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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


4.23.00

Last night was made fabulous by poets young and younger! I went to the National Youth Poetry Slam Finals, with my friend, beautiful slam poet Ariana Waynes. The vibe was incredible; later, one of the older slam poets commented that ppl would be talking about this event for a long time.
The youth poets coaxed emotion and resonance from startling juxtaposition of word and image, causing the audience to laugh, stamp their feet, nearly weep, their writhing bodies a visceral testimony to the strength of language to evoke, provoke, stroke.

Language arouses. It's sexy, scary, stunning. Poets are some of the most progressive, passionate, witty ppl I know/encounter, newborn again to the revolutionary idea, the fabulous moment, of the tongues of poets criss-crossing, at hyperspeed, nations, tribes, languages, geographical/mental/emotional spaces, faster than pretensions, provocative dissension in the making.






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