Why Aren‘t You Smiling?
If someone asks me why
I’m not smiling, or worse,
tells me to smile,
it infuriates me.
I don’t understand.
On what planet,
under what circumstance,
is it appropriate to tell someone
what facial expression to have?
Especially considering that
facial gestures are not universal
(as some people would have you believe)
but differ according to race,
culture, class, gender, and other variables.
I feel like I’m smiling my creepy little face off.
I genuinely try to be pleasant, sincere,
to treat other people as I would want to be treated.
But I’m not smiling enough.
People ask why I’m sad.
But I’m not sad.
I’m perfectly content.
Until they tell me
they have a problem
with my face.
Again, how is this appropriate?
It’s not.
It’s sexist and racist and fascist
and downright obnoxious and annoying
and unforgivable, though I do forgive
again and again.
What I want to say is,
“How are you so ignorant
that you don’t know that that is
a totally offensive, sexist,
racist thing to say?’'
Or, “I’m sorry. Am I not
feminine and subservient
enough for you? This
drag queen—sex slave—geisha girl
thing I got going isn’t sufficient?
Do I need to demean myself
further for you to be satisfied?”
Or, “I’m so sick (literally puking my guts out)
of living in a culture where people smile at you
while they’re simultaneously lying to your face
that I don’t want to contribute
to the emotional/ mental/ ideological pollution.”
Or, “I don’t tell you what to do
with your face, but if I did,
I’d tell you to kiss my ass.”
But no matter what I say,
they don’t get it.
They think people should smile.
Smile!
There’s a war on!
Smile!
Your baby’s on crack!
Smile!
People have credit card debt and, what’s worse, no health insurance!
Smile!
You can’t afford the lifestyle you aspire to!
Smile!
Your children want to kill themselves!
Smile!
The powers-that-be don’t want you to know the truth!
Smile Smile Smile
or you might hurt someone’s feelings.
You might disappoint—not meet a customer’s expectations.
Hey, we all have to cater to assholes with money,
so if they want you to smile at them,
then smile!
Damn it!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
PolyRhythmic Tuesdays at The Spot!
POLYRHYTHMIC "Without a Trace," a mid-winter residency at The Spot
near Uptown, Tuesdays thru February...
The Green Room @ The Spot, 4437 N Broadway @ Montrose
10 pm, $3, 21 and over, open mic for poets, singers, puppets, ringers
and you, plus featured performers:
Jan.27 RICH EXPERIENCE! "Keytarist, Hilariator"
Feb.3 NIKKI PATIN Performance poet/burlesque artist/ vocalist/media
commentator/ poetry slam champion/ PolyRhythmic co-founder
Feb.10 JAMAAL VS MAY Author/ teacher/ performance poet from Detroit
Feb.17 BIG POPPA E slam legend from Northern California & WONDER DAVE
MPLS slam master, international slam competitor.
Feb.24 SEAN CONLON Hampshire College spoken word organizer &
performer/ Hampshire County, MA slam master, national slam competitor
...and then the return of "Safe Smiles" in March!
myspace.com/polyrhythmicchicago
Helltrane since 2001
near Uptown, Tuesdays thru February...
The Green Room @ The Spot, 4437 N Broadway @ Montrose
10 pm, $3, 21 and over, open mic for poets, singers, puppets, ringers
and you, plus featured performers:
Jan.27 RICH EXPERIENCE! "Keytarist, Hilariator"
Feb.3 NIKKI PATIN Performance poet/burlesque artist/ vocalist/media
commentator/ poetry slam champion/ PolyRhythmic co-founder
Feb.10 JAMAAL VS MAY Author/ teacher/ performance poet from Detroit
Feb.17 BIG POPPA E slam legend from Northern California & WONDER DAVE
MPLS slam master, international slam competitor.
Feb.24 SEAN CONLON Hampshire College spoken word organizer &
performer/ Hampshire County, MA slam master, national slam competitor
...and then the return of "Safe Smiles" in March!
myspace.com/polyrhythmicchicago
Helltrane since 2001
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
The poem about dollies I read at The Spot 1-20-09
If I Didn’t Have Dollies
If I didn’t have
dollies
I would have to
bring people home
and kill them
and stuff them
so that I could
hold them
anytime
I wanted.
They would be mine
always.
And never
could they leave.
I would keep them
on the couch
and carry them
to bed
and touch them
anywhere
I wanted and
they would be
mine mine mine.
So the next time
you feel
like ridiculing
someone
for collecting
dolls
or anything
for that matter
just remember
the lives
that are saved
when it’s things
that are collected
rather than
human bodies.
If I didn’t have
dollies
I would have to
bring people home
and kill them
and stuff them
so that I could
hold them
anytime
I wanted.
They would be mine
always.
And never
could they leave.
I would keep them
on the couch
and carry them
to bed
and touch them
anywhere
I wanted and
they would be
mine mine mine.
So the next time
you feel
like ridiculing
someone
for collecting
dolls
or anything
for that matter
just remember
the lives
that are saved
when it’s things
that are collected
rather than
human bodies.
The MySpace poem I read at The Spot 1-20-09
I’m a MySpace Addict
Will you be my friend?
Who can I ask to be my friend?
I hope someone cool asks to be my friend.
When is my favorite band playing?
I’ll leave a comment about them.
Maybe someone will leave a comment about me.
I have 135 friends.
I’m going to get more and more friends.
What can I write in my blog?
I can choose from a long list of moods
and an animated smiley face will illustrate
the mood I choose.
I can let everyone know what book I’m reading
and what cd I’m listening to.
Look. I choose it from the list
and the picture shows up in my blog.
This is so cool.
I’ll let everyone know about my poetry reading.
I’ll send out a bulletin.
I’ll do a search on a name and try to find my old boyfriend.
Look there he is. He doesn’t have as many friends as I do.
He’s going bald. His wife is fat. They have dogs.
Look I have new event invites.
There are so many events to go to.
How will I decide what to go to?
I guess it depends on my work schedule
and where I can get a cab home from.
Maybe I’ll meet some cute guys and then
I can do a search on their names and ask them
to be my friends on MySpace.
I better make a point of remembering
their names correctly or at least
what they look like.
All these guys I don’t know
are asking to be my friends.
Their pictures look weird
like those that come in the picture frames
you buy at Walgreens.
They could be stupid and creepy.
Maybe I should accept them as friends
because they’re interested in my poetry.
One guy sent me a message.
He says that he is 20-something and
Puerto Rican with green eyes and
hangs on the Northwest side of Chicago.
He says that I seem like a freaky bad girl
and that I should definitely get back to him.
Gee, I don’t know.
I accepted this one guy as my friend.
I actually felt weird about it,
but then I decided I should go ahead
and accept him
because I need
to build my audience.
He’s sent me 7 messages just today.
“I’m still up. Call me.”
“Meet me for a drink.”
“Pick up the phone.”
“Let’s hook up.”
“We make the perfect couple.”
I’ve never met this person before.
I actually emailed him and asked him
if he had seen me read before, or if we had met,
or if we had friends in common.
He said, no, he just was looking
for cool people in Chicago.
His profile says he is nocturnal
and likes cats and is looking for nice ladies.
Maybe he’s a vampire.
His other friends are either dominatrixes or
suicidal goth girls.
I’m going to delete him from my friends.
That’s the first time I ever deleted anybody.
But I’m thinking he could be my first
MySpace stalker.
Will you be my friend?
Who can I ask to be my friend?
I hope someone cool asks to be my friend.
When is my favorite band playing?
I’ll leave a comment about them.
Maybe someone will leave a comment about me.
I have 135 friends.
I’m going to get more and more friends.
What can I write in my blog?
I can choose from a long list of moods
and an animated smiley face will illustrate
the mood I choose.
I can let everyone know what book I’m reading
and what cd I’m listening to.
Look. I choose it from the list
and the picture shows up in my blog.
This is so cool.
I’ll let everyone know about my poetry reading.
I’ll send out a bulletin.
I’ll do a search on a name and try to find my old boyfriend.
Look there he is. He doesn’t have as many friends as I do.
He’s going bald. His wife is fat. They have dogs.
Look I have new event invites.
There are so many events to go to.
How will I decide what to go to?
I guess it depends on my work schedule
and where I can get a cab home from.
Maybe I’ll meet some cute guys and then
I can do a search on their names and ask them
to be my friends on MySpace.
I better make a point of remembering
their names correctly or at least
what they look like.
All these guys I don’t know
are asking to be my friends.
Their pictures look weird
like those that come in the picture frames
you buy at Walgreens.
They could be stupid and creepy.
Maybe I should accept them as friends
because they’re interested in my poetry.
One guy sent me a message.
He says that he is 20-something and
Puerto Rican with green eyes and
hangs on the Northwest side of Chicago.
He says that I seem like a freaky bad girl
and that I should definitely get back to him.
Gee, I don’t know.
I accepted this one guy as my friend.
I actually felt weird about it,
but then I decided I should go ahead
and accept him
because I need
to build my audience.
He’s sent me 7 messages just today.
“I’m still up. Call me.”
“Meet me for a drink.”
“Pick up the phone.”
“Let’s hook up.”
“We make the perfect couple.”
I’ve never met this person before.
I actually emailed him and asked him
if he had seen me read before, or if we had met,
or if we had friends in common.
He said, no, he just was looking
for cool people in Chicago.
His profile says he is nocturnal
and likes cats and is looking for nice ladies.
Maybe he’s a vampire.
His other friends are either dominatrixes or
suicidal goth girls.
I’m going to delete him from my friends.
That’s the first time I ever deleted anybody.
But I’m thinking he could be my first
MySpace stalker.
Monday, January 12, 2009
PolyRhythmic Without a Trace at THE SPOT 1-20-09
PolyRhythmic's weekly open mic show resumes Jan. 20 at The Spot
This just in kiddies! The owners of The Spot (4437 N Broadway) have graciously allowed us to have our open mic show upstairs in the "green room" while Trace is shut down for renovations. There will be no show January 13, but we'll get it up and running January 20th, and we really want people to come.
Things are basically the same except for the venue.
PolyRhythmic Without a Trace
Tuesdays @ THE SPOT
4437 N Broadway
sign-up starts @ 10 pm
4 minutes to do your thing
21 and over please
Love,
Elizabeth, Drew, Bill, Billy, and Zeeshan
This just in kiddies! The owners of The Spot (4437 N Broadway) have graciously allowed us to have our open mic show upstairs in the "green room" while Trace is shut down for renovations. There will be no show January 13, but we'll get it up and running January 20th, and we really want people to come.
Things are basically the same except for the venue.
PolyRhythmic Without a Trace
Tuesdays @ THE SPOT
4437 N Broadway
sign-up starts @ 10 pm
4 minutes to do your thing
21 and over please
Love,
Elizabeth, Drew, Bill, Billy, and Zeeshan
Thursday, January 8, 2009
The poem I read at Jaks January 5, 2008
crazy trails to you may your way make you weary and your thoughts bleary enough so that you can see truth in a new carnival booth where everyone's a winner and the prizes are actually worth winning lying is not the enemy nor those many obstacles and patches of thorns along the way even the desire to give up chasing you on thoroughbred horseback has its beauty and role to play or don't you believe
boredom murder kinesthetic passion learned framing wrangled nightmares blooming tumbling downstairs and across the hall should you call should you wait for him to call will you hear the phone when it finally rings or will the sound be drowned out by the music in your head he's not a prince he's not the cynical and rumpled but adorable cop who will solve the case but where is he and what's he waiting for now
mine eyes have seen the miasma of the coming of the hoard it is jamming up the air waves and washing garbage onto the shore did you mean herd did you mean heard did you mean the worst thing you could possibly never imagine did you mean that which gets you drunk on your own obliviousness and keeps you that way day after day myspace rat race car chase terrible waste mind-boggling morphing face laced
white shoes blue moods drinking myself into a coma yet again going through the tunnel blind hoping there's something better on the other side but why hope and why try when we're all just waiting to die lovers are the only saviors and fuck that guy on the cross we are all lost and hoping to be found over and over again like candy hidden in a coat pocket or a desk drawer like before
it's the hope of love that keeps waking you up like an early morning garbage truck bright and white and gleaming and filthy and reeking got to love the morning if you can't stand the nights when you're so alone you're not even you but travailing thoughts walking fleeing freeing did you mean traveling did you mean unraveling did you mean the mean fairies stealing your good sense away from you every chance they get
my sighs try to find their way out to the ones who will be able to hear them even if only for a moment or hold them on the sofa until they stop crying stop bleeding stop needing and drift off to sleep heartbreak is good for writing knowing the mistakes you can't help making the risks you can't help taking even though you should know better even though you have been through this before
and you will try to figure it out before all the others win the game solve the mystery before anyone else has a chance but you will not be able to no matter how carefully you search for clues and follow the patterns forming in the wallpaper on the walls of the box invisible to everyone else that you can't escape even with mime exercises always trapped always partially collapsed and folding and unfolding again
boredom murder kinesthetic passion learned framing wrangled nightmares blooming tumbling downstairs and across the hall should you call should you wait for him to call will you hear the phone when it finally rings or will the sound be drowned out by the music in your head he's not a prince he's not the cynical and rumpled but adorable cop who will solve the case but where is he and what's he waiting for now
mine eyes have seen the miasma of the coming of the hoard it is jamming up the air waves and washing garbage onto the shore did you mean herd did you mean heard did you mean the worst thing you could possibly never imagine did you mean that which gets you drunk on your own obliviousness and keeps you that way day after day myspace rat race car chase terrible waste mind-boggling morphing face laced
white shoes blue moods drinking myself into a coma yet again going through the tunnel blind hoping there's something better on the other side but why hope and why try when we're all just waiting to die lovers are the only saviors and fuck that guy on the cross we are all lost and hoping to be found over and over again like candy hidden in a coat pocket or a desk drawer like before
it's the hope of love that keeps waking you up like an early morning garbage truck bright and white and gleaming and filthy and reeking got to love the morning if you can't stand the nights when you're so alone you're not even you but travailing thoughts walking fleeing freeing did you mean traveling did you mean unraveling did you mean the mean fairies stealing your good sense away from you every chance they get
my sighs try to find their way out to the ones who will be able to hear them even if only for a moment or hold them on the sofa until they stop crying stop bleeding stop needing and drift off to sleep heartbreak is good for writing knowing the mistakes you can't help making the risks you can't help taking even though you should know better even though you have been through this before
and you will try to figure it out before all the others win the game solve the mystery before anyone else has a chance but you will not be able to no matter how carefully you search for clues and follow the patterns forming in the wallpaper on the walls of the box invisible to everyone else that you can't escape even with mime exercises always trapped always partially collapsed and folding and unfolding again
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