad diets and quick fixes. I’m talking about changing the way I think, the way I live. My life depends on it. I think I'm more willing than I've ever been to take that next step. Plus as added incentive, this time I have an angel behind me ready to give me a kick in the can whenever I need one. If I have a setback, a relapse or allow any of that old negativity to try to influence the new me she’s there to kick my butt until I’ve progressed to the point where I can do my own butt kicking or not require any at all. With my evolution, combined with the support of those close to me I will shed all those unwanted pounds whether we are talking about my waistline or my mind. The rest will take care of itself. My mind and body will both be lean, toned and ready to battle anything that gets in its’ way, even if it has to battle me. This time I will win. Edwin. 

Heart on a diet (2-10-14)

All this talk of sweethearts, couples and valentines... it’s that time of year again. This is the last obstacle for me to get past what is always a depressing period. It’s a period of time that is wrought with sadness and cravings. For someone who has traditionally been a comfort eater, it’s also a dangerous time. It starts at Thanksgiving. I begin to miss the family I grew up with… while it wasn’t always an ideal situation; it was always a comfort to know that at the very least I had love in the room with me. After Thanksgiving the longing starts and the holes begin to open. They are hollow inside. It gets worse by Christmas. I see all the movies, the commercials, the activity around me. It feels like the world is moving twice as fast as I. Maybe it’s because when you have someone you move with the purpose of two. On New Years it reaches its’ peak where the loneliness is ready to swallow me whole. There is no midnight kiss, only old acquaintances that I cannot forget or new ones I’ve never met. Afterwards, I’m left with a hangover of pain that stays with me for a few weeks. Things seem to be getting back to normal. The tides appear to be headed back out to sea but then that one last giant wave of suffering crashes into me. It’s called Valentine’s Day.

I haven’t held someone in my arms on Valentine’s Day in 11 years. Perhaps it's bad luck, bad timing but sometimes I feel like it’s hopeless. I’ve had so many missed opportunities, so many rejections and part of me wants to reconcile and accept whatever time I have left as time that will be spent alone. It would be easier than hurting or getting hurt 10 times out of 10. It seems I always want what’s beyond my reach but I don’t care how lonely I get, how horny, how needy, I cannot settle. I can’t settle for a casual fling or a placeholder. I can’t settle for a stepping stone or a fix. I need so much more than that. I need what’s in the stories, the movies, even the commercials. Hell, I probably need more than that too. Today I saw an ad for a teddy bear company that sells 4-foot teddy bears. They say they will guarantee delivery by Valentine’s Day. I look in the mirror and I see a 6 foot 3 teddy bear, an “Eddie bear” that will also guarantee delivery by Valentine’s Day… call now. An operator is standing by.

This is going to be a tough week. 

The Rise of Buffalo Poetry

The Rise of Buffalo Poetry:

Does the thought of poetry get you excited? If the answer is yes, what comes to mind? Abstract imagery?  Explosive protest? Tongue in cheek observation? Poetry can lay claim to all of those things and more. It’s one of the oldest known forms of entertainment, far older than more contemporary art forms like rock n roll, movies and selfies. While it generally flies under the radar, especially in comparison to those other, more high profile forms of expression it is no less important, especially to anyone who ever picked up a book by Charles Bukowski, Allen Ginsberg or Maya Angelou. Now if the thought of poetry doesn’t get you excited, perhaps it’s time for you to check out a “slam”.

 

Since the mid-80s a different kind of poetry has been entertaining people worldwide. It’s called poetry slam. What is it? It’s best to see and experience a slam so you can decide that for yourself but if you need a starting point here you go: slam is poetry on crack. It’s a simple recipe: Take performance poetry, which is already exciting, and then make it competitive. A poetry competition? How absurd! But it’s so much fun! Poetry slam is also interactive. Five random people from the crowd volunteer and are made judges. After the host serves up a sacrificial poet (someone who is not competing in the slam) to help the judges calibrate their scoring, the slam begins. From that point the hopeful poets perform their pieces within the confines of a time limit- going over time results in a score deduction. Poets are then scored by each judge on a scale of 0-10, with the number reflective of how the judge felt about both their content and performance. After a few intense rounds a winner emerges. Got all of that? If you look at it big picture the whole event is very tongue in cheek. Think about it, poetry with a time limit, scoring and a winner declared? This is ART, there are no winners! People who don’t get it (stubborn traditionalists) feel it undermines the integrity of the art form while those who do get it, love it. They know it’s all ridiculous fun.

 

But as silly as the premise of turning poetry into sport may seem, don’t let that fool you into thinking there isn’t something inspiring at work. These poets have plenty to say! As many are now finding out through social media, many moving and relevant works are being shared heavily on YouTube, Facebook or through websites like Upworthy, the Huffington Post and others. These online avenues have brought slam and performance poetry right to the leading edge of the underground and have made poetry more of a viable form of expression, especially to the young, who most appreciate the raw energy and in your face honesty that slam demands.

 

Before the recent social media growth of slam there had been previous attempts to bring the style to the mainstream, think the 6 seasons of Russell Simmons’ Def Poets on HBO, or the popular independent film “Slam”, which introduced many of us to the multi-talented poet Saul Williams. While these and other attempts surely expanded and raised the level of exposure slam has achieved, it still sits in a place that fits just right. Slam is underground enough to be cool, but popular enough to grow. While it seems to be reaching a new high nationally, the evolving art has had many ebbs and flows during it’s now 30 year run and slam poetry in Buffalo is no different, especially in recent years.

 

About 2 years ago local slam poetry received a rebirth when local poet Brandon Williamson founded the Pure Ink Poetry Slam, a monthly poetry slam which took place at Merge Restaurant. It was the first time a regular slam poetry event was held in Buffalo since the late Gabrielle Bouliane moved to Austin, Texas in 2008 and took the very popular monthly Nickel City Slam with her. That event, with the help of the Just Buffalo Literary Center enjoyed a healthy 3 year run during First Fridays in Clifton Hall at the Albright Knox Art Gallery. Ms. Bouliane took the first Buffalo representatives to the annual National Team Poetry Slam competition. With her help and the development of many talented poets, slam was gaining popularly in Buffalo but when she left, in a lot of ways it was if she took most of the scene with her. With its’ biggest local champion gone, local slam poetry became difficult to find. If you looked hard you might find it in at an obscure coffeehouse open mic or through word of mouth… if you knew the right people.  

 

Then in January 2012 Mr. Williamson changed that. With the help of Merge Restaurant he began hosting the Pure Ink Poetry Slam, an event that reintroduced it to area audiences. From the first night, many of the poets who performed during the Nickel City Slam days returned and since then a slow but steady growth of slam around this region has occurred. This has resulted in many dynamic new performers joining in, providing depth and making the Buffalo scene as vibrant and energetic as those Nickel City days, perhaps more so. How much has the Buffalo slam scene grown the past 2 years?

 

In late October of 2013, Pure Ink sent a team representing Buffalo to the first annual Empire State Team Poetry Slam held in Rochester, NY. In that competition Pure Ink defeated teams from Rochester, Syracuse, Suffern and another very talented team from Buffalo to claim the title. Earlier this month Pure Ink Poetry represented Buffalo again in the annual QEW Regional Poetry Slam. Teams from Toronto, Burlington, St. Catharines, Mississauga and Rochester NY took part and once again Pure Ink Poetry did Buffalo proud becoming the first American team to ever win the QEW.

 

What’s next for the reigning Empire State and QEW slam champions? What’s next for Buffalo’s slam scene? As the Pure Ink Poetry Slam begins its’ 3^rd year of existence it’s poised to be bigger than ever. So big that starting this Sunday, it moves to a new home with a new day and time. You can be part of the growth! If you think you’ve got what it takes to compete for the monthly Pure Ink slam title, make sure to bring at least 2 original pieces that do not run longer than 3 minutes and don’t forget to bring the energy. That goes for anyone who wants to attend. You have to be prepared to cheer on the poets, playfully boo the judges and get beyond excited because with slam, energy is everything. Now who would have thought poetry could be so much fun? See for yourself at the next Pure Ink Poetry Slam!

 

Pure Ink Poetry Slam

Sunday January 26th and every 4^th Sunday of the month
At The Gypsy Parlor
376 Grant St. Buffalo
6pm, $5 at the door
All Ages- although the language and subject matter may not be suitable for children.

http://www.pureinkpoetry.com

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