radio WROB

This is me performing songs on Mutiny Radio's Common Thread, with diamond dave and val! Move that blue dot to thirty-seven minutes in...
http://podcasts.pcrcollective.org/CommonThreadCollective/CommonThreadCollective-20180330.mp3

open mic-rocosm

I've spent the past few months immersing myself in the San Francisco open mic scene, as a storyteller, musician, essayist, and poet.
It's a strange and wonderful world. It's art free of the corruptions of commerce, and at its best fosters a spirit of community that is jarringly absent from most "professional" art. Applause and love rain down, even (and sometimes especially) on failure. Open mics are also a reminder that those who "succeed" in the arts are often not superior to those who don't, just luckier (or more willing to compromise). At almost any open mic, there's usually one act that's as good as anything professional, and in big cities, sometimes even several.
Showing appreciation can be tricky, though. Talking with a performer that same night can lead to obligatory or insincere praise. I try to get around that by saving my compliments for the following week. Any praise someone remembers to say a week later, i know comes from a more sincere place. Yet that solution has a flaw - receiving immediate open mic affirmation of any sort can be such a gift. For the insecure, a single encouraging word can be indescribably healing. I would hazard to guess that few speakers feel no stage fright...and some are no doubt almost overwhelmed. For the first time in my life, i can relate. As an actor, i was able to perform in front of thousands with nary a hint of insecurity, or do one-person shows without any trace of fright. But at open mics...the combination of my emotional walls being so decimated and the nakedness of performing your own words, has given me genuine stage fright. Apparently i cover it well, but it's not easy. Truly, my mild depression and PTSD push my brain into thinking i'm talentless and people loathe me, even when there's ample evidence to the contrary. I'm also vaguely uncomfortable with any flattery or attention, because i want my performances to be about the words, not ME (in this culture of individualism, such hopes are doomed to failure). I've performed long enough that i can laugh at myself as i feel all these things, but most don't have the luxury of my experience. So more and more, i err on the side of giving others immediate affirmation.
It might also surprise many to know that i feel competitive. There's a part of me that considers ANY night a failure if i'm not clearly the most brilliant act. Perverse self-absorption? Yes...and bear in mind that i've spent my adulthood pursuing spiritual humility - and succeeding. No, really! For years, constantly manifesting the thought that i'm no better or more worthy than anyone, ever shifting attention away from myself (perhaps even embracing those attitudes to a fault). Yet the ego-glorification that plagues our culture is so pervasive, and the insecurity this society pounds into our heads is just hellaciously powerful. The notion that we're forever writing the "story" of our lives, always measuring ourselves against everyone else...in this predatory world, i can't keep those demons entirely at bay (even monastery inmates probably fall short: "I can meditate on one foot WAY longer than you slackers!" - maybe hermits...).
Not that i feel competitive in the front of my mind - just in the back, in those places nobody talks about.
It's also funny to realize how many spoken word artists are at kind of awful at delivering their own words! The truth is that some poetry is better read than heard, plus a lot of poets can be monotone or too rapid, which can lead to audiences showing intent faces, but not actually following a damn thing! The funniest example of this was when a poet in the middle of eight short pieces started reciting one he'd already done...and most people had no idea! I wasn't sure for a few seconds, myself. So yes, i too can be guilty of nodding my head and snapping my fingers, while having no clue what the speaker was talking about.
And sometimes the length of the events gets a little oppressive, because i hate the thought of time lost when i could be creating something new, or just doing something more intensely personal or enjoyable. There are performers who do their bit and then skedaddle, but i've got too much devotion to community to take such a mercenary attitude. It's a fine line...there are occasions when extenuating circumstances can prompt an early exit from me, and those circumstances aren't always urgent, or even anywhere close. But i do my best to support all the other performers any time i ask them to listen to me. That's not always a sacrifice...although there is a level (slightly misanthropic, artistically unimpressed, hyper-aware of my own mortality, sex-starved) on which i'm bored by just about anyone. The social aspect can be nice, though - right now these folk are pretty much the only "family" i have.
Here then, my weekly cycle of mics. There are a handful of once-a-month events too, but this is the heart of it.
SUNDAY - Madrone Bar, a music-only venue, which is where my stage fright is most acute, because i'm adding the element of singing and playing an instrument simultaneously - i had NO idea how stupifyingly hard that is! All i'm aiming for as a ukulele-plucker is "adequate" - i don't kid myself, if i win crowds, it will be because of my words and voice. For now it just feels like i'm hitting auto-pilot, and hoping to not wreck. It's exciting to think of how my songs might one day kill, when i'm totally relaxed...
WEDNESDAY - Sacred Grounds, the oldest poetry open mic in the city. Poetry is probably the least of my writerly talents, at least when measured against its most elaborate intricacies. My stuff can be searing and naked, or just funny and entertaining (which makes it relateable to non-poets)...but some poetry snobs might justifiably poo-poo me. I sometimes wonder why i attend poetry-only events at all, as it's never going to take the lead in my "success" as a writer. But there's something beautiful and pure about poets, they're generally more open and interesting than other artists. I come off as quite young in this crowd, which i've learned to live with. Sacred Grounds has the greatest family feeling of any open mic i know.
THURSDAY - Bazaar Cafe, which is mostly music. I do stories and songs. There's no mic, nor any need for one. The energy combines the youthfulness of International Cafe with the reverence of Sacred Grounds. There is no small satisfaction knowing that my stories have been one of the few spoken acts here to resonate with the musicians as much as their own.
FRIDAY AFTERNOON - Mutiny Radio Common Thread, which features music, interviews, and spoken word of political/social relevance. This is where i do my essays, and the affirmation has been wonderful. I've started to do songs too, because my songs will have more resonance in the world at large. Wasn't leonard cohen just a poet who got tired of poverty?
FRIDAY EVENING - International Cafe, the most unruly (yet sometimes most beautiful) beast of all. The crowd is huge, with many non-performers, some of whom are well-lubricated. I do stories and songs, avoiding all but the most juicy essays or poems. In a venue where spoken word can get its ass kicked, being able to hold an audience spellbound, is so sweet. Having an ADD-prone crowd hang on your every word...there might be no better social feeling in the world.

CL farewell!

Last week, craigslist sailed off into the sunset. After becoming one of the most famous (and infamous) internet sites ever, they finally bowed to commercialism and became just another job site. They eliminated their personals section altogether, and made the rest of their ads pay-only.
Their personal section was one-of-a-kind, because it was free for anyone to post their own ad, entirely responsible for their own content. Which made it both the most awful and most wonderful site out there. The sleaze and dregs and fakes were out in full force...yet alongside that, absent the air of desperation that clings to any paid site, CL was occasionally also the only personal section in the world where one could find integrity and brilliance untainted.
And now it's gone.
Okay, not completely. There are still chat forums, and maybe one or two unpaid relics like the resume and sale/free sections. But the heart of the site, the personals, has been eviscerated. Gone.
Aside from all that, CL provided writers with a fount of material for essays of social commentary, both serious and silly.
So as a final hat-tip, here are the ads i had running, before the purge.
Free Spirit? (M4W, romance)
Anyone ready to go beyond the beauty/status game?
You look at these silly ads, and don't get people who commodify themselves (height, weight, age, number/coloration of moles...), yet you also don't get people who aren't comfy enough in their skin to post a picture.
Greed and glamour leave you cold. You don't "hit the scene", or self-medicate. You don't see skin color. You live for scintillating conversation, or maybe just a pillow fight.
Put "brown barbaloot" in your subject line.
Seeking Literary Patronage (M4W, platonic)
Hello. I'm a writer and public speaker, brand new to the Bay, looking to save the world...and maybe needing a little help. I'd love to devote my time to creating stories, essays, and poems that will help push humynity back to sanity, while we still (maybe) have time. My work ranges from funny to ferocious, all of it brimming with humynist, feminist, non-materialist, non-superstitious values (think of me as the love child of twain, thoreau, lenny bruce, and simone de beauvoir). Nor do i just pull dreams out of the air - i'm always seeking the newest in science and psychology to help me figure out how we got so self-immolatingly exploitative.
If you're well-off, a pittance will keep me afloat. If you're not, maybe you have one little extra room where future classics of literature are waiting to be created (i also could be the extra hands you need around the house to keep your own life afloat). Why am i advertising in M4W? Because wimyn are, on the whole, less idiotic, egotistic, and noxious than men (don't let it go to your head - that's a left-handed compliment if ever there was). I've got honesty, intelligence, and integrity spilling out my ears, and unlike most iconoclastic provocateurs, i'm stable - no drugs or drinking.
Send me a note...i'll share some writing that might make you cry or clap.
Event/Party/After-dinner Speaker (event services)
Storyteller/essayist/poet/musician, for diversion and delight. Think of me as the love child of twain, thoreau, lenny bruce, and simone de beauvoir. The centerpiece of my gift is hip, progressive, occasionally racy new versions of every classic fairy tale. Plus ukulele songs, and volumes of essays and poetry - silly, serious, or anything in between. I can even delight the squares! With an enormous background as an actor, i've no shortage of characters and charisma. No event too big, or too small. References and sample phone readings available.
warmly,
wrob
Editor/Ghost with the Most (editing)
Do you have files that need fixing? A poorly-translated graphic novel lacking literary luster? A manifesto or magnum opus wanting fresh eyes? Whether it's spiffing something you already have, turning raw material into a page-turner, or creating brilliance from whole cloth...send me a hello.
warmly,
wrob
Writing Tutor - creative or otherwise (writing)
Does your poetry need perk? Your essays energizing? Your prose plumping? Do you aspire to greatness, and seek a guru who's braved the beast's belly? Here i am. Rates are unset (we're not in this world to leverage each other like slabs of insensate flesh...unless you're a corporate climber, then all bets are off).
warmly,
wrob
Personal Coach - unconventional (lessons & tutoring)
The key flaw of the psychiatric profession is that it approaches all problems as personal, and measures success by "normalization". But this society's problems aren't personal. We live in a fear-based, greed-based, violent, repressed, touch-deprived culture of alienation...and how well you "normalize" into that, is a measure of how well you can manifest denial, as a growing body of scientific research shows that humans are by nature mostly non-violent, sexy sharers.
I'm no part of the establishment. I've spent part of my life as a free spirit half-off the grid. My education is in philosophy. My reading tastes run toward science and psychology. I can offer perspectives to help you understand why you've never been happy (hint: no one is). I can't make it all better, as that would require transporting you to a world that doesn't yet exist...but big-picture understanding may bring some peace of mind, and make clear what is (and isn't) important. I'm not a motivational cheerleader, unless your motives run deeper than the american dream. But i might be the most friendly, understanding ear you'll ever find.

balance?

I met a person in the park the other day, who couldn't have been more sweet. We got to talking, and i said that i'd been having a rough go of it, because my emotional walls are too low - i lack proper protection from all the fear, aggression, and loneliness that permeate this world.
He didn't quite know what to make of my declaration. As inoffensively as possible, he disagreed with my premise. He opined that being emotionally open cannot be bad, because positivity and negativity exist in equal amounts in the world.
Equal amounts.
It's a good thing i wasn't sipping a beverage, else my spit-take might have alienated him entirely. We chatted amiably a bit longer.
Was i tempted to offer a counter-argument? Something like...
"Let me take a stab at dissuading you from your position. Just off the top of my head...in the richest country in the world, a majority of people live under some form of economic deprivation, with one of every five children in outright poverty. Nine of every ten rapes go unreported. 16,000 children starve to death on this planet every day. One of every hundred deaths is self-murder. All ocean life is projected to be dead within a few decades. We keep over two million citizens locked in cages...which is nothing compared to the hundreds of billions of other animals, thinking, feeling creatures, we keep inside cages their entire lives, living and dying in conditions so horrific that the average person would fall down and puke if they came face to face with the reality. Now please tell me where you find a positivity/negativity balance."
I didn't say that.
But for the rest of the day, one of the tracks in my head puzzled over how anyone could look at the world, and conclude what this person had concluded.
Twelve hours later, in the middle of the night, it hit me.
He believes in god.
How do i know?
Faith in a higher power leads to belief in moral absolutes. When one believes in moral absolutes, life becomes about the struggle between good and evil, and for that struggle to make sense, those forces must be more or less balanced.
Ergo, well-intentioned and reasonably intelligent people find themselves concluding that worldly positivity and negativity are equal. And just like that, they've adopted a position which absolutely blinds them to the dire urgency of how bad things are. They've embraced an overall view of life which can take any horror, any crisis, and say "this is part of a plan".
But nothing is more needed at this point in history, than clear big picture thinking.
Religion is not benign.
Forget crusades, jihads, proselytizing, and persecution. Forget the assault against science, and intolerance of tolerance.
Even non-religious, universalist faith in "god" is not benign.
It doesn't matter how pleasant or caring it might make someone on the surface, if it prevents them from seeing the world AS IT IS. Humynity's ills are cataclysmic, and the window of opportunity to do anything about that is shrinking so fast, we simply don't have the luxury of keeping our heads in the sand. Worldly positivity is getting its ass kicked by a stunningly wide margin, and if we prevent ourselves from SEEING that, we will never change what we are doing to others, and to ourselves.
Nor is this only (only??) about the big picture. His blinders prevent him from perceiving or feeling the misery in every person he passes on the street. The only ones not consciously or subconsciously hiding their pain, are the "insane". He's young, and likely doesn't understand that nobody is more skilled at rationalization and denial than the young...
But i didn't say any of that to him.
I'm saying it to you.
Anybody hear me?

"Defining Moments in Black History"

(Reading Between the Lies)
-by dick gregory
2017
Dick gregory is that one friend you have who's probably more brilliant than you, and definitely more crazy. And in his craziness, he occasionally finds his way to a truth more unvarnished and REAL than any you've known.
He's able to see sideways, which even the brightest often fail to do - for example, he sees our domesticated animals/pets as the slaves they are.
Does the manganese in malt liquor make (black) people more prone to violence? Does tap water?? Did "the man" kill michael jackson, and take down tiger woods? Those last two seem hard to give credence, because the power structure worships one thing above all - money. So what percentage would there be in eliminating two of their biggest cash cows? And if tiger was taken down to protect nicklaus's supremacy, why was hank aaron allowed to dethrone babe ruth, in a more racist time, in the preeminent american sport?
But forget the conspiracy stuff (well, no, DON'T). Forget the religious/everything-happens-for-a-reason nonsense. Forget the anti-humyn sexual puritanism. Gregory's take on history is scathing, and far more real than any school textbook. And his honesty can be searing. He understands how slavery's legacy has damaged black people - he doesn't flinch in talking about not being able to see his own wife as beautiful, and how black wimyn are trapped in skin/hair self-loathing, and how the "inferiority" of black men has been made a self-fulfilling prophecy.
His take on john brown might make even a pacifist take up arms.
What was the real reason malcolm, king, and hampton were killed?
His dismissal of lincoln might exasperate you, especially as frederick douglass, who was never afraid to criticize the great emancipator, called him "emphatically the black man's president" (a willingness to send freed slaves back to Africa doesn't sound inherently anti-black to me, either). But you'll be exasperated because you know that even when gregory's wrong, he's right. Forgive the sloppiness of that sentiment - just read the book.

want baby!?!?!

Since returning to a metropolis, i've found myself browsing the Craigslist romance ads once again. After five years in the spiritual wasteland of the southern bible belt, the prospect of progressive big city wimyn digging my free-spirited ways, is a thought that tingles.
So far, the results are less than fulsome. After meeting all the hippies and artists who come to the city's open mics, i'd thought that the rumors of the demise of San Francisco's soul had been premature, but maybe not. The quantity and quality of ads here is bleak compared to NYC. The population difference is enormous, but still...
I came close to responding to an ad this week i had no business answering. I've nearly been obsessing about it, though i was in almost NO way what the womyn asked for. When you're this wounded and intimacy-starved, it gets ever-harder to follow the "appropriate" rules of a dysfunctional society.
This womyn wants babies and a life partner, and she wants 'em now! Her ad was intelligently-written, and her plan concise. A few dates, and GO. She wanted a well-educated engineer type (like herself), significantly older than her 27 years - looks not important. She also happened to be asian, and posted a very sexy picture which is almost surely not her ("almost" being the operative word to my off-balance mind).
She pushed so many of my buttons, it felt like my bleeding reptilian brain went into paralyzed hyperdrive. I wanted to bring all my writer's skill and personal magnetism to bear, to sweep her like she's never been swept. In my heated fantasy, i'd be exactly what she wished...i'd live with her, and waste no time in getting to the best sex of our lives. Let babies come!
Part of this is an unfulfilled lifelong dream of loving an asian womyn completely...and the knowledge that i'm not as young as i look. I'm a generation removed from this womyn, and there's a shallow (DNA-driven?) part of my brain that wants my dream lover to be drippingly fertile.
I would convince her that her engineer wouldn't have the emotional depth to love her and her children as well as i...that genetically, with my IQ and athleticism, her kids wouldn't forgive her for passing me by...that any man she chose under her conditions would feel he was doing her a favor, as opposed to the humble love in which i'd wrap her...i'd tell her that she deserves to wake up every morning and see a miracle, not a "plan"...
Never mind that being a stay-at-home parent would consume my life and probably cripple my artistic dreams.
Never mind that the monogamy she wants is an unnatural, self-destructive relic of a barbarically possessive era of humyn history.
If her ad had been up just a few hours longer, i don't think i'd have been able to hold out.
Would my subconscious have been counting on her to say no? Or was i convinced that there would be some slip between her lip and cup...that perhaps we'd be among the 10% of couples who can't conceive...or that she might get pregnant but miscarry? That someway i'd get the relationship i've longed for, but would ultimately find my freedom intact?
I don't know. I truly don't.
There's a part of me that wants to love a womyn seismically, life-alteringly, even cohabitationally and without end. There's also a part of me that yearns to nurture and love children every day.
But am i so afraid of being alone anymore, that i'd sell my very soul?
Too many feelings, amidst mortality creeping...
Love me, i'm dying here...

"The Greatest Show on Earth"

(The Evidence for Evolution)
-by richard dawkins
2009
As is often the case with dawkins, superlatives can feel like understatement. Brilliant? Yes...in style, authority, and above all, necessity. The only thing this ethologist, biologist, and former Professor for Public Understanding at Oxford is not, is dispassionate. He's given to occasional fits of rhapsodic waxing over the wonders of life and the universe, which make the "miracles" of mythology or religion seem tawdry.
This book joins "The Selfish Gene" and "The Ancestor's Tale" as dawkins' most towering. The only thing that holds this one back are the tangents and specificity (which will delight many who already embrace his points, but might make this too challenging for any believers who are on the fence). When he's at his best, you won't find a science author more readable...but there are times when even I felt bogged down.
That aside, this is the book that will make you say "Why didn't he write this BEFORE all the others?" In retrospect, it was a glaring hole - all his earlier works assume an acceptance of evolution as a viable (indeed, the only viable) way to explain life on Earth. This one drops that assumption, and offers an avalanche of evidence showing that evolution is far more than theory. Indeed, that which doubters would assume is the primary proof, the fossil record, dawkins reveals as almost an afterthought. Driving that point home is the fact that darwin, who made the greatest leap in scientific thinking ever, did so at a time when there was, for all practical purposes, zero fossil record. Natural clocks, geostratification, continental drift, DNA, and embryological evidence are all fleshed out by richard. Most fascinating is the de-pantsing of the argument by apparent design - with such staggeringly complex and graceful life forms as abound on this planet, all "perfectly" fitted to their environment, how could life be anything other than the result of conscious engineering? That illusion only holds up when you look at a lion or humyn from the outside, however. Inside, biology is a tinker toy mess, with all sorts of staggering inefficiencies which could only be a relic of an ancestor radically different.
His foray into the science behind sea mammals who possess land-oriented lungs, is wondrous. Would you care to guess which is the only animal we now think may have left the sea, then returned, then left again? Make up your damned minds, turtles!
With exquisite illustrations to delight the visual learners, this book is a treasure (one, dare i say, beyond measure).