alter ego at Valley411.com) and I am beat. No, one little food and wine festival couldn’t put down our intrepidly drunken glutton! There was more! So much more. Somewhere towards the end, there was the 3rd worst Long Island iced tea I’ve ever had in my life. But that bartender might still be banging someone I know from high school, so they avoid being thrown under the blog-bus this time. This time…
So! Why in the hell am I still typing? My reasons are twofold. One ulterior, one posterior. Wait, wouldn’t that be a butt reason? Whatever, I’ll run with it. The reason I’m still making the squawky talk is because Fresno’s own Inner Ear Beat Down Poetry Slam has moved into the single most buzztastic java joint Fresno has ever seen. I’ve had folks literally pouring hot, sticky, molten praise for this place into my ear on a nigh daily basis. I’m on a weekly text message round up to get me out of the Hobbit Hole and shuffle out to drink caffeine and bask in the awesomeness of pure café bliss.
Right. And I should totally let you stick another finger in my butt too. I have been to the mountaintop and it is tastefully lighted in hues of unattainable high school memories. There can be no contemporary coffee joint in this age where words like corporate, gourmet and coffee somehow can all come out in once sentence without the vengeful spirit of a beatnik ripping their soul out of their stinkholes. Right? Well, you were a year ago.
IRON BIRD! Nuh nuh nuuuuuh! Like a smoldering beacon of awesome come to rest in the unlikely cradle of downtown, snuggled underneath chic art condos and terrifyingly south of Olive. Iron Bird seems at the outset to understand the chaotic currents of ‘No-town and has the short and curly’s to spit in the face of that fickle tempest to create it’s own reality bubble. Like an acid crazed, axe wielding transient, she sits astride a sociological median and rather than beg for change, establishes change and dares your oh-so-expensive Escalade to try to budge them from their concrete island of etherial delights.
Open Mic Jam at Full Circle Brewery the following Thursday. Oh, did I forget to mention the Slam is a competition? Well, that’s what makes it a slam! 10 poets, 5 bucks a head, $50 to the winner and a hearty handshake to the rest. So how can you go wrong? Coffee poets to the left of me, beer poets to the right! Oh whatever is a poor blogger to do? Get wired one week and hammered the next. Absorbing soulful mouth sounds the whole way through.
Fucking poets, how do they work?