Okay so yesterday I was just a tad pissed off, and my vibes were not all that great in my update, but as you could most probably tell the tone of this one here is a little different.  Sitting up in the morning with a very light hangover, but still high of the damn good vibes last night.
 
Bad news first, we didn’t make the finals. 
 
It was a cutthroat bout last night between ourselves, Slaughter House 4 (Wildcard/Last Chance Slam Team), Victoria, and Calgary.  Let’s just say all of us could have made it or broke it last night, so it was evident to see pure and simple that everyone was bringing their A game material to the stage, and no one relented, no one at all. Toronto sent me up first with “Swearing You In.”  It was delivered very well, polished clean, and like Andrea Thompson said “with a lot of good cadence,” and was very well received the crowd really took it all in and reacted strongly to it.  It scored low again, the highest score was a 7.9, and I think the lowest was a 6.4, but everything scored low that round, and I think my piece was one of the highest scoring if not the highest of my round.  After me was Lara Bozabalian with “Watermark” she delivered it with the beauty that the poem represents, and everyone absorbed it.  It also was one of the highest scoring poems of her round.  In the third round Yehuda gave his slot up for a team piece called “Coming Out Bi” involving Yehuda, Ariel, and myself.  It was a humorous piece about the trials and tribulations of not only coming out as a bisexual, but having to explain what it’s about.  It went over swimmingly well with crowd, and again was one of the two highest scores in the round.  The fourth round Yehuda who was keeping score was basically looking at us saying “We have to win this round.”  Ariel Platt went up and in fine fashion delivered a flawless performance of her piece “Neighbour,” and the crowd absolutely loved it, but if you ask me, the same thing that happened to me happened to Ariel in the last round, and she was completely short changed by the judges.  Basically in the last slot of that round, Truth Is, and Magpie Ulysses surprised everyone with a team piece, and dropped the hammer to take the bout and became one of four teams, to get themselves into the finals.  We fell short, by about two points.

Let me say this much, for a team that was put together two months before this thing, we finished fifth overall there is absolutely nothing for us to feel bad about.  We went down, but as Rahul said,  “you did your jobs,” and yes we did, we went down with guns blazing, and it’s safe to say all of us have left Victoria, and the Canadian spoken word community with a more than affable impression of all of our collective works.  Sean Mcgarragle liked us so much, that he asked us to reprise the team piece tonight on the final stage, and each and everyone one of us got several heartfelt compliments from a variety of audience members, and colleauges which meant the world to us.

The other thing for me though is, that it’s not that hard for me to be humbled by the amazing work that was displayed here thus far.  I mean it’s artists like this that show you the bar can be raised as high as you want it to be. 

The rest of the night involved seeing the second bout between Montreal, Lanark County, Halifax, and Winnipeg.  Montreal won their second bout by a pretty great margine, but let me say that one of the more memorable poems of the night was from Winnipeg’s Leif, it was an astounding epic, and got the longest and loudest cheer from the entire room.  Kevin Fortnum was so impressed that he sauntered over to the merch table to buy his book immediately.

After the bouts we were treated to some more wonderful inspiration with CR Avery, who performed my favourite of his pieces about Jimmy Hendrix, and following CR Avery were the awesome fun sounds of The Fugitives, who had more than just a few people knowing their songs inside out, and singing out loudly with them on each and every one…..at the end of one song Barbara Adler said “That doesn’t happen in Brandon Manitoba.”  It was great to take that in and sing, and dance with all the spoken word peers throughout the nation, and I have to admit, I had more than a couple pints so the buzz was that much more accentuated.

After they performed I had not taken in a poetry cipher yet, and of course one started up back at the hotel in the exercise room of all places.  A bunch of spoken word artists from all over Canada scattered around a fitness room either sitting against an eliptical, or standing on a treadmill while delivering a poem.  I was tagged, and because I missed my girlfriend Angela so much, and knew she would dig a lot of the events that were happening, I performed my most recent poem inspired by her entitled “What We Haven’t Said” which was superbly received, and a lot of people were touched. I didn’t stay for much longer after that, I was exhausted and the buzz was wearing off by still there.  I got in the elevator with Brendan Mcleod and Lara Bozabalian, and it didn’t take long to hit the sheets and fall asleep.

Sitting early in the morning on this hotel lobby computer, in need of a coffee and bagel from Tim Horton’s.  Looking forward to the day, looking forward to tonight, and seeing Vancouver, Montreal, Ottawa, and Slaughterhouse 4 in the final, I can only imagine the amazing poetry people are gonna hear.  And even though the buzz from the extra pints has worn off, I don’t know if the buzz from the awesome vibes from last night ever will, I hope it doesn’t, I really hope it doesn’t

It was a day of intense rehearsing and polishing of pieces.  It was rather hilarious that any time I had to leave the hotel room, that while I was waiting for the elevator all you could hear is poetry coming from select rooms, I thought that in itself was pretty poetic.

The time leading up to our bout last night for all of us was spent with a lot of nerves and being pensive.  We all dealt with it in our own way.  I have to say that for all of the intensity that went along with the preparation, we felt ready.  I had it wrong in my last post by the way, the teams we took on were Halifax, Winnipeg, and Victoria.  It was nice to go for a sushi dinner with Lara and Rahul before we showed up at the venue, that really hit the spot and helped calm me down a bit.

The first of us to go up was Lara Bozabalian performing her poem “Alarm Clocks” and it was everything we could have expected.  It was well delivered and for the fact that she went first we had to give her mad props because she scored rather well.  Next up for us in the next round,  was Ariel Platt, and she delivered her piece in the wonderful firecracker fashion that she always does, also scoring very well.  In the third round we sent up Yehuda Fisher, who I could easily say was the highlight of our bout.  He delivered his piece “Isreal/Ghaza” and it went over swimmingly well, scoring high and making intense impressions on several of the audience members.

I went in the fourth round, the consensus was to start strong, put the strong pieces out there first, we wanna be there with guns blazing.  So I performed “Variations In The Sea.”  I can say with some pride that I think I performed it pretty well, there was one slight hiccup, it was rather miniscule, but the way the crowd reacted to it afterwards told me that I nailed it………the judges scores however told me otherwise.  I was treated to at least three seven point somethings, and then I basically tuned out anything I got after that.

I know that it’s wrong to focus on the scores, and it was great to hear people come up to me and tell me how much they liked my poem, but there was really no way to shelter the fact that I was disappointed…..no scratch that I was outright pissed off.  It could have been because I was told our teams standing with me going up on stage before hand and that we were in the running for the lead.  It could be the fact that all of my team members scored well, and my scoring low, may very well have put us under.  I tried to tell myself that perhaps it’s because it was not a political piece, thus that is why it scored low as judges have really been responding to political pieces, but then thought of Lara’s piece and that it did well despite it not being political.

The one thought though that really put me under for the night though of all of these, and it still resides in the back of my mind, is that the judges were not judging the poem, but the guy delivering it.  I know it may seem wrong and bitter of me to think that way, but I am in a competition, I am part of a team, and while everyone left, right, and centre could tell me not to be disappointed, that’s just the way I’m built and that’s just the way I feel. 

I was quiet for the rest of the night, I really didn’t say much to anyone, and if any members of my team are reading this, I apologize, you guys did awesome, and collectively as a team, I think indeed we did pretty well.   I was just dissapointed and I could not help feeling that way.   When the dust settled, Victoria finsihed first, Toronto second, Halifax third, and then Winnipeg.   We scored fairly well, and placed fairly well, but tonight is bascially the do or die night for us, as the possibility of proceeding to finals is up in the air depending on how we do. 

I have to say though it’s been awesome to take in all of the other teams from the other bouts.  One of my favourite teams is Saskatoon, they have really left an impression on me and my team mates for sure. 

So here goes folks, another day of rehearsing, and competing, no guts, no glory, just guns blazing.

Yesterday morning started early for me.  Got up decided to get myself a coffee, and do some walking.  Walked along the harbour here in Victoria, and caught the tail end of a rainbow that was fading away.  Came back and rehearsed with the team for two hours.   Afterwards Yehuda, Ariel, and Rahul went to the afternoon festivities, such as the artist showcase, workshops, and aboriginal showcase.  Lara and I were tired so we decided to rest up…..however today I feel I should take some of that in for sure.

The one thing of course we did take in last night was the first round of bouts.  There were two bouts last night.  Bout one had Vancouver, Slaughter House 4 (Last Chance Slam Team), Ottawa, and Calgary.  They all brought a heavy armament of amazing poetry, but the judges, were not so easily swayed.  For the majority of the competition numbers hovered from 6 to 8 only going above 9 occasionally.  Another trend that was noticed is that several pieces went over time, and time penalties were handed out left, right and centre.  Vancouver ended up taking the first bout, with Slaugherhouse 4 finishing second, Ottawa finishing third, and Calgary finishing fourth.   There was a lot of memorable poetry from that first round, for me what stuck out was a brilliantly beautifully crafted piece about swearing courtesy of RC Weslowski.

The next bout had Saskatoon, Montreal, Lanark County, and London.  There was a heavy concentration of brilliance in this round, and have to give massive props to Saskatoon, they really impressed me.  When the dust settled Montreal won out the bout with Saskatoon following closely behind in second, followed by London, and Lanark County.  As I said Saskatoon had some extremely strong and memorable pieces about rape, the beauty in aging gracefully, and things about American society that freak us out.

Overall the night was amazing.  The venue was packed, and the crowd was unbelievably responsive.  It really has put it into perspective to me what this is all about, and it has me really being mindful about our showing tonight as we start our bouts, taking on Victoria, Slaughterhouse 4, and Lanark County.   We have a rehearsal in a little bit, and we are going to be extremely mindful of what we saw, but are excited to be on that stage tonight and hope we can do Toronto proud.

You know it’s a good omen when you are bound for a tournament (albeit a poetry tournament), and on your flight there is a hall of fame hockey player and Stanley Cup champion.  No my eyes were not deceiving me, as I was on my Westjet flight to Calgary when I saw Lanny Mcdonald loading baggage into his overhead compartment, and on his hand was that big Stanley Cup ring.

The flight over to Victoria was pretty nice, even nicer when I ran into Wakefield Brewster at the Calgary Airport waiting for my connecting flight. We dropped in on Victoria with the rest of the rain at around 1.30 pm.  Interestingly enough I arrived ahead of my team, who had actually been in Vancouver the day before and were taking the ferry over.  While I was waiting for them Wakefield and Josh from the Calgary team were kind enough to let me chill with them.  We killed some time by looking around the vicinity, and checking out the actual venue where we would be performing The Victoria Event Centre.

Eventually my team arrived and we headed over to the venue for registration, and orientation.  It was so nice to see some old friends from other provinces that I had not seen in awhile, and meet some cool new people.  We also stuck around for the Last Chance Slam, which totalled out with a team of Truth Is, Zaccheus Jackson, Magpie Ulysses, and Made Wade.  Wicked to see two Toronto cats on that team, and let me tell you our team and a few others are nervous about that combo.

Anyway, during the day today there are open mics and workshops.  Planning to take those in as well as doing some Victoria exploring.  Competitions begin tonight, will keep you all posted as to how that all goes. Stay tuned.

So it’s safe to say that it’s been a rough work day, and I’m headed home on the Queen Street Car headed east to Neville Park.  I ride it almost to the end of the line.  It was a hard day at work, but I am feeling good because I had a Toronto Poetry Slam team meeting scheduled, and it got cancelled, so I can use one of these rare free nights to have some chill time and work on some stuff.  Technically I’ve missed rush hour, because of me working a later schedule but because this one took it’s time getting to me, and because I was the next stop after Yonge and Queen, the streetcar is packed, actually even more than it normally would be at this hour.

So after shoving by a horde of people that had some sort of phobia of moving back, I managed to find some space in the middle of the street car.  I was in that middle part of the street car you know with that big circle.  I felt slightly claustrophobic, but even more so after two young women that got on with me decided to situate themselves right in front of me, and it looked like they were both trying to set records or win an award for “Most Annoying And Loud Yappiness.”

I had nothing to read, so my only choice was to endure this yappiness.  It would seem that girl A and girl B were late for dinner plans and their cell phones were ringing off the hook for their dinner guests were waiting for them at a restaurant on Queen.  From what I gathered the two were supposed to meet at the Eaton Centre and then proceed together to dinner to meet their friends….oh yeah…see what happens when you annoyingly talk on your cell phone in public people?…It ends up on a blog entry.

Instead their plans were thwarted when they were held back by drumroll….shopping.  To try and cover this up, they were talking to the same friend pretending that they were not together, and waiting for one another, and this is the reason for the lateness, when they were clearly together.  So girl A would get a call and say “I have no idea where she is” and then girl B would get a call and say “I have no idea where she is” and they were both standing in front of me, I found this quite amusing.

So because I was already a party to this conversation, I overhear that they are not sure where the restaurant is, she mentions the name, and she mentions that it’s at Queen and Leslie, and me being the nice guy I am says “I know the place you’re talking about it’s on the north east corner, you can’t miss it, it’s got a big giant nose on it.” (Incidentally the name of the restaurant is Gio Rana’s Really Really Nice Italian Restaurant, and it’s on my top five Italian spots to eat in Toronto, if you haven’t tried it, please do).

So after I was trying to be friendly and helpful warmly telling them this detail with a smile on my face,  girl A gives me a really nasty look, and girl B gives me a slightly less nasty look, and girl A says “Yeah well that’s nice, I’m actually having a conversation with my friend, and my friend on the phone, not with you, thanks I’ll find it.” Yes…this is what she said to me, and yes in the tone that you’d picture her saying that. I have no idea why she said what she said to me, I could speculate, but that would just make my blood pressure rise even more.

So I let them go back to their yapping, and I tuned out their conversation as best I could. As the streetcar continued east people emptied out.  The two yappy girls went to the back, and continued yapping, the whole streetcar could have taken notes.  A seat opened up not far from the yappy girls, I really didn’t want to sit near them, but my back was killing me and I was tired, so I bit the bullet and sat down.

Now because the two of them were yapping so loud, frantically,  they happened to miss that warm automatic female voice announcing  “Next stop Leslie Street.”  The streetcar even stopped for close to a minute in front of The Duke, and that nose on the other side of the restaurant they were expected at,  was staring them straight in the face.

Now the question is…did Val be the good Val, and immediately turn around and say “uh…ladies…this is Leslie street” So that they would rush off, and make their dinner in adequate late time?……The answer is no….Val watched the light turn green, listened to the yappy girls continue their horang, and felt the streetcar lurch forward with a small grin on his face.

I could have even turned to them afterwards, at say the next stop, and told them they just missed Leslie street..I was right there, but I didn’t.  In fact, I was pushing myself to see how far east the streetcar could have gone without saying a word, and trying not to break out into complete and utter laughter.  I was hoping I’d get off at my stop, and they would get to Neville Park and wonder what happened.

However, eventually yappy girl A, and yappy girl B talked themselves into submission and thought that this streetcar ride was a little long.  So they went to ask the driver when Leslie street was coming.  As the driver pulled up to the stop at Kingston road, a significant distance past Leslie, he explained to them that Leslie was “back thataway.”  They got mad, and exasperated, saying that they were very late for a dinner, and then took their frustrations out at him because according to them Leslie street was not called, but he politely explained that every stop is called.  I would have gone one further and said “Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time announcing your stupidity to the whole streetcar you would have heard it.”  But the streetcar driver was nice, he gave them each transfers, and told them to wait on the other side. They exited the streetcar in a huff, out into a cold night to wait for another streetcar heading in the opposite direction.

I really don’t know how to feel about Karma. I think it’s a wondrous thing.  I don’t think you can bank Karma in the sense that you do something nice, hoping Karma comes around and does something for you..  Or in my case someone does something mean to you, and you wish Karma to return them the favour.   I didn’t ask that of Karma, Karma just happened and I let it.

As the streetcar pulled away slowly I passed them by looking out the window, and girl A had an even nastier look on her face now that she was so put out.  However I couldn’t help but thank Karma and grin big and wide and nod my head at girl A, taking all of that dirty look she gave me as my streetcar pulled away.

I have to say that when I decided to shell out money for this movie, I thought there was a certain irony in the fact that the film goes against the grain of capitalism, but requires an admission fee.  I am a fan of Michael Moore and his films, but I did have a little bit of a low opinion going into the movie, because let me tell you some leftist arguments at times really get on my nerves.  It was sort of like the opinion I’d formed about Rage Against The Machine, the band that I wanted so badly to believe in their philosophy to rage against the corporate machine, yet they were charging sixty bucks a head to one of their concerts.  But their moment in the sun passed, who knows where Zach De La Rocha is and Tom Morello decided to become an Audioslave   With the onset of Michael Moore raging against the corporate machine, it made me ever the skeptic with him owning a two million dollar home in Manhattan….but I digress…this is just my  cynicism shining through.

The truth of the matter is Moore is not so much telling us that the original idea of capitalism in itself is that bad, but the fact that it has gotten so out of hand and that people are mistaking it for democracy.  The film cleverly opens with an encyclopedia Britanica film of the Roman empire while interweaving excerpts from current American society, and the summation of the Britannica film was that they let certain ideals get out of hand, and it’s what lead to their ultimate decline.  Moore backtracks to a presidential address from then President Jimmy Carter, warning Americans of how materialism is a dangerous thing, and how we have to be careful, but for the time that he delivered it American society considered Carter a buffoon, and it made them all the more ready to welcome Reagan, who propelled the free market to get so out of hand, and Moore shows us how evident it was from the onset of his right hand man who was in charge of a major corporation telling Reagan to “speed it up” during a presidential speech.

It’s hard for the film not to hit hard, and perhaps in some cases hit home.  While Moore knows how to present serious issues with very basic intelligent uses in his films, and while he uses his great sense of humour to help that along, Moore also doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to the raw meat of his argument.  For the most part in the film this included scenes of people getting evicted out of their homes for foreclosures, and interviewing families of loved ones that passed away only to see their insurance companies profit from their death into the millions.  These parts in particular of the film, were especially scary, where insurance companies referred to their premiums as “dead peasant” insurance.

Moore digs that much further, showing the very recent mess that happened with the economy, and how even though there was a vote in the US senate to have the banks clean up the mess themselves, a backroom deal was done anyway.  He dug even further to reveal, that a corporation in itself wanted create a society known as a “Plutonomy” which is essentially to keep the figure that 1% of the American population was wealthy, and that 95% were poor, essentially eliminating any notion of a middle class, and it showed how much times had changed, for after the war, people were taxed 90% and still were able to get by.

Throughout the theater it was easy enough to hear sighs, and comments to all of these things, the second part of the title did indeed say “A Love Story.” I don’t think that Moore used that title in jest, because there were several aspects in the film that involved love, and people coming together despite being so horrifically under the gun.   It showed a community of people coming together to stop a foreclosure, examples of companies where everyone makes the same amount of money including the CEO.  Whenever a decision for the company had to be made they didn’t pay millions of dollars to a board of directors, but had a simple vote in the lunch room, and astoundingly the company was very lucrative and did well in terms of profit.  One of the most refreshing things of this film, though a rarity, was to see a leftist argument that didn’t drag the Church’s name through the mud.  Moore could have easily gunned for faith or the Church like anybody else but I mean that would be like people saying that the Leafs haven’t won a Stanley Cup in over 40 years, or me dissing Celine Dion again, in essence, old and tired arguments.   Rather Moore used the Church as a proponent to his argument.  It talked about how the right wing will always invoke Christianity or Jesus’ name, but Moore candidly talks with Priest’s and Bishop’s that flat out say how the notion of Capitalism is wrong, and that it has gotten out of hand is so completely wrong.  Factory workers locked out of their jobs, that were owed money from Citibank locked themselves in forcing a massive stand-off.  They had the entire country on their side, including news men who are supposed to be objective, people came by to bring them food, and a Bishop came by to tell them, that they being shining examples to their children of fighting for and doing what is right.

I would say that like many of Michael Moore’s films this is an important one to see, even if you disagree with him, there is still something to come away with.  For me I guess because my emotions were running quite high seeing this film, it left me feeling a few things.  First, this blog entry has said the words “left” and “right” several times but after seeing this film, I am not so sure that those two sides exist anymore.  I think the focus of our society can really have only one trajectory, and that is what is true and what is right, and what Moore shows us is that right now, eyes are not on the ball.  However, the little bits of optimism in this film, show that there are hopeful seeds that are planted, and while people can talk about what needs to be changed all they want, there is an old Italian saying that says: “Tra dire a fare, ce un mare…” Translated it means, that between what you say and what you do, there is a sea.  You can talk all you want about what needs to be changed, and you can make it sound damn good too, but what you do about it is what counts.  People have started to do small things, but to bring up the analogy of the sea again, Moore leaves you with the feeling that these small things are good, they are a start, but for any real change to occur  it  has to happen in big giant waves.

“Without this writers festival, this town would probably be the closest thing to Sleepy Hollow Canada has…” I know it may sound like a diss but truth be told, the sentiments I and others have of Eden Mills and it’s writers festival, are assuredly nothing but complimentary. It’s almost sickening to think that yesterday I was performing poetry on one of the coolest stages ever, and now it’s Monday morning and I have to come back to an office job….Yuck!

Yet the memory wheels in my head are spinning out of control. I have to say it was one amazing way to spend a Sunday, and it started out with the foreshadowing that it was going to be a lovely day. Not a cloud in the sky, sun shining brightly and the temperarture even fighting hard on summer

s death rattle. Angela picked me up at Burlington GO, and we had a really nice brunch in between two different back drops: On one side a jazz guitarist on a patio, on another the Burlington waterfront, and then off to the Eden Mills Writers Festival.

Eden Mills is a very tiny hamlet tucked away somewhere along a wondrous ride along the Guelph Line, were it not for the signage there is no way we would have ever found it. Upon arriving, Eden Mills had the same effect in terms of first impression, that a good friend would have, we liked it right away. Maybe the over exposure of city life in Toronto with people being too afraid to talk to one another made this a refreshing change, but everyone in Eden Mills was so damn friendly.

One of the things that astounded me about the festival was that each building that was used for something different was a private residence. The green room for the artists had the feel of someone’s home so we all felt welcome and taken care of with assorted foods on the table, and on the back deck a cooler of beer to drink from while the children’s stage in the back yard had an array of assorted colourful performers. One thing that stuck out for sure was an art gallery which was also someone’s home, having three different viewing rooms. The owner of the house talked with us for awhile, he said that it was built in 1885 and used to be a store. I was taken with photographs from a fellow paesan named Grimaldi, and Angela was taken with a bunch of sculptures that had the same model posing for them. We were both taken by the generous offer of a glass of home made peach wine that we were offered upon entry to the gallery. It was so good, however we could not buy a bottle, not there not anywhere, and if you ask me something that good should be a rarity.

Sooner or later it was time to meet with my newly formed Toronto Poetry Slam team to talk about what we were there for in the first place…performing poetry Lara Bozabalian, Ariel Platt, and Yehuda Fisher were all in fine form and ready to go. For me this was a completely new experience, never been part of a team before, never competed in anything before regarding poetry as a team, but here we were to test our legs in tandem. We were optimistic after our first meeting recording our team CD as we had bonded with one another, but were also a little wary as we had no team pieces ready due to my misunderstanding and neglecting to learn my part in one that was written by Yehuda. We were however confident in our individual pieces, and hopeful that it would be enough.

Our opponents?….none other than the Guelph Poetry Slam team, comprised of amazing eclectic souls such as Unstruck a.k.a. Kevin Sutton, a spiritual sorcerer, who gives me a nostalgic throw-back every time I see him as he was there to catch me when I was first cultivating myself as a spoken word artist in Toronto, and we met at “Bite” a poetry series then run by J Ocean Dennie and to this day remains one of my favourite poetry series that ever existed in Toronto. Beth-Anne Fischer who I had never seen before but was astounded by her delivery on the stage. Livingston who definitely brought some sincere originality to the plate, and Matthew Dryden who I had the pleasure of competing against once before at the Burlington Slam Project.

The stage that we were to perform on was by far one of the coolest stages I have ever delivered a poem on. The audience sat on a hill sloping downward and it ended at a river. On the other end of the river was a grassy bank which is where we were reading as a mic and podium were set up. In order to go up on stage we had to cross a bridge over a river, and to our right was this huge expansive lake, it was quite nice.

The competition was pretty tight. By the turn of the second round we were neck and neck and when Livingston went up with a team piece it made us all a little nervous because we didn’t have one. However the team decided to send me up with Upstairs which was strong, and then Lara had the anchor spot, and finished with Watermark. As tight as things were it was enough for eek out our first win as a team.

We all celebrated performing together at the wonderful banquet that was provided for us by the festival. Normally all of the food would have been made at the hall where we were dining, however the hall was being used for a wedding the day before, so the towns people all opened up their kitchens collectively to get this feast off the ground. The meal highlights for me were butter chicken and rice, some awesome home made Tuscan red wine, and some wicked pumpkin pie. While eating dinner of course it was great to have miscellaneous people coming up to me telling me how moved they were by my words, and for me that’s what it’s all about, not the ego stroke, but the fact that the words resonated with someone.

The drive home was met with exhaustion, but healthy exhaustion. Part of it was the performance, part of it was being in the sun all day, and walking around. I think most of it though was due to all the gigantic inspiration provided to us in one day from a little place called Eden Mills.

It’s 2:41pm on a Saturday afternoon, and I find myself alone at my girlfriend’s house as she has elected to volunteer today at a festival in Hamilton.  I am sitting in front of her computer and what’s most astonishing about all this is that right now I am awake.  A couple of months ago Saturday afternoon would arrive and it wouldn’t take very long at all for me to decide that it was time for a nap.  In fact on our second date, it actually was a Sunday and I was near my girlfriend’s vicinity for a baptism, and it was suggested by her that I stop by for the afternoon.  I couldn’t help but take her up on her offer.  So when I arrived I was greeted ever so warmly by her, with a big hug and a kiss to boot.  We looked into each other’s eyes, asked each other how we were, and then I said “Say listen, that baptism really wore me out, I was wondering would it be okay, if I took a nap?”  I wish I could make this up, but it’s absolutely true, and justifiably so she gave me a rather puzzled look, followed by her concession saying “um…sure.”  Of course she thought perhaps this was my way of wanting some cuddle time, but she ended up realizing that it was no ploy, as soon as I hit the bed, she was treated to a melody of snores.

She would soon realize that this was not an isolated incident.  I slept a lot.  I remember for a period of time there were Koalas at the Toronto zoo.  It was heavily advertised, was indeed a big attraction people filled the place to get a look at the Koalas myself included, and upon seeing the Koalas all myself and the other people saw was a bunch of sleeping animals.  Apparently Koalas are only awake for a small percentage of the day, and let me tell you, I could have very well competed with them.   It was rather wretched, I was always tired.  Whenever my girlfriend would drive me somewhere in the car, it wouldn’t take me long to dose off, at work after lunch there were multiple times where I went to the bathroom to put cold water on my face, would constantly dose off at home in front of the television, or with my girlfriend at a movie or even in a movie theater.   I’d be ready for bed whenever, and of course when it came to sleeping I snored like a bear…no scratch that, I don’t think any bear, even a grizzly could have competed with me.  It was embarrassing, especially when it came to sharing sleeping quarters with someone.  I call to mind a few years ago when Last Call Poets performed in Montreal, and Rahul Gupta(a.k.a. That Brown Bastard) had the misfortune of sharing a bed with me.  I kept the poor guy up all night long.  But little did I know, and was soon to find out that what I thought was embarrassing turned out to be life threatening.

My girlfriend noticed all too often that while I was asleep, I would cease breathing.  It would be like an episode of Fear Factor, where there would be these enormous snores followed by complete silence, and then she would count, ten seconds….twenty seconds…thirty seconds….and when she hit forty she would poke me awake.   She would tell me this several times and I tried to put off thinking about it, but the fact of the matter is, when you wanna stick around a little longer you have take care of things.  So, it was time for a sleep test.  I have had sleep tests before, and I have absolutely loathed them, which is part of the reason why I put it off for as long as I did.   I really don’t know how anyone is supposed to actually sleep during a sleep test.  Apart from the technician coming in every so often, an infrared camera on you all the time, and the technician telling you to change sleep positions, they wire you up worse than the FBI wiring some guy to bust a drug dealer.   Along with that you have this gross goup in your hair to keep the electrodes in place, and usually you leave the clinic feeling like a zombie.  Apparently they don’t need you to sleep very long to determine your sleep pattern, and they got what they wanted from me.

Now the previous two sleep tests I had, the doctors acknowledged that apnea was present.  By apnea I mean Sleep Apnea a condition where one ceases breathing while sleeping, an instance when you stop breathing is known as an apnea. So back to the previous two sleep tests,  the solution was the ever unoriginal “lose the weight.”  They have a chart in front of them showing that I have been a bigger guy and struggling with a weight problem all of my life, and they say it so simply non challant, “lose the weight.”  It’s not like I don’t give it a shot to lose the weight, I mean I exercise pretty regularly, and I have yo-yoed up and down plenty of times, but I don’t have that magic metabolism.  This time though, I went to see a different Doctor, and his solution was not as simple as the others.  The results of my sleep test took forever, and on the day that I went to hear the verdict I was prepared for some concerning news, so I took my girlfriend with me into the Doctor’s office.  No matter how prepared you are to hear certain news, when the stats are told to you by someone in a position to tell you, it’s always a good thing to have a hand to squeeze.

The doctor didn’t mince words. He told me of the three levels of sleep apnea, mild, moderate, and severe.  He told me my name was attached to the severe label.  He told me I stop breathing 120 times an hour and that my oxygen level goes down to 89% when I am asleep, and he told me that could largely explain why I am so tired all the time.   However, when it came to treatment the Doctor seemed to be a little more creative than “lose the weight.”  Apparently weight is only part of the problem.  Yes there is more of you to breathe this is true, but I learned the main reason for my apnea was the alignment of my jaw.  Apparently because of the way my jaw is aligned my airway is not entirely clear.  So he suggested two things:

1) Have surgery where they break my jaw and reset it (no thanks)

2)  Get a CPAP Machine:  A mechanism where air is shot into my airway either through the nose, the mouth or both, and I am able to attain full REM sleep (I’ll take the latter).

He also went on to say, that if I did not seek treatment for this, that he would notify the Ontario government and that my license would be suspended as the Ministry Of Transportation considers people with my condition just as dangerous if not more than drunk drivers.  Apparently drunk drivers still have reflex control even while slower, people with my condition just dose off.  He said it was unfortunate that previous Doctors did not suggest the CPAP machine before, because while losing weight would make a difference, having the CPAP machine would let me get proper sleep, which would lead to me being awake more, which would lead to more energy, which would lead to me being more active and doing more active things….makes sense right?  I think so too, which at this point leads me to conclude that the initials PHD don’t tend to mean a hell of a lot.

So on I went to pursue exploring the mechanism of the CPAP machine. The plan was to get a machine, have it for a month so I get used to it, and then have another sleep test with the machine so they can adjust the pressure level to the one that best suits me.  There were all these different variations of sleep machines.   The one they ended up lending to me was one of their most advanced ones.  It had a humidifier built in so you could adjust the temperature of the water and humid air that will be blown into you, it took into account that you breath in and out, and when you breath back out it backed the air off a little bit, it had a ramp feature where you could set a time so the machine gradually gets to your pressure level.  My air pressure level was 12, and it was set to reach 12 within 20 minutes.  The toughest part of getting used to the machine, and this is the popular opinion here, is the mask, the mask is everything and apparently for some it takes a long time to find the right mask.  I was given two.  There was a full face mask, and nasal pillows.  At first I thought the full face mask covering my nose and mouth would be the way to go as my mouth drops open during sleep, however, I noticed that the full face mask was extremely obtrusive, and a pain in the ass.  The nasal pillows took some time to get used to as I had to train my mouth to stay closed (as many of you know that is a feat in itself).   I did eventually get the hang of it, took a few days, and actually slept quite well with the machine averaging between five and six hours, which is good when you’re first starting out.

I’ve had the machine for about a month and a half now, and let me tell you, please forgive the pun, the difference is night and day.    There have been little differences that have added up to quite a bit.  My girlfriend can’t recall as well when the last time it was when I fell asleep in the car.  I work in a call center and my supervisors at work have noticed my stats change for the better, oh yeah and getting an afternoon coffee or splashing cold water on my face has stopped.   I have far more energy at the gym when I work out, and have noticed a significant drop in my heart rate while doing cardio vascular workouts, and my resting heart rate.  I had my second sleep test with the machine not long ago, and slept through the whole night, also they weighed me, and there has been a decrease in my weight. Thoughts are a lot clearer when I sit down to write, and I am more energetic about performing spoken word gigs, they don’t seem as much of a chore to me as they once did and I deliver my pieces with a bit more gusto than usual.  I am more attentive, and responsive in social situations, and don’t drift off as much, as I was told by some that I did before.  I am able to stay up pretty late on most nights and not feel tired, and when it comes to my girlfriend she finds it refreshing that we can go through entire movies again.

I could go on, but these examples alone are just after a month and a half, and I am optimistic and excited about what else is going to come of this.   My father passed away of a heart attack at 51 years of age.  This has always been in my head from the day it happened.  Sometimes it’s in my head more than I care for it, and sometimes it affects me more than I want it to.  There’s an echo there telling me to take care of things now, because this is a mere sip of life, and I want mine to last longer than 51 years.  I have always been against radical surgeries, like lap band, or stomach stapling, and I always will.  I don’t like the notion of having to rely on technology to sustain one’s life, I am a bit uncomfortable with that, and with the fact that I am 33 and I need a machine to sleep.  But, in more ways than one I have been sedated for awhile, and I gotta tell you, as much as I loved heading into bed for an afternoon nap on a Saturday afternoon, in recent time I’ve been treated to some of the most wonderful awakenings, and I am treating this one no differently.   I know as do all of us that there is one hell of a long sleep awaiting us, and who knows when it’s gonna come, so if I have to use a machine to breathe in the time before that, well those conditions are hard to argue with, cause in the end…it’s nice to be awake, it really is.

Back in the spring I went to see my girlfriend’s music concert.  I hadn’t seen a high school music concert…well since I was in high school, and let me tell you, I never had in my head to be a musician to begin with, but if I even had a trace of it, seeing my highschool band would not have inspired me to continue.

I remember the day of her concert.  She lives out of town, so I took the day off to be there as I work shift work and had I worked that day I may not have been able to make it.  I got in her good graces by spending the day at her place and doing her dishes and cutting her grass. Though not long before her concert started, I embarrassed myself by setting off her security alarm, and then sitting with her parents whose dinner outing was interrupted by ADT caling them to tell them their daughter’s alarm has been set off.

The concert was in a high school gym, it’s a new school so they don’t have a theater yet, from what I hear it is in the works with new funding.  However the gym had a stage.  Angela is the only music teacher at her school, so the student’s ranged from 9-12.  It was in essence a collage and showcase of talents for the newbies to see what they have learned thus far, and to see what the other students were developing into, and moving on with.

There was everything from guitar performances, rock band performances, to orchestral and choral arrangements.  All of this under the command of a sweet beautiful brunette commandingly waving her baton in the air.

When the concert was over, and the music set was being struck there was some casual time with her students.  They were all curious to meet me as the rumour for awhile was “Miss has a boyfriend.”  Her students are a lot of fun, they have a lot of charisma, and for the most part are pretty mature.  There were a couple of instances were Angela had to don her “teacher voice” but overall her students were a lot of fun.  In the end the apparent concensus among the student was that they gave me a 7.5 out of 10.

I guess I could have felt somewhat dejected by about 2.5 percentage points, but I can understand why the students would set such high standards for the woman they affectionately call “Mz Mac” (Has to do with her last name) who incidentally was a nominee this year for Ontario Secondary School Educator Of The Year, just thought I’d throw that in there.

I don’t know why I think of this now, but seeing Angela have that candid time with her students really drew things into perspective for me. Along with a floral arrangement, and a scrapbook of memories, pictures, and commendations for her efforts on the past year, her student’s showed her love, respect, and friendship, three valuable aspects of interaction in return for what I believe she showed them, as well as inspiration.

She loves her job, telling me more than once that a win in the lottery would not deter her from contiuing to do what she does.  When I first met her and she told me she was a highschool music teacher I knew that whatever students got the privelege of being under her guidance were treated to more than your run of the mill music lessons.  For instance, I am not sure of what most music programs have in store for their students, but she managed to get her music students to New Orleans this year for the Jazz festival and divided her time between chaperoning her kids, playing music in some cool places, and having other students build houses as part of “Habitat For Humanity.”

With Stephen Harper manning the country, and Ontario’s attitude towards arts in schools, Angela’s position is a rarity.  I have an Uncle that is a rather known jazz musician and he told her that the main reason he does what he loves is because there was a music program at his highschool.  She takes this precious position that she has, and she makes a difference day in and day out, she’s paid well for it, and she deserves it.  After all she worked hard for it, she did things right, being academically inclined, and evolving into such a respected figure in her school. A Mother of one of her student’s told me, “God sent her here” and I can tell it wasn’t Catholic Secondary School propaganda, it was what she felt.

She was academically inclined, I wasn’t.   I was a poor student, and maybe there may be a select few that would judge me in having some reserved bitterness in saying this but, at the same time I can easily attest no teacher at my highschool had a shred of inspiration like I see Angela has with her students.  More people know me as a poet and spoken word artist, rather than what I do for my day job, and my OAC English teacher flat out told my Mother “I don’t think he can succeed in medium of English especially at the University level.” This was a department head, who I later found out had Danielle Steele as one of her favourite authors. Looking back,  of course even though I had educators that were luke warm, sometimes even completely and utterly moronic, my Mother was always on their side, and the only reason why I graduated high school was because of how hard she rode me.

My OAC English teacher was right, I never succeeded in any English University course. But in the end I didn’t need to listen to her. Instead I picked up a book one day by Charles Bukowski, and it lead to me becoming a spoken word performer and a published poet.

But this isn’t about me, it’s about Angela, and much like her students, I have learned and have been inspired by her. Since I have met her she’s gotten me to wise up about some major things in my life, and I have made some pretty significant changes, but still am able to indulge in things that i like. She let’s me be a goof, makes me feel like a superstar when I am on stage, and just is a pillar of support the whole time.

It’s the reason why for the first time in my life eight months have passed with a smile on my face for the most part in a relationship.  She has shown me nothing but warmth, and love.  In the movie High Fidelity John Cusack was reminiscing about his girlfriend, and the one thing that he concluded was that sometimes when it comes to knowing if they are the right ones, that “Some people, just feel like home” and that is the case with Angela.

Yesterday was her birthday, something that she was not enthusiastic about in the morning, but saw in a different light by the end of the day.  The night before at the Drake Hotel seeing Shane Koyczan performing, someone told Angela that her birthday is “a big honkin’ deal” and I agree. The world is richer for her existence, and all I can say is thanks Angela, thank you sweetie.  I think you’re somebody we can all learn from.

You gave me this pen
less than a half-hour ago
so I decided
to write this poem with it

……I miss you already…..have a safe drive…call me if you need to…I love you…

Yesterday she was buried,
the one constant that prevailed
was the sky,
in your mind you could hear
a row of blindfolded weathermen
saying “partly cloudy” in unison

The sun
winning short but profuse battles
fighting to shine her smile
through a myriad of
majestic clouds that could
be characters in an unending
series of fantasy movies.

Like cotton candy,
they lined the horizon
that lay before us

“It looks like the end of the world,” I said.

“Would you drive to the end of the world with me?”

You smiled
your left hand was on the wheel
your right squeezed mine

“I’d drive to the end of the world with you,” you said.

We couldn’t miss Parham,
marked by a stop sign,
a dead-end railway crossing,
and the general store
your great grandparents used to own.

Maybe she stopped in to see
how much the price of a Hershey bar
had gone up.

At the cemetary
came various somber versions
of goodbyes,
lain to rest in good company.

I hear you start to cry,
rubbing your back,
I can see you wipe your tears,
rubbing your back

It’s okay honey
it’s totally normal
everyone says goodbye differently.

I’m sorry I didn’t get to know her
like everybody here did,
but even so,
amid sobs, kisses,
and hushed soundbites,
I can hear her whisper
“Thank you and goodbye” through
the rustle of the leaves on the trees
and the grass that surrounds us.

I can feel history envelop me.
and the echoes of a life
that once was
are coming from all angles.

On the way back,
you let me sleep for awhile,
near Cobourg you treated me to
some of the best apple pie in the province
with a scoop of ice cream,
we said hello to dis-interested lamas
and led Mrs.Pacman to her death.

You let me play
with your ipod touch,
and Annie Lennox, Spirit Of The West,
and
sam Cooke took us home.

Right now,
I’m happy,
Right now,
I am allowing myself
the decadence of a full fledged smile,
there’s a sweet calm that has
infiltrated my lungs,
and has me sinking into this seat.

Because yesterday
I got to feel your embrace
and kiss your wonderful lips
that shares the same face
as those beautiful brown eyes.

And today ended
with two rainbows behind us
and one in front.

So what do you say
we drive under that one
into tomorrow,
let’s set the tone
with the television on,
our feet on the coffee table
and your head on my shoulder.

We’ll always be able to
sing out loud,
for us
life is alive,
and the air is magic,
we can both swing
to the deepest part of the lake
and let go.

Our drawings will come alive,
and colour the rest
of the universe,
our goodwill borrowed
from the ones that went before us,
that we gave somber goodbyes too,
and you can fall backwards
with your eyes closed
cause I will be there to catch you.

And when we’ve exhausted
our sense of direction
to the point where
we point to a map
blindfolded,
when all the destinations
have been marked
and all options
sucked up into
an invisible vacuum,

put your foot
on the gas pedal,
squeeze my hand
and drive with me
to the end of the world.